The Dirty Version

by Hadley Quinn

  Rap, rap, rap. “Jolie-in-2C, I know you’re in there. I heard you.”

  Harlan? What could he possibly want? Probably to bitch at my music, which was on the lowest volume possible, so he could just suck a dick.

  Sighing, I got up and opened the door. “Not today, Satan. I haven’t had coffee yet.”

  The expression on his face was priceless, and if I hadn’t been totally serious, I might have laughed.

  “Okay then, I’ll be more prepared next time.” He held out a bag from a local bakery. “My meager offerings. Croissants are probably not enough to set the demons at bay?”

  Tried not to smile, but I cracked one anyway. “Possibly.” He handed them over but appeared eager for more conversation, so I felt obligated to invite him in. “Not a word about my lack of savvy decorating.”

  He held up his hands and entered. “Wouldn’t dare. At least not without bearing coffee first.”

  I chuckled and closed the door behind us. “So what brings you by? The music I can barely hear?”

  Harlan’s eyes shifted to the opposite end of the room to my stereo, and he slowly smiled. “Ah, so thoughtful of you. Definitely should have brought coffee. How absolutely insensitive of me.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  He studied me for a moment before releasing a sigh. “I’m sorry about that. Truly. Please, listen to your music as loud as you’d like. It was just…I’d had a bad day and overreacted. Completely uncalled for.”

  I eyed him carefully. “Had nothing to do with Frank Sinatra?”

  He was visibly surprised. Clearing his throat, he replied, “Well…possibly. Eh, anyway, just thought I’d start over and bring you a welcome gift. A re-welcome gift, I suppose.”

  He motioned to the bag in my hand, so I peeked inside. “Mmm, smells delicious. Do you want one—”

  “No, no, they’re for you.” He held up a palm.

  “Someone taught you about feeding angry women, I see.”

  “But I missed the memo about coffee. Perhaps because I’m not a coffee drinker. I’d turn into a manic child.”

  I smiled. I liked this side of Harlan. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  Walking toward the couch, I offered him a seat. For some reason I thought he’d decline, but he didn’t. Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Harlan was a bit unusual. And there I was, with a man in my apartment—my possibly bipolar neighbor—and really didn’t know why.

  “So, um…” Nope, I wasn’t well-versed in small talk.

  “Do you write?” he asked, nodding toward my laptop on the arm of the couch.

  It was open with my blog, half a page written, and I swiftly snapped it shut. “Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of? Does that mean you’re a famous published author and I don’t even know it? Modesty. I hate it. Brag, lady, brag.”

  “Oh no, not even close,” I answered, slightly amused. “I just like to dabble in blog writing, that’s all. Just a hobby.”

  “Blog writing? What’s your subject?”

  I blinked at him. “Subject?”

  “Yes, what do you focus on? Books? Music? Politics? Fashion?” He glanced around facetiously. “Home décor?”

  I snorted at his playful spite. “Hardly. I’m not an expert on anything. Not even my own life.” I mechanically waved at my computer.

  He eyed me pensively. “Your own life, hmm? Single women? Dating?”

  Okay now, what the hell was he implying?

  I narrowed my eyes, feigning agitation. “Yes, my pathetic life and all my stupid decisions.”

  “Really now,” he stated, humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’d shaved recently. Wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.

  Or why I needed to have an opinion on it in the first place.

  “It’s nothing. Just an outlet. Crap that makes more sense once I write it down. For some reason.”

  He bobbed his head from side to side. “Makes sense. Sharing your problems aloud or writing them down has shown to be productive in solving them.”

  “No one said anything about problems. They’re just…stories.” All right, maybe I was a bit defensive. And by the expression on Harlan’s face, he could tell.

  “I would love to read your writing sometime,” he offered, ignoring my stinginess. “I used to be an editor in college. Helped pay for a very awful addiction.”

  Arching an eyebrow, I scoffed. “What kind of addiction?”

  He leaned forward onto his knees with a very serious expression. “Donuts.”

  I laughed out loud. “Donuts? Are you being a dick or—”

  “Nope, not at all. Seriously bought a dozen donuts about three times a week. And from the best bakery, so a lick spendy.”

  I indiscreetly eyed him up and down. “I’d say it didn’t affect your physique much?”

  “Oh untrue, untrue. I wasn’t always in shape. Wasn’t a heavy child or anything, but not very healthy. Once I started working for a busy landscape photographer, it made a difference. Walked a lot, hiked mountains, traversed some canyon trails, sandy beaches, all that. Just to get those perfect shots. And after college, I didn’t live down the street from a bakery. So the convenience was gone, therefore the temptation dissolved.”

  I held up the paper bag with the croissants. “Does this pull you back to the dark side? They have good donuts, too.”

  “Mm, only a little on the dark side. I just get one donut when I go, not a dozen. Moderation. I’ve learned.”

  Okay, I’ll admit, I liked this version of Harlan. He seemed like a normal guy, not the pretentious asshole I’d first met.

  He gestured to the laptop again. “Will you let me read it sometime?”

  “No!” I blurted out. “I mean…no, I’d rather you not. It’s like my fucking journal. And I don’t need editing,” I added, assuming he was about to offer again. “No one reads it anyway.”

  “What’s your blog called?”

  “Nope, not sharing that either.”

  He smiled. “Come on, Jolie-in-2C. I promise you, I’m fazed by nothing.”

  I’m sure I would have said the same thing, but not being surprised by something and learning intimate details about your neighbor were two entirely different things.

  After explaining that to him, he shrugged. “Very well. I understand. I’m just interested in your writing, that’s all.”

  “Well…thanks for your interest. I guess. But it’s nothing special. Very amateurish.”

  “That’s what an editor is for—” He stopped when I fervently shook my head. “All right, very well. Perhaps I can get to know you in other ways.”

  Hopefully, my eyes didn’t bug out because that sounded very indicative. He broke up with his girlfriend a week ago, asked to take photos of me, and now stopped by to bear gifts?

  Code red. Although I was flattered, I couldn’t encourage his interest any further. I was happy with Josh, and even though Harlan was extremely intriguing, there wasn’t any reason to entertain his attention anymore.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I informed him. “I’d rather not unnecessarily complicate that matter, if you understand what I mean.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Oh. I see.” He slowly nodded. “Message received.” He stood and motioned to the bakery bag. “I was trying to apologize. And I thought showing interest in my neighbors would be the friendly thing to do. And to be completely upfront, I can’t get you off my mind because I only want to do a shoot with you. It’s, eh, your eyes. They fascinate me. And your lips. Just an intriguing combination. Hopefully your man gives you a proper amount of compliments.” He gave me one last nod before heading to the door. “Good day, Jolie-in-2C.”

  I remained on the couch, unsure of my thoughts. And was it weird that I totally heard a British accent slip out a few times during his visit? It’s true his speaking seemed somewhat formal at times, but I swear I heard an accent more than once.

  What the hell was that about?

  Compulsively, I hopped up from the couch and ran to the door. I caug
ht Harlan just before he was about to duck into his apartment.

  “Hey, where are you from? And why are you trying to hide your accent?” God knows I had rampant thoughts of espionage and undercover operatives running wild in my brain. The guy probably had multiple spy personalities!

  He stopped at the door and faced me, smiling just slightly. “Suffolk. East Bergholt. Not trying to hide anything. Just adapted the American way in the past six years.” That time, he spoke entirely with a British accent.

  I’d been ready to accuse him of deliberately deceiving me but shut my mouth. Shocked. And now extremely intrigued by the sound of his voice.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, lass,” Harlan added with a wink before disappearing into his apartment.

  I returned to mine and leaned against the door after closing it.

  So weird.

  After grabbing my laptop again, I deleted the half page I’d written so far and started over:

  I’m pretty sure my neighbor is a spy…

  ~22~

  “Not cool, Jo. You should have said something. I would have been happy to help. But mostly, you didn’t have to move out. You could have stayed in my apartment as long as you wanted and saved on rent.”

  Josh’s reasoning via phone call did not fall upon deaf ears. I truly did feel bad about leaving without prior warning, but I’d gotten the call late saying my apartment was livable again, and then Josh had left early in the morning before I got a chance to tell him.

  “I was going to call you but didn’t want to bother you at work.”

  “Jo, you can call me any time. Or even a text message? Why couldn’t you text me?”

  “Because you probably would have called back and that means taking time away from work.”

  “You ever heard of breaks, sweetheart?” he joked. “And telling you to stay would have taken five seconds.” He paused, and when I didn’t reply, added, “And you would have argued.” He sighed resignedly.

  Most likely. I didn’t like owing anyone or overstaying my welcome even if I was welcome. And things with Josh were new. Truthfully, I wanted that space for the time being. I felt it was best.

  “I’m happy with my decision,” I informed him. “I have my things and don’t feel displaced.”

  “Displaced? Sorry, Jo. Didn’t know you weren’t comfortable up there. You should have said something—”

  “I wasn’t uncomfortable. Like I said, I’ve barely moved out of the home I’d lived in for eight years. I was just starting to make this place feel like my own. It had nothing to do with you, Josh. I promise.”

  Pause. “Okay, I understand. But can I help with anything else?”

  “Actually…yes. There’s a box and stuff on the bed I couldn’t fit in my car. Can you bring that sometime?”

  “I’ll bring it right now. How ‘bout some food, too?”

  “Okay, sounds great. Let me clean stuff up and shower. Give me an hour, okay?”

  “Or…we can save water and shower together. My tongue needs to do some research.”

  I swallowed at the sensuality of his voice. “Um…”

  “Kidding, Jo. See you in an hour.”

  He hung up without my response. I stood at the window and watched traffic go by, wondering if he’d felt slighted. I wasn’t waiting for any particular timing to move forward with Josh. Mostly, I was just nervous, possibly scared. I didn’t want things to go awry.

  But, I knew the inevitable always occurred on its own time. If Josh and I were meant to be, it would be. He already knew I wasn’t about to conform to anything I didn’t agree with ever again. I made sure that had been clear. But if we went back to the physical relationship we’d had from before, I knew it would contain way more emotion than I felt I was ready for.

  Or…maybe I was.

  By the time I’d straightened my apartment, showered, and cleaned up the bathroom, it had been almost an hour. I heard male voices out in the hall, and as I peeked out my door, was a bit curious that both Harlan and Josh had passed one another.

  Josh was continuing to my place with a box in his arms when he said, “Hey, beautiful.” He kissed me on the cheek and entered my open door.

  I glanced down the hall at Harlan, who cast me a mischievous smile before disappearing into his apartment.

  “What was that about?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant as I closed the door.

  “What was what about?” He set the box on the floor by the couch and pulled out a bag of takeout.

  “My neighbor? He can be an asshole. Everything okay?”

  “Really?” Josh asked, seeming worried. “You have problems with the guy?”

  Great. I didn’t need him on high alert. “No, no, he’s just…a bit cranky now and then.”

  “Oh. Well no, he just said ‘Good day’ and asked if I needed help.”

  I had no response. And why had Harlan looked at me so facetiously?

  Brushing it off, I focused on the food Josh had brought. I was starving, and any guy who could take care of my physical needs so well earned an “A” in my book.

  Physical needs. I involuntarily shuddered at the thought. My hunger was one thing, but Josh was talented at other things too. And I’d been thinking about his tongue and a naked shower together ever since he’d mentioned it.

  “So…that guy’s your neighbor?” he asked a minute later, trying to sound casual.

  “Mmhmm. Next door.” I jutted a thumb to the living room wall.

  He barely nodded, handing over the bag of takeout. “I have some drinks and another box of your things in the truck,” he told me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll grab them.”

  “Okay.”

  As he left, I removed the food from the bag and retrieved some plates. Sadly, I could only arrange them on the counter because I still didn’t have a proper eating area. But when Josh re-entered my apartment, he not only had another box under his arm, he was also carrying a short-legged table under the other.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  He set both items down and then moved the table to the other side of my couch. “I thought you could use a coffee table. This was in my garage, not even being used. What do you think?”

  I looked it over, sitting there stoically in front of my couch. It was really cute—brown wood with a shelf on the underside. I was extremely grateful.

  I love it!” I exclaimed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I gave him the tightest hug I could give. “Work space and dining table,” I joked.

  He smiled. “We’ll have to work on getting you a kitchen table.”

  So he was intent on furnishing my home, huh? I guess if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Right?

  “You’re not mad that I moved back in here, are you?” I asked, just to be sure.

  He seemed surprised. “What? No, not at all. I’m disappointed you’re not sleeping so close to me, barely dressed, but…that was probably doing more damage than good. I picture you naked way more than I should admit to. You’re safer this way.”

  I had no response because I was too busy imagining him naked.

  We brought the food to the coffee table and sat on the floor. Josh had even produced a bottle of wine and a pair of stem glasses.

  “I don’t even know if you like wine these days, but a client gave me this and I thought we could try it together.”

  “I do like wine,” I admitted. “I’m kind of a dummy when it comes to it, but I’ll drink what someone hands me.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, same here. I’m more of a whiskey and beer guy.”

  I cocked an eyebrow, but he was too busy pouring to notice. Whiskey and beer was a far cry from what I knew of the younger Josh. Yes, we’d been underage back then, but there were a few parties we’d both attended and Josh never drank a single drop of alcohol.

  Neither had I until I’d discovered my husband was having an affair.

  “To a fresh start,” Josh said, holding up his glass of Pinot Gris.

  I picked up mine and agreed. “To a fre
sh start.”

  We both tested the wine. In combination with the Thai food, I loved it. Josh, not so much, and I ended up drinking most of his.

  I got up and retrieved a bottle of Jameson and a fresh glass. “Here, have something you actually like. That is, if Irish whiskey is suitable for you. It’s no Sunny D, though.”

  He picked up the bottle. “Why, Jolie Chambers, I wouldn’t have taken you for a whiskey girl.”

  “Let’s just say it’s fantastic in hot cider.”

  He nodded with approval. “Nice.”

  “So, what’s your preference?”

  “For what, whiskey? Well, actually a Jameson guy. But honestly, whiskey is versatile like beer for me, so it’s all fun and games until you have a few too many.”

  Amused, I tried to picture Josh drunk. I just couldn’t. And because I couldn’t, I was more curious than ever. Maybe he was a filthy drunk. If he was dirty when he was sober, it was possible an inebriated Josh was even dirtier.

  “Went wine tasting with some clients last year,” he continued. “It was okay, but there was a small brewery room that I enjoyed taste testing even more. I wished they had other stuff too or more things to try, but it was cool enough. Ever been to a barrel room?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, but sounds fascinating.”

  “It kinda is. If I had more time, I’d probably tour distilleries and become an alcoholic.”

  In awe, I just stared at this guy. He was finishing the ginger chicken, so I finished my noodles. It was an intriguing combination of old and new. The old being Thai food—which we apparently both still loved—the new being all the grownup behavior, i.e., alcohol.

  I giggled to myself. We were grownups. Grown. Ups. Why did that sound so stupid but so funny? It was the wine. The wine was doing the thinking for me. I’d told myself I was done two sips ago, but I’d mechanically finished off the second glass and poured another.

  And I was starting to feel it.

  A giggle slipped out accidentally, and Josh cocked an eyebrow at me. Which made me snicker again.

  “Okay, someone has reached her limit.” He smiled, leaning back onto his hands, watching me.