by Penny Wylder
Big Man Next Door
Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
Sign up HERE!
Contents
More Must Reads by Penny Wylder
1. Heather
2. Ian
3. Heather
4. Ian
5. Heather
6. Ian
7. Heather
8. Ian
9. Heather
10. Ian
11. Heather
12. Ian
Epilogue
More Must Reads by Penny Wylder
Visit my website for a full list of my books!
1
Heather
Welcome to Memphis.
The sign on the highway ignites my soul, and I smile to myself as I take the exit into the city. It took nine hours, with a few wrong turns, and a couple of stops along the way to get here from my small hometown of Dublin, Georgia.
I've never been to a big city, not like this. Not with all the lights, the music scene, the history. Elvis, Johnny Cash, Otis Redding, B.B. King, Ann Peebles. . . The list goes on.
A shiver of excitement runs down my spine as the city grows closer. I want what they all had, I want to feel the joy of being discovered, to feel the rush of being on a stage and having an audience fixated on you.
I want it so damn bad.
I'm not naive, I know there are always huge risks when you decide to jump into something feet first, but I can't ignore the drive I feel inside to be here. I'm warm all over, like I'm returning home from being away. For lack of better words, it feels right.
This is it. This is my chance.
The lights on the Hernando de Soto Bridge shine big and bright. I'm in awe, leaning over the steering wheel, and looking up as I cross into this new chapter of my life.
I'm doing this, I'm really doing this.
My stomach flutters with a million butterflies as I grip the steering wheel tightly. There's a mix of nervousness with the unknown, and in the same breath, excitement of a new beginning.
The GPS voice comes alive, guiding me off the bridge and toward the apartment I rented online. The buildings tower over me, and the glow of neon lights causes my body to buzz from head to toe.
It's like nothing I've ever seen before.
The sidewalks are packed with people walking, and it seems like everyone is laughing, smiling, having a good time. I love the energy and vibe instantly.
The Blues Hall is on my right, and just ahead is BB King's Blues Club. These places are legendary, so many incredible names played here, were discovered here, and that's exactly what I'm setting out to do, too.
This is my dream, it's where I belong. I've always felt it inside me. No matter how much I thought about going to college, and pursuing other paths, but I could never push music out of my life.
For two years I studied accounting at community college, but not once did I ever feel like I do when I hold a guitar. Holding a guitar feels natural, my lips hovering above a microphone feels perfect.
Eventually this desire, this need to play for everyone to see, took over, and I uprooted my life to follow my dream.
I won't regret this. I'm doing the right thing.
Following the directions, the city lights start to fade, and the buildings become darker. Dimmer. Smaller in the rear-view mirror. The further away I get from the sparkling streets of blues, rock, and soul, the grimmer things around me look.
Pulling down a small, one-way street, the GPS tells me I'm at my destination. Parking the car in the lot, I look up at the building confused.
This doesn't look anything like the pictures online. . .
Pulling out my phone, I flip through the images the realtor sent me, and compare them. They look completely different. What I have on my phone isn't even close to what I'm looking at.
I thought I was renting a vintage, turn of the century apartment, with lots of character. A pretty, blue double door with iron hinges. Broad, front steps, and a cobble stone driveway. Arched windows with a high-pitched roof.
Except, what I see is nothing like the pictures I'm scrolling through. There are no full, green bushes or cute arched windows that open in the center like a villa in Italy. There isn't a cobblestone walkway or a front door that even resembles the one in the picture.
Instead, I'm met with old brick and cracked mortar, crooked shutters and ivy growing like spider webs up the side of the building. It's dark, dismal, and I regret trusting the internet instantly.
It's only temporary, Heather.
Climbing out my car, I gather a few things from the back seat and head inside. It's getting late. I've been driving for hours, and I already paid for the first and last month's rent before even getting here. The lease was signed via email, so I can't back out of this now. I can't afford to lose all that money or go anywhere else.
Standing at the front door, I look up, sucking in a sad breath. The light fixture is filled with dead bugs, and giant cobwebs streak the walls. Cringing to myself, I swallow the lump in my throat, and hold back the tears that are bubbling over my eyes.
I should have done better research. There's no one else to blame but myself.
I'm on the second floor, unit three. Taking the key from my pocket, I pull the front door open. The door swings out fast, slamming against the wall. It crashes loudly, causing my shoulders to jerk up to my ears.
Reaching out, I grip the handle and close the door behind me as I step inside. Standing in the entryway, the light flickers on and off as it buzzes like a bug zapper at night.
I'm smacked in the face with the scent of damp basement. It reminds me of my grandmother's attic back home. It's musty, the air is warm and thick, and it's a little hard to breathe.
Gripping the railing, it's sticky against my palm. I let go quickly and wipe my hand on my thigh. The stairs creek, rocking under my feet as I climb them to the second floor.
This is how most horror movies start. . .
I half expect a murderer to step out from around the corner with a chainsaw. I stop on the stairs as my anxiety flares, but quickly laugh it off. I'm being ridiculous. This is the life of a someone starting out at the bottom.
I'm here with nothing but hope. Hope that I'll be able to make some money with my music. Hope that people will enjoy my voice. Hope that I'll be in the right place at the right time, and this will all be worth it in the end.
It doesn't matter where I am, or what this place looks like, I'm here. This is all that matters. I'm here. In Nashville! And I'm thankful I've made it this far. Leaving home was the first step, now it's time to build new bridges.
Unlocking my door, I push it open. It isn't any better inside the apartment than in the hallway. The wallpaper is peeling away like dead skin, and there are cracks through the plaster in the ceiling. The smell of basement is replaced with sour, old food. A stained, tan carpet covers the floor in the living room, the linoleum in the kitchen is lifted and some squares are missing completely.
There's a worn blue couch against the wall, and a small coffee table that's leaning to one side. The kitchen is directly off the living room, with a porcelain sink, and a small fridge. The veneer countertops are peppered with burn marks, and a few of the cupboard doors are hanging off.
Dropping my s
tuff on the floor, I make a few more trips back and forth to my car to grab the rest of what I brought. Sweat is beading up on my forehead, and I'm exhausted as I set a box of dishes on the counter. Wiping the back of my wrist across my forehead, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out, it's my sister Nina. “Hey, you're still up? Isn't it past your bedtime?”
“Ha ha,” she says, giggling. “Are you there? Did you make it okay?”
“Yeah, I actually just got here.”
“Aw, I miss you already, Hay.” Nina sighs loudly, and I can picture the pout on her face.
“It's been half a day, Nina, you saw me before I left. Stalker much?”
“I know, I know, it's just. . . who am I going to talk to now when I need to vent about Dean? Hm?”
“Me. I'm only a phone call away. You're acting like I moved to a new planet or something.”
“You might as well have.” She chuckles. “So, how is it? How's the apartment?”
Looking around at the old and weathered room, I say, “It's pretty good, a little touch of Heather, and it'll be home.”
I lie. I know if I tell her it looks like a scene from The Shining, she'll come and bring me home.
“Good, I'm glad.”
“How's Mom?” I ask. Resting the phone between my ear and shoulder, I sort through some of the boxes.
“You know Mom, she's doing her normal, “shit don't bother me attitude.””
“Yeah, I know how she gets. She did the same thing when you went to camp for a month, and when you moved in with Dean.”
“Yeah, she's not one to act vulnerable.” Nina laughs again, then sighs into the receiver. “All right, well I just wanted to make sure you got there okay. I'm sure you have a lot to do.”
“Thanks, Nina. I'm really tired, it's been a long day.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up. Plopping onto the couch, I lay my head back. I know I should clean this entire couch before ever sitting on it, but I need to sit down. My eyes are heavy, and it's getting hard to keep them open.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Jerking upright, I'm startled awake. There's a fog covering my brain, and I'm trying to grasp where I am, and what's going on.
Boom! Boom! Boom! The pounding on the door rattles the light fixture above my head.
Groggy and half awake, I rub my eyes as I move to the door. Pressing my eye to the peep hole, I can't see anyone. The small window is dirty and covered in a yellow film.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“A man who has to be at work in twenty minutes and needs to go.” His tone is deep, and annoyed.
“I'm sorry, who?”
“Look, you're parked behind me. I need you to move your damn car right now.” There's no hiding the anger in his voice. I pissed this man off.
Already starting off on a good foot, Heather.
“I'm sorry, what?” Cracking the door open, I inhale a sharp breath as I'm met with a wall of a man.
My eyes move up his broad chest and wide shoulders. With a chiseled jaw, his lips are full, and his jet-black hair is tousled to perfection. But his eyes, his eyes are bright blue, as blue as the ocean on a sunny day.
I didn't expect this. He's hot as hell, and I'm a mess right now.
“What's wrong?” I ask, trying not to stare too much at him.
“You're really going to make me say it again?” He growls under his breath and rolls his eyes. “You are blocking me, and I don't have time to sit around and wait for you. You need to go move your car.” His eyes dance around my face, moving down my neck, and lingering on my chest. “Do you want me to spell it out for you too?”
Glancing down, I realize my top has shifted and my breast is almost hanging out of my shirt. The man's eyes stay on my chest, causing me to cover myself protectively, and take a step back.
“You don't have to be a jerk about it. I'll go grab my keys.”
“Yeah, well, the world isn't nice, get used to it. I don't have all day to wait around for you.”
“All right, I'm moving. Being a dick about it won't make it happen any faster.” Getting my keys off the counter, I move toward him, and he takes a step to the side to let me by.
“Obviously, you have no regard for other people. You just parked in the middle of the driveway as if you're the only one here.”
“I didn't mea—” Cutting myself off, I shake my head. “You know what, I don't have to explain myself to you.”
“I'm sorry, have you lived here for years?” He cocks a brow as we head outside, and his voice is peppered with sarcasm. “Ohh, that's right, the answer is no, you haven't.”
“Screw you,” I snap as I climb into my car and slam my door shut.
The man gets into a dark blue truck, giving me an angry scowl. Moving my car, he hits the gas hard, and the truck flies backwards. His brake lights shine brightly, causing me to squint. The truck jerks forward, and the tires spin, kicking pebbles up as he speeds off.
Clenching my steering wheel, I park in a spot to the side, my teeth grinding against each other.
Who the hell does that guy think he is?
He doesn't own the building. He isn't in charge, and he certainly doesn't have the right to treat me like I need to jump if he demands it.
But he is fucking hot. . .
I could stare at him all day, so long as his mouth is shut.
2
Ian
Her hair, her eyes, her full lips and those luscious curves. . .
Those fucking lips. The second I laid eyes on her, all I could do was picture those lips wrapping my cock as I stuff myself so far in her mouth she gags.
I can't shake her from my head. She opened the door and I almost fell over. My chest grew tight, my dick thickened, and my imagination instantly went to thoughts of fucking this beauty.
How did she end up here?
The small blonde across the hall, with long curls my fingers itched to grab, and big green eyes with lashes that fan her lids like the tail of a peacock, doesn't belong here. This isn't the neighborhood of wholesome families and people who will help you if your car breaks down.
The last few tenants that lived across from me were real gems. A junky who wore track lines like a fashion statement, a couple of drunk college kids who didn't know the meaning of sleep, and one arsonist who tried to burn the fucking building down.
Those are the types of people that I expect to rent a shit-hole apartment like this, not an innocent girl like her. I could see it instantly in her face. The delicate princess who gets her nails done and is afraid of the dark. The cute twang in her voice is enough to know she's a southern bell in over her head.
This isn't the best part of the city, which is why the rent is so cheap, and it draws the wrong type of crowd. I don't give two shits about who lives across from me because I can handle my own, but a girl like her, obviously small town, where neighbors borrow cups of sugar and people know you by name, she's worlds away from where she belongs.
Driving to work in a trance, my brain is so hung up on this girl. She's fucking beautiful, too fucking beautiful. She caught me staring at her tits, but I couldn't help it, they were about to fall out of her shirt.
My mind starts to go wild again, wondering how thick her nipples are, if she'll shiver as my teeth graze and nibble her tender skin. Does she like it rough or gentle? Does she have a wild side that only comes out in the bedroom?
I can try to find out. Give her a night she'll remember.
I'll run my tongue all over her body. Starting at her throat, I'll slowly move down, licking between her tits until I hit her belly. Teasing the shit out of her could be fun. Her body will tremble the closer I get. My warm tongue will taste her skin all the way down her thighs until I hit her sweet pussy.
I'm fucking hard just thinking about it. Shifting in the seat, I adjust my dick so it doesn't get bit by my zipper. Darting my eyes to the clock, I realize I'm late. Really late.
Fuck.
Forcing the girl out of my head, I hi
t the gas hard, weaving between cars to get to work. Whipping the car around the corner and into the dirt parking lot, the sand kicks up hard, spraying outward. It pings off the other trucks like bells, and I'm sure my boss won't be happy about it.
Climbing out of my car, Grey is standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, and an angry scowl on his face. He's not even trying to hide how pissed he is, not that he's ever really been afraid to tell me exactly how he feels.
“You're fucking late,” he barks across the yard. “And don't drive like an asshole. If you fuck up the trucks, it's coming out of your pay.”
“Yeah, so fucking sue me.”
“Don't fucking start, Ian, I'm not in the mood today.”
My boss. . . who's also my brother. It's a lovely combo.
People say you should never work with family, and they're right for the most part. My brother and I have had our issues. Luckily, he knows I do a good job. I'm the best guy here.
And we trust each other, there's nothing more important than that.
“What's wrong now? Did Angela put you in the doghouse? Is she not fucking you anymore?”
Angela has been Grey's friend with benefits for years, but she likes to hold out on him if he's been a dick. Which, he does have a history of. He's a repeat offender.
“Fuck off, Ian.” He turns and heads inside the trailer that we use as the office for our construction company. “We needed to finish this remodel two weeks ago. Mr. Houston isn't happy.”
The trailer stairs creak as I climb them. The structure is old. We got it at an auction a few years back and turned it into our office. The floors are just plywood, and the walls are covered in that fake paneling shit that was really popular in the eighties.
