by Rica Grayson
Trouble Next Door
Sweet Fortuity Book 2
Rica Grayson
Contents
1. Pizza Thief
2. War’s On
3. Mortal Enemy
4. Bets
5. Pancakes Next Door
6. Dancing With The Enemy
7. Things That Break
8. Operation Have Fun and Let Loose
9. Better Than a Hundred-dollar Bouquet
10. Maybe Friends
11. Absence Makes The Heart Wish It Grew an Arm, So It Can Do Some Damage
12. Back To Square One
13. Charlie
14. The Best Laid Plans
15. Unwelcome Visitor
16. Stranger
17. The Family You Choose
18. Fallen
19. And Then It Was All A Dream
20. Greatest Fear
21. Priceless Gift
22. Night and Day
23. Epilogue
Also by Rica Grayson
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Rica Grayson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Wicked Good Book Covers.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Any use of company or product names is only used for literary effect. All trademarks and copyrights belong to their respective owners.
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To my sister and my best friend—
Thank you.
Chapter One
Pizza Thief
Over seven billion people in the world, and it only took one asshole to piss you off.
Said asshole was why I was lying awake on a Saturday, a day off I gave myself, wanting nothing more than some shut-eye. It was getting harder to do by the minute.
The first time I heard the sound, I thought it sounded like a dying pig. I told myself it would go away. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but it did happen, and it never lasted more than a couple of seconds.
I tossed and turned. I put my pillows over my ears—as close as I could get without stuffing it in anyway—trying to block the sound. I even put my headphones on, but it felt like the two sounds were vying for my undivided attention. After ten minutes—what felt like the longest, most excruciating ten minutes of my life—it was proving to be an exercise in futility.
I wasn’t going to rummage through my drawers to find my earplugs at one-thirty in the morning. Besides, I wasn’t sure I still had them anyway.
Deciding sleep was impossible at this point, I shoved my covers aside and got up.
In the corner of my room between my bedroom door and the wall was a baseball bat my uncle gave me when I was younger. I didn’t play anymore, but I hadn’t had a chance to stow it away somewhere else. I didn’t think he gave it to me with this purpose in mind, though. But right now it seemed like it was trying to give me a message, because it was the perfect opportunity to use it.
I got out of my apartment building in two minutes. I located my target in less than one.
As soon as I made it there, I got ready. I put the bat between my knees and cracked my knuckles. Anticipating the sweet crash I’d been longing to do since I first heard the teeth-gnashing sound, I swung back both my arms, and—
Two arms halted my progress.
I struggled to break free, to no avail.
I moved my head a little to see who it was. “Hi, Tommy," I tried to say casually.
He was a local officer, looking every bit serious about stopping me. Actually, he usually seemed really serious about everything.
“Whoa, Sierra, calm down."
“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t smash this beat up, sad, sorry excuse for a car,” I snarled, struggling to break free. This fucker was disturbing my precious, priceless sleep, and it needed to die.
“Because it’s illegal.” I heard him sigh. His grip didn’t loosen.
My head was going to explode. “Then turn it off!”
“We have to wait for its owner to arrive. I’m here to ensure there’s no property damage.”
“It deserves a little damage for what it’s doing to my brain cells.”
He didn’t understand the agony.
With a calming voice that did nothing to soothe me, he said, “I’m sure the owner will be back very soon.”
“Sure, huh? Did the person call you? Tell you personally? Sign an oath with their blood? Because if the person didn’t,” I said, wanting him to understand, “there’s no guarantee there will be a follow through.”
He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t really hear. He must’ve sensed that I lost fight, because he loosened his hold on me. “If you hit this car, I’m gonna have to arrest you. We clear?”
“Crystal,” I replied, annoyed at him now.
He let me go.
“By the way, I didn’t know you changed your profession,” I added, grimacing.
“Good night, Sierra,” he breathed out, as if he was holding onto his last bit of patience.
“It’s two in the morning,” I pointed out as I headed back.
He gave me a pointed look before he took earplugs from his pocket, and put them back in his ears. He stood there unmoving, like the car’s own personal bodyguard.
I climbed back up the stairs, my steps heavy. I was fairly sure I was dying a little inside. When the owner came home, I would rip the person a new one.
Pat, an elderly lady, lived a floor below me. She already had her head sticking out. She did a salute. I returned it.
“Grill him for me,” she said quietly.
Him?
Oh, what did it really matter?
I didn’t hold back my smile as I replied, “With pleasure.”
I dozed off for a bit. Then I woke up again, alert and aware of the sound. Unable to fall asleep again, I went to the kitchen to fill myself a glass of milk. I went back to my room, lifting up my laptop lid. I refreshed my email page, wondering if a client responded to a question I’d asked earlier. No new messages.
With growing disappointment, I was about to fall back down to bed when the loud, grating sound abruptly stopped.
There it was—sweet, blessed silence. I could hardly believe it.
It seemed too quiet now. The unusual silence was disturbed by a distinct noise. Not particularly loud, but familiar and recognizable to my ears in my three years of living here. I heard the jangle of keys outside the door, followed by the sound of it twisting inside a slot.
Aha. Gotcha.
I parted the blinds with a finger, and peered out the window. I saw the faint outline of a man standing at the entryway, about to enter the building. Perfect.
When I heard the door shut, I immediately slipped on a sweater and waited, a hip leaning over my doorway.
He was tall. Much taller than he looked from the view up in my room. Granted, being five-foot three meant most people were taller than me, unless I wore those stupid high heels. Still, though.
And as he nearly made it our level, I was beginning to see the complete picture.
Rumpled clothes, but a steady, confident stride. He was walking up the stairs, two at a time. I don’t think he even noticed me, never mind that I was out for blood, arms folded over my chest.
W
hen his head tilted up a little, I finally saw what he looked like, and I whistled low. He had a square jaw and wore a day-old stubble, and it only served to give him a rugged look that made him damn sexy. The weariness etched on his face did nothing to dispel the image it conjured in my mind—me tangled up in bed with him, and the feel of his lips, his skin against mine. I shivered.
I was not weak. I needed a clear head to deal with this. Sexy men, sleeplessness, and headache-inducing car alarms were all a little too much at the moment.
I cleared my throat and drawled, “You may not realize it’s kinda early, lover boy, but some people do want to sleep.”
As if he just broke off some kind of internal debate, his unfocused eyes cleared, and they went right to me.
He blinked slowly, and as if just taking me in for the first time, he turned the charm on. With half-lidded eyes and a smile that put a sparkle in them, he replied, “Hey, neighbor.”
Oh. Hell.
His focus on me, his voice, smooth and seductive, was far more devastating than watching him, catching him unaware.
I nearly hated him on sight.
He was having a good time the whole night, and he came back thinking he could score. Again. What, last night didn’t tire him out? Geez.
I shot him a glare, refusing to be drawn by this unexpected, stupid, misguided attraction. “Your car alarm’s been ringing. For two hours.”
He winced, the smile immediately dropping. “Sorry about that. Tried to get here as fast as I could.”
He looked genuinely apologetic. Except he didn’t offer me a remotely acceptable reason. He didn’t offer me a reason, period. Not that it was really my business. I just thought it might’ve worked a little to appease me, and maybe a reason that could help me accept why I had to suffer two hours of the torture.
“Right. Well, if it happens again, my hand might just accidentally slip." I pasted on a smile.
His eyes swung to the bat I held in my hands, and I thought I saw mirth flash in those eyes, and his lips curve up just a little. He didn’t look convinced that I could do some actual damage. Well, we all knew what happened with the word assume.
“Looking forward to seeing more of you,” he drawled. The mere thought of it was already maddening.
I didn’t give him a reply, because I was already walking back inside, and by the time he uttered the last word, my door clicked shut.
The second time I clashed with my neighbor, he made me his mortal enemy—he just didn’t know it yet. Or maybe he knew and he just didn’t care.
It was a quiet Sunday night, I was tired, and I wanted pizza. I dialed the phone, chose a barbecue-flavored one, and waited for what seemed like forever. I opened my laptop and loaded a cooking show. It did help me, but nothing beat real practice.
They were making some kind of Thai curry. I watched it with intense focus, making sure I’d do the exact same thing the next time I attempted making one.
When the familiar ringing came, I jumped up excitedly.
Only my door didn’t ring, it was from his door. Disappointment swept through me. Then there was silence from his end. He didn’t even bother going back in, because I didn’t hear his door shut at all. I rushed to my front door and opened it just slightly, my head peeking out.
He looked at me, his lips tugging up, amused.
“Did you order pizza too?” I asked him, suspicious.
He shrugged. “No.”
My blood boiled. “That’s my pizza.”
He raised a brow. “I paid for it.”
I could smell the cheese from here. My mouth watered.
“Well, I ordered it,” I pressed, completely opening the door and stepping out. My hands were already reaching for it before I could stop myself. It was the lure of the pizza. It was calling my name. “And here, take my money.” I shoved a wad of bills towards him, but they only drifted to the floor. He didn't make a move to take them.
To my horror, he opened the box, took a slice and bit in.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked.
I will kill him. Slowly. Painfully.
He paid me no attention. “I never got your name,” he said after taking the first bite.
The cheese. The ham. The barbecue sauce.
I glowered at him. If he noticed the hostile vibes I was sending him, he remained unaffected.
“That’s because I never told you,” I replied acidly.
“Now would be a good time to tell me. Mmm. Fuck me, this is good.” He sounded surprised.
My eye twitched. “Of course it’s good, it’s the Denvers’.”
He was holding my pizza hostage. He didn’t know what he was in for.
He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for something.
“You can’t be serious,” I said as realization struck me.
That smug smile finally stretched wide on his face. It was distractingly gorgeous and vexing. It should be illegal. “I’m very serious.”
If he held my pizza hostage only to get my name, then he must've wanted it bad. Therefore, I wasn’t going to tell him.
Or that was my logic anyway.
I glowered at him. “I’m ordering another pizza,” I told him slowly. “I’m going to sit here outside, making sure you never touch it. And I’m never speaking to you again.”
Chapter Two
War’s On
I started my plan of attack the next day.
After the stunt he pulled yesterday, I was going to make him suffer. I was already looking forward to it. I had a plan.
I plugged my iPod on my dock. One that happened to have two stereo speakers. We used it once for a party, which worked pretty well. I searched my playlist, found the absolute gem of the song I once detested, and pressed play. The song just happened to be “The Song That Never Ends”. I grabbed my laundry basket and went downstairs to do my laundry, all the while wearing a smile on my face.
I found him waiting for me outside the laundry door. I tried not to laugh at his disgruntled expression. It was proving hard. I glanced at my phone quickly. It took him ten minutes. That was fast.
He wore a deep scowl. “Turn. It. Off.”
Perfect. I finally did something to wipe the smile off.
“Turn what off?” I feigned confusion.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “That sound. Don’t even pretend you don’t know.”
“I’m just here, doing my laundry and you come and pester me about something completely out of left field.”
“It’s coming from your side.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“It’s coming from your side,” he repeated.
“If you say so.”
“I know so.”
I gathered the wet clothes and placed them in my basket. Then I carried it so I could hang it on the clothesline. He followed me the whole way.
He tried a different tactic. “What’s your hang-up with me?”
“I’ve got no hang-ups with you.”
“Then why won’t you tell me your name?” he challenged.
I set my basket down, a hand on my hip. “I don’t give my name to strangers. Especially strangers that leave their car alarm unattended for two hours. I don’t think you have any idea the kind of torture that does to the brain. And especially to strangers who steal my pizza. Pizza is sacred. Pizza is life. War is on.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “I already apologized for that. You could’ve just told me your name and the pizza would’ve been yours. You want war, sweetheart?” he said, drawing closer. I could feel his breath against my cheek. “I’ll give you what you want. By the way,” he added, a smile fighting its way onto his face. “You spoke to me again.”
I hate him.
I thought this as I was chopping pieces of chili and ginger. And when I squeezed the half of my lemon forcefully, I might’ve pictured his face in my mind a bit.
I was trying to make my own version of beef curry. Key word, trying. Try and try until you succeed, right? This was goi
ng to be my new masterpiece, since I finally nailed down the proper way to cook pasta.
Damn the man, and I didn’t even know his name.
But then, he didn’t know mine either, so we were on the same footing, right?
I just cooked the beef, put in a few other spices, and I let it simmer.
I wasn’t prepared for the knock on my door sometime later. I still held the ladle in my hand, a little annoyed at the interruption.
My neighbor stood outside my door, loose shorts and a wife-beater, barefoot. He looked pissed. “I’m trying to eat my own dinner.”
“Okay…?” I looked at him rather impatiently, and slightly confused. What, did he want an invite? I had to eat dinner too.
“Something’s burning. What the hell are you even making?”
“Nothing’s burning.” My cheeks felt hot. Was he insulting my cooking? Or implying I was incapable of a proper job of it? He hadn’t even tasted it.
“Whatever makes you sleep at night, sweetheart.”
Yes, yes he was. The last word didn’t even sound remotely affectionate.
“Fuck you,” I said, my temper rising. “And if you call me that one more time—”
A smirk spread on his face. “That’s still dripping, by the way.” His eyes were on my ladle.
I saw that my ladle was dripping. I held it up so it didn’t drip any more. My eyes narrowed and I leaned forward.
“Yeah, just insult my cooking. Can you even do any better?” I challenged.
His eyes gleamed, but he didn't back down, and damn, it wasn’t fair that God gave him that kind of face. “Want to come over and find out?”
Did he just…?
“No, thank you,” I said, saccharine sweet. Yep, arrogant ass. Did he think I was so easy?
“That’s too bad,” he taunted, the smile still there. Then his eyes drifted down a little to my chest. “Good night, sweetheart. And turn that stove off, before it causes any permanent damage.”
His eyes went back up to my face. And then I decided I had enough.
