The Other Guy: A Textdoor Neighbor Romance

by Van Wyk, Jennifer

  Four? Seriously. I need to recruit this fucker to join my gym and start boxing in our league.

  Me: Good? I thought you said fantastic.

  16: Geesh. I didn’t realize you needed your ego stroked so much.

  16: Scratch that. I remember how much you like the stroking of things.

  I laugh out loud at her quick wit.

  Me: You have a good memory.

  16: Certain things you don’t want to forget.

  Me: I aim to please.

  16: You aimed well. Hit the target every time.

  I have no idea if she’s trying to make a little bit of sexual innuendo here. Either way, it causes me to grin. Again. I feel like an idiot, staring at my phone with a broad smile on my face. Thank goodness I live alone and no one’s here to witness this.

  Me: Why, thank you. Or maybe you’re welcome is more appropriate.

  16: Probably both. Lol

  I remove my cap, run a hand through my hair and replace it. Bill curved, pulled down low. I’ve worn this cap for over a decade and it’s perfect. Frayed at the bill, the once black now faded to a dark gray cap probably needs to be thrown away but that’ll never happen.

  Me: Well then, glad I could be of service.

  16: Maybe I’ll see you around?

  Me: Yeah. Maybe.

  16: Have a good weekend.

  What? That’s it? I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed that she didn’t continue texting with me.

  Me: You, too.

  I wait for those three bubbles to pop up again but they never do. I eat the last of my boring dinner and turn on Netflix. Sighing, I know I need to do something with my life that includes more than eating on my couch while I binge watch shows or play video games. That is, when I’m not at the gym.

  The problem, though, is that I’m at a weird stage. Most of my friends have families. That’s not right. Not most. All. All of them. I’m the only single guy in my group of friends as well as my family and I feel like a dipshit begging them to hang out with me. There are members of the gym who are single, but most are quite a bit younger than me or the only thing we have in common is boxing.

  Fuck it.

  I’m better than this.

  I turn off the TV, take a quick shower, and throw on a pair of faded jeans and a dark green plaid flannel. After lacing up my dark brown boots and throwing on my ball cap, I tuck my phone into my front pocket and head out. There’s one bar in our town and even if none of my close friends are hanging out there, I have no doubt that I’ll know at least a few people. Benefits of small town life.

  It takes me only ten minutes to drive from my house across town to The Landing. I back my raised-up four-door Jeep Wrangler into a parking spot so it’s easier when I leave, which will probably be after only a single drink, and head inside.

  The music is loud but not obnoxiously so.

  The crowd is heavy but not so much that no one can move around.

  And best of all, everyone seems to be happy.

  The Landing is actually one of my favorite places in town. When I go out, I mean. Lately, I’ve fallen in love with my couch. Not in the lazy way, but in a comfortable being with myself way. It’s not a bad thing — I love being home. I’m content there. But is just being content enough? I’m starting to think it isn’t.

  I slide onto a stool at the bar and tip my head up to the owner, motioning toward my favorite beer that he has on tap. With a quick nod, he finishes whatever order he’s working on and flips an empty glass under the tap and pours me a beer. Kyle has been around since I was a kid. He was the first person to kick me out of a bar when I was underage and the first one to serve me a beer when I was finally legal. I don’t think he ever takes a day off or goes on a vacation. He’ll probably die here. In his early 60s, he still bartends most nights and serves customers regularly. He never married. Never had kids. He’s been married to his job his entire life.

  I stare at him, wondering if that’s me in the next thirty years. He doesn’t seem unhappy or lonely, though that could be because he’s always surrounded by a crowd of people.

  “Here ya go.”

  “Thanks, Kyle.”

  “Whatchya doin’ in here tonight, Jack?”

  I shrug, take a long drink of the ice cold honey brew he slides my way, and set the beer back down on the bar. Kyle’s leaning over, hands spread wide. For a man in his 60s, he’s in pretty good shape. Comes to the gym once in a while and spars with a few of the guys. They take it easy on him, for the most part, which always fuels him up, not wanting to be treated differently just because he’s older. But I’ve seen him lay out a kid or two by knowing just the right time and place to lay a punch.

  “Bored at home. Figured I’d get my ass off the couch for a night and be in the land of the living.”

  “Glad you joined us.”

  “Us? Like you and the entire room full of customers?” I smirk but he’s not watching me. He’s looking across the room.

  “My niece Sierra is here visiting.” With a jerk of his head, he motions to a woman standing by one of the pool tables. Her back is to me, long dark hair pulled into a ponytail that still damn near reaches her ass, which even from where I’m sitting looks full and round and perfect.

  I turn back to Kyle and raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a niece.”

  “Only niece, to be exact. She’s my brother’s daughter. Only family I’d claim as my own.”

  “Wow, who knew you had a family,” I joke, taking another long drink. “What’s she doing here?”

  He looks over at her, leaning harder onto the bar as he says quietly. “She needed a place to stay for a while. Got here about a week ago.”

  I study Kyle, noticing that he seems protective over his niece and I’m not sure if it’s because of her being family or something else entirely. Either way, I let it go. I’m not the bartender here to listen. That’s his job.

  “Having fun with her?”

  The corner of his mouth ticks up and he crosses his thick tattooed arms over his chest, resting them on the little bit of extra weight he carries around his gut. “She’s a handful.”

  I laugh as an eruption of cheers sounds behind me from the direction where Sierra is playing pool. I have no doubt that Kyle having a younger woman (or anyone, for that matter) live with him for any amount of time would be different for him.

  “She’s hustling those dumbasses and they don’t even care because they keep staring at her ass and tits. Stupid fuckers.” His voice holds both irritation and pride.

  Now I really laugh. “Uncle Papa bear is a little protective, huh?”

  “If I’m not, who would be?”

  Before I have the chance to ask where her dad is, he’s called away by another customer. My phone buzzes with a text and I pull it out of my pocket, feeling like a giant loser for sitting in a bar by myself and focusing on my phone.

  16: I’m going to sound clingy and I swear that’s not me. However, I’m hanging out with friends tonight and we were wondering if you were up for a little… well, use your imagination.

  Holy shit.

  Is she asking for him to be in a threesome or foursome or however many people she’s hanging out with? This guy. I can’t decide if I hate him or am jealous of him. Maybe a little of both. Most definitely, actually.

  I don’t know what to do here. Usually the women ask for a repeat a few times and I turn them down and eventually explain that I’m not interested in a relationship. However, I have a feeling that if I don’t reply, she’s going to keep texting and wondering what kind of guy turns down sex with a room full of women. At least that’s where my imagination is heading.

  Because I can’t help myself and my curiosity wins, I type out:

  Me: Just how many friends are we talking?

  16: Have I piqued your curiosity?

  Me: Obviously, temptress.

  16: Temptress? Moi? **cheeky grin

  Me: Yes, you.

  16: So? What’s the answer?

&nbs
p; I’m not a prude but I’ve never been with more than one woman at a time, even if the offer was being extended to me and not Toolbag, I’d likely be turning her down. Or at the very least admittedly a little nervous and about to jizz in my pants with excitement. That’d be embarrassing.

  Me: Wish I could but I’ve got an early morning so I’m in for the night.

  16: Funny.

  Me: What is?

  16: I’m staring at you right now and you’re chatting it up with a red head and NOT texting me.

  Fuck.

  I scrub a hand down my face and can’t help the chuckle that escapes. I knew this would probably happen eventually. Or at least some version of it. I just didn’t expect it to happen with 16.

  “What’s got you laughing?” Kyle asks, sliding a beer to the customer next to me.

  “Nothin’. Just… you don’t even want to know. The shit that happens to me, man.”

  He laughs heartily, throwing his head back. “Well, now you gotta tell me.”

  “All right. Fine. You heard anything about number neighbors?”

  He pulls a face that looks like he just ate something sour. “What the fuck is that?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. Kyle probably doesn’t even own a smart phone, much less pay attention to what is happening in the social world.

  “Uncle Kyle, you are so out of touch, you know that?” Kyle’s niece sidles up next to him, kisses his cheek, and helps herself to a draft beer.

  “Thank God for that,” he jokes. “Jack, this is Sierra. Sierra, Jack.”

  I extend a hand across the bar top and we shake, hers firm and confident, matching my own. Her beauty doesn’t go unnoticed, not in any way, but I have enough respect for Kyle to not be a douche and stare at her with my tongue hanging out.

  My phone buzzes alerting me of another text but I ignore it for a few seconds. I have no idea what to say.

  “Hi, Jack. Nice to meet ya.”

  “Same.”

  “So tell me about this number neighbor thing.” She leans a hip against the bar and takes a sip of her beer. Her eyes are twinkling and smile is wide. I glance at Kyle and back to Sierra, hardly able to tear my eyes away from her. Lashes so long and thick they look like they weigh her deep brown eyes down. Her fingernails are cut short and painted a shiny black and her lips are cherry red. She’s wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt that has the words Witch, please printed on the front and if I’m not mistaken, she’s not wearing a bra by the way I’m seeing her tits bounce and her nipples poking at the thin fabric. I drag my gaze lower to a pair of black skinny jeans and when she spins around to grab an orange off the back counter, I get a great view of her tight, firm ass confirming my earlier suspicions.

  Fuck.

  I just did a thorough checking out of her, exactly what I was trying not to do just seconds ago. I risk a glance at Kyle and see he’s staring at me with his eyebrows raised and a Really, fucker? expression on his face. I shrug, and actually mouth the word sorry to him. He rolls his eyes and moves down the line, helping another customer, leaving me alone with his niece, probably against his instincts.

  Not that he has anything to worry about with me. But I can’t help but look. No harm in that, right?

  “So?” Sierra’s voice pulls me away from my inner thoughts and back on her, which technically is where they were to begin with.

  “What?”

  “What’s the deal with the number thing?”

  She slices into an orange and squeezes the juice of one wedge into her beer, tosses it in the garbage (I assume or she just chucked it on the floor) then takes a long drink. Then she takes another orange slice and squeezes it into my glass without seeking permission. “Trust me. I keep telling Uncle Kyle that he needs to include an orange wedge with wheat beers but he’s old school and boring!” she shouts the word boring and he simply shakes his head. “Go on. Try it.”

  I take a sip, not wanting to tell her that I’ve had orange in my beer plenty of times and make a big showing of going “Mmm” and nodding my head in agreement with wide eyes like I’ve just tasted nirvana. Seriously, she acts like she just invented the wheel. Pretty sure orange in beer has been a thing for decades, but whatever. Let her believe she’s discovered it. Who am I to steal her joy?

  “Right?!” She’s smiling so wide that I can see a tiny speck of red lipstick on her bright white teeth which for some reason makes me chuckle. She’s a freaking mess. Spunky as hell, and even a little funny, even though I’m pretty sure she’s not trying to be.

  Another buzz of my phone pulls both of our attention to my phone.

  16: Going silent now?

  I glance up at Sierra and she raises a single dark eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. She’s not close enough to read the text which is good. Not that I have anything to hide.

  Me: No. Just trying to figure out how to explain this without me coming across like the asshole in this scenario.

  16: This oughta be good.

  Me: Well, you see…

  16: Pins and needles here.

  Me: Patience not your virtue, huh?

  “Is that your textdoor neighbor?” Sierra asks, excitement in her voice.

  I’d just taken a big drink of my beer which I now choke on. “Textdoor neighbor?” I ask, sputtering. I grab a napkin and wipe away the beer that’s dribbling down my chin.

  She shrugs, grinning. “Clever, right?”

  Kyle leans over, wraps his arm around Sierra’s shoulder. “Stick around. She’ll have you bending over in laughter.”

  “So… is it?”

  I glance up from my phone. “Uh. Kind of.”

  “Kind of? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re killing me here! Is this how you are with everyone? Only giving them a tiny little bit of info?” Sierra leans over and taps the counter then walks her fingers my way like she’s going to grab my phone from me. I tuck it against my chest.

  “Ah. Ah. Ah.”

  She pokes out her bottom lip, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

  “How would you know? You just met me!”

  “Well, you’re here drinking. Alone. On a Saturday night.” She pauses for dramatic effect then repeats lowly, “Alone.”

  I give her a look that she won’t understand because we just met, but I hope she sees that I mean to leave me alone. “I don’t see a gaggle of friends surrounding you.”

  Her eyes flare and she clicks her tongue, pointing at me. “Touché.”

  There’s a loud round of cheers that come from behind me and I turn to see a crowd gathered around the pool table. It makes me a little jealous that I’ve become so secluded that I’m not in the mix of friends like they are.

  I spin back around and watch Kyle mix a drink that looks like it has enough liquor in it to knock a Viking on his ass.

  “Do I have to beg to know what you’re talking about with this whole textdoor neighbor thing?”

  “You’re so nosy.”

  To that Sierra rolls her eyes. She leans over the bar and looks me in the eye. “Please tell me your story, Jack. I’m begging you.” Even throwing in batting her lashes, she smiles innocently.

  “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

  Her smile could only be defined as cheeky. And full of sass. “I’ve been accused of that a time or two.”

  Speaking of relentless, my phone chimes once again. This time I don’t try to hide anything from a nosy Sierra.

  16: Still waiting!

  “I like her.”

  I glance up at Sierra and smirk.

  Me: Fine. You wore me down.

  16: About freaking time!

  Me: Have you heard of Textdoor neighbors?

  “Hey! You stole my line!” She tries to grab my phone and I slap her hand away.

  “I told you it was funny. What’d you expect?”

  “No, you didn’t! You spilled beer down your chest because you were laughing.”

  “That’s basically telling you that it was funny. What more do you want?”

  �
�Say the words!”

  I ignore her and return to my phone.

  16: Textdoor neighbors. Ha! That’s funny.

  16: Yes. I assume you’re talking about number neighbors.

  16: Oh, shit! Did I text the wrong number?

  Me: Sort of.

  16: How is that a sort of? Either I did or I didn’t.

  Me: Depends on what you mean about a wrong number.

  16: So now you’re talking in riddles. Fun.

  16: **puts on my thinking cap

  Me: I’ll just put you out of your misery.

  “And mine! Mine, too! I’m so confused!” Sierra slaps the bar and moves closer so she can see my phone screen better.

  Me: You texted the right number. You were just given the wrong one. I’m his number neighbor.

  “Oh, shit. No way! The guy gave this girl your number? Wait, how did you know he is your number neighbor?”

  “Oh, it gets better.”

  “I can’t wait.” She’s rubbing her hands together in excitement.

  16: He gave me the wrong number? Not that I’m surprised but what an asshole!

  16: Wait. Are you his friend? How else would you know that you’re number neighbors?

  Me: That’s the shitty part. Let’s just say this wasn’t his first time.

  “Noooo! This has happened before?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Wait just a hot freaking second here. Sixteen is her name in your phone. Is that a clue?”

  “Yes?”

  “Holy shit! What’s wrong with this dude? And why do you let it continue?”

  16: Well, damn. That is shitty.

  Me: Sorry.

  16: Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning?

  “Do you realize how many questions I have?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Are you going to explain?”

  “To you or her?”

  “Me, of course!”

  Laughing, I type out:

  Me: Probably would have been smarter.

  16: I’m not sure how I feel about this.

  Me: If it makes you feel better, I’m sorry. I should have told you right after you first texted.

  “Damn right, you should have!”

  16: Yeah. You should have.

  “See? I knew I liked her.”

  I turn my phone over, not wanting more of the guilt that I’m feeling over letting the charade go on. It didn’t bother me at first but the more time has gone on, the more I’ve felt like a jerk about it.