Sext Addict: A Sexy Romantic Comedy Reverse Harem

by Virna DePaul

  I was attracted to everything about her, and all modesty aside, I knew she was attracted to me, too.

  Usually, she’d grab a treadmill or elliptical, but either way, she always chose a machine that gave her a clear view of my yoga studio. It was hard to miss how intently she watched me. I’d catch her every once in a while, and every time, she’d quickly look away, usually to check a convenient text on her phone. She was authentic, sweet, and interesting, but as much as she watched me during my classes, she was always gone when they were over.

  I’d been determined to find a way to catch up with her—employees couldn’t ask out the gym members, but we could chat with them, and hope they’d ask us out. Today, I’d caught one of the front desk attendants, Alfred, walking toward her and I’d totally lost track of what I was doing with a new student, a pretty girl wearing way too much perfume, asking me about private classes. What was Alfred talking to her about? Was he flirting? He had women crawling all over him, but maybe like me he saw everything the girl on the elliptical had to offer too.

  Jealousy had flared inside of me and considering I’d never even talked to her, it surprised me, the intensity of those feelings.

  When she went flying off the elliptical, I’d almost run out to check on her, but by then I’d been surrounded by several women in my class. I’d kept an eye on her though. Saw Alfred pointing to the front desk, and the girl get to her feet. She’d clearly been embarrassed, and not just because of the spill she’d taken. In that moment, I wanted so bad to comfort her. To tell her everything was going to be okay, but how could I do that? I didn’t even know her or what her situation was. I wanted to, though, and I started to excuse myself from my class, but it was too late.

  She gathered her things, moved toward the exit, and then, to my utter frustration, she was gone.

  Again.

  Chapter 2

  Tessa

  My gym membership card was gone.

  My credit card was maxed out.

  My bus card was empty.

  But hallelujah, praise the fettuccini gods, my loyalty card at the little Italian bistro around the corner from my apartment building was ready to be cashed in.

  To-go bowl of steaming, stomach-growl-inducing pasta in hand, I entered my apartment building in time to see my next door neighbor, Jamie, the same one I’d recently been fantasizing about having sex with me, Cade and Ellis, a grouchy, moody, asshole Irish drummer, step inside the elevator. I called out for him to hold said elevator, but the man clearly ignored me.

  After watching the doors close behind his tight ass and giving him a mental middle finger (I was afraid to drop the pasta if I did the real thing), I figured I’d do better to take the stairs, anyway. The rickety old elevator would have taken forever to return to the lobby and I didn’t want my pasta to get cold. Walking the five flights of stairs to my apartment would take less time, believe it or not. That’s how bad the elevator is.

  I concentrated on each step, trying to ignore the screaming pain in my elliptical-weary thighs by imagining the swirling of the fork around the pasta, the smell wafting to my nose, the bliss of that first bite, all of which were better than any orgasm any guy had ever given me.

  I was five steps away from the fifth floor when a sudden explosion of drums down the hallway startled me. The fright was just enough to make me lose my balance mid-step, and as I fell forward I reached out for the railing to keep myself upright. But in doing so, I sealed the fate of my only remaining happiness in the world.

  I watched in slow motion horror as the to-go bowl flipped over, bounced down two stairs, and popped open, spilling the entire contents of pasta.

  “No, no, no!” I cried, running to it as if I was playing the part of a soldier in a movie running to his fallen comrade.

  I thought perhaps I could salvage some of it, save even just half, a couple bites, a single noodle. But the strange stain on the carpet coupled with the hair on one side and the empty cigarette carton on the other quickly revealed the truth: my pasta was gone and it was never coming back.

  The drumming continued in the fifth floor hallway. I shouldn’t be so mad given the drumming was a condition of my low rent. When I was looking for a new apartment a few years back, I’d heard about a great deal on a studio. Turned out the great deal was because it was the only other apartment on the fifth floor, right next to a musician who practiced day and night. I’d signed the contract well-forewarned, and usually dealt with the noise coming from the wall I shared with Irish Neanderthal Drummer Boy. But losing my pasta because of Jamie’s cacophony? Yeah, no.

  I stormed up the remaining stairs and pounded on the door that shook from the noise of the drums inside.

  “Hey!” I shouted. The racket continued without pause, so I slammed my palm against the door again. “Open up! Come and face me like a man, you coward,” I shouted, pounding as hard as I could.

  Finally, the drumming stopped and the snare stilled and I heard footsteps moving toward the door. Jamie O’Connell, resident asshole and professional do-not-give-a-fuck-if-it’s-3-am-I’m-going-to-practice-anyway drummer opened the door and glared down at me. Tattoos covered his wide chest and muscular arms: tattoos of mermaids and goddesses from Irish mythology and a lot of different band names, each struck through with a tattooed black line.

  Jamie assessed me with dark green eyes as with one hand he shoved his fingers through his wiry, fiery red beard and with his other hand, held a cymbal over his crotch. Besides the cymbal, my neighbor was buck-naked. Deliciously, “Washboard-abs and that hot v-thingy-at-his-hips” naked.

  I sucked in my breath and nearly swallowed my tongue. Fire washed over me and I blinked several times and stared. And stared. Until he spoke, making me jerk.

  “Whaddya want?” His deep voice with its thick brogue somehow always managed to convey ‘fuck you’ no matter what he said. It also always sounded sexier than fuck.

  Somehow, I managed to take my eyes off his body, look him in the face, and speak. “Why didn’t you hold the elevator for me?” I asked.

  He yawned. My pasta wasn’t even cold yet, alone there on the stairs, and he had the audacity to yawn. I was starving and I was going to have to clean that mess up.

  “Well?” I insisted, leaning forward. He smelled like brass and aftershave and whiskey, the odd combination alluring.

  “Tried.”

  “You tried?” I asked, my tone making it clear I saw through his lazy, Irish bullshit.

  He nodded. “Yep. Gave it my all, Teresa.”

  I bristled. “It’s Tessa, and what do you mean you tried? It’s just a button. You just reach out and press it. In doing so, the elevator doors stay open. Helpful, that way.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t?” This guy was getting on my very last nerve, and I was beyond hangry. I gripped my fists at my side. “The elevator is the size of a coffin. All you had to do was stretch out your pinky. You couldn’t even just stretch out your pinky?” I was gasping and breathing harder than I had been on the elliptical at the gym.

  Jamie watched my frantic tantrum. I caught what I thought was the tiniest hint of a smile on Jamie’s face before he stated, “I said I tried.”

  I sputtered. “How can you sleep at night knowing that you didn’t even reach out a pinky, one little pinky to help your fellow human on this cold rock spinning round and round that we call earth, where all we have is one another and we will devolve into rioting and pillaging if we all don’t just take two seconds to lift a pinky to help a stranger out.”

  Jamie listened to my impromptu speech in silence, and for a minute I really thought I had gotten through that chiseled, tattooed chest of his to his heart. But then he opened his mouth again. “My hands were full. I tried using my elbow. Didn’t work.”

  That’s all I was going to get? I had nothing in my bank account, had ditched yet another audition, gotten kicked out of the gym after my best friend had accidentally included me in a sexting threa
d, and all I wanted was a little pasta. But because of Irish Drummer Boy I wouldn’t even get that, and all I get in return is that he’d tried?

  “Listen here,” I said, wagging my finger at him. “I’ve kept myself quiet, but someone needs to be brave enough to say this to your face. We’ve been neighbors for over a year, and I’ve had to put up with so much shit from you. Drumming at all hours”—I showed him my palm when he held up a finger— “and yeah, I get it, you’re allowed to drum anytime you want and it’s my issue, but you also are rude and you are cranky and”—I gestured to his rather obvious nudity— “you can’t even bother putting on clothes and you have sex so loudly and—”

  “Is this your awkward version of flirtation?”

  My sputtering ratcheted up a notch. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the one carrying on about me being naked and mentioning how loudly I have sex. Seems like flirting to me.”

  The gall of the man! “Yes, I’m flirting.” I don’t know what came over me. I walked right up to him and laid my hand on his chest, feeling the heavy pounding of his heart and the warmth of his skin, and it made me mad, so mad that I was always dreaming of having sex with hot men instead of actually having it. When he didn’t protest my touch but merely cocked a challenging brow, I slid my hand down until it rested just above the cymbal. His abdomen muscles clenched.

  “Careful, lass,” he said. “Or I’m going to get ideas.”

  “Please, do,” I hissed. “Because I’m flirting, remember? I want you so badly. Need you, in fact. Please, please, take me now,” I said, sarcastically.

  At least, I’d meant it to come out as sarcasm, but I guess Jamie didn’t quite take it that way. Because all of a sudden, he was out in the hall with me, pushing me against the opposite side of the wall and pressing his lips hungrily to mine.

  The cymbal clanged to the floor which meant he was now completely naked as his tongue slipped inside my mouth, hot and eager and igniting a fire between my legs.

  Yikes! He’d warned me and I’d still egged him on. And I was glad. I wanted his kiss, and I communicated this immediately by kissing him back, then lightly biting his lip, shivering when I was rewarded with a deep groan from Jamie. This was not where I’d imagined things going, whatsoever, when I’d banged on his door, but my body was demanding I enjoy every second of this kiss.

  And enjoy it I did.

  Jamie’s knee nudged between my thighs, lifting me higher up the wall as his hands dug into my ass cheeks. His kiss deepened, strengthened, and suddenly I was whimpering and gasping and my mind wasn’t working and my hand was entwining itself in his hair.

  That’s when I heard the ding of the elevator. It snapped me back to reality. This was not me. This would never be me. Like it or not, I was the kind of girl who lusted from afar, not the kind of girl who made out with naked and wild drummers in a hallway.

  I immediately pushed Jamie away. We stared at each other, both of us breathing hard.

  “Oh good, you’re here, Tess.”

  I turned to see Henry, the apartment manager, exiting the elevator. Although he’d been talking to me, his eyes were downcast, and I immediately followed the path of his gaze until the two of us were staring at Jamie’s huge, hard dick. It was a thing of beauty even as it looked a tad brutish, reminiscent of a conquering warrior about to claim what was his. Yowzers!

  “Uh, um…”

  I couldn’t look away.

  Jamie gently nudged my chin up. “Eyes up here, lass, at least until Henry leaves."

  I blinked at Jamie, loving the fact that despite his teasing words, he looked flushed and just as frustrated as I felt. Finally tearing my gaze from his, I looked at Henry.

  “Did you need to talk to me about something?” I asked casually, even though I already knew why he was here. My rent was late, but I was hoping that I’d get a few jobs this week and would be able to catch up soon.

  From the corner of my eye, I sensed Jamie scooping up the cymbal and once gain holding it strategically in place. Instead of heading back into his apartment, however, he simply stood leaning against his doorway, watching Henry and I with interest.

  “Don’t you have your drumming to get back to?” I hissed.

  Jamie shot me an amused grin. “I was beginning to think I might be doing a different kind of pounding right now, but I’ll settle for hearing what Henry has to say. What’s up, Henry?”

  “Uh, hello, Jamie. How you doing, Tessa?” Henry fidgeted uncomfortably by the elevator.

  “Just fine,” I said, trying not to act like we were having a conversation in front of my near-naked neighbor.

  “Been at the gym?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, wishing he would just get on with it. I didn’t want him to ask me about my late rent check in front of Jamie, though, so I reluctantly asked him, “Do you want to come inside?”

  Weirdly, I sensed Jamie tense at my words. Henry’s expression turned frightened, and I glanced at Jamie to see why, but Jamie’s expression was smooth and he just winked at me.

  “Uh, no, that’s okay, thanks.”

  “Okay, well maybe we can talk later, in private,” I said, but Henry just talked over me.

  “Do you have any big plans this weekend?” he asked.

  That was weird. Why wasn’t he talking about my late rent? Was he actually going to ask me out? He was cute, although I’d never considered him to be my type. Curly blond hair, dimples, a nice suit, if a bit on the cheap side. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go out with him, but maybe I should be more open to the idea.

  “Um, no, I guess not. Did you want to, um—”

  “No flights to see a sick relative or something?” Henry interrupted.

  Not sure I’d lead off on asking someone out with mention of sick relatives, but to each their own. “Nope.”

  “No funerals?”

  Ew. “No.”

  “And you’re not sick, right?” Henry asked.

  Umm… “Umm…” My mind was having a hard time figuring out what kind of date would require these pre-requisite questions. “Maybe a little bit of a sore throat in the mornings sometimes,” I answered, growing more and more confused.

  “But not like cancer or anything like that?”

  Henry fidgeted with a folder I hadn’t paid attention to before. Henry always had folders.

  “No,” I said, slowly, “no cancer or anything like that.”

  Henry sighed and smiled. “Good,” he said, pulling a piece of paper out of the folder and handing it over to me. “I always hate giving eviction notices to people with cancer. Makes me feel so terrible, you know?”

  I stared down at the piece of paper stamped in red ink. Okay, so I’d been partially right. He had come up here to talk to me about my late rent, but not just to give me a warning like he had in the past. Numb, I barely felt Henry pat my shoulder.

  “Okay, then. We’ll use your last month’s rent, which gives you thirty days until you have to be out. I’m sorry.” His voice was kind and gentle and his smile sweet.

  I watched him get into the elevator and press the Down button.

  I stood there, embarrassed and struggling not to cry, when I heard a sound. I turned back to face Jamie, but instead saw his door quietly closing shut. After a few seconds passed, I heard the drums start back up, louder than ever.

  Jamie

  There’s something about my next-door neighbor that makes me want to get to know her. I mean, she’s sexy as fuck even though she hides her luscious curves under saggy sweatshirts and bulky sweats, and she’s as sweet as they come. Too sweet for me, that’s for sure. But I know there’s something hidden under those baggy clothes and under those eyelashes she’s always lowering whenever I’m around.

  I like to flirt with her and I like to tease her, and she’s fucking adorable when her face turns red and her cheeks huff and puff and her Bambi eyes bug out of their sockets. She thinks I’m a shit and I am, more times than not.

  I didn't always used t
o be. Five years ago I’d been busking on the streets of Dublin when I met a young American socialite who’d claimed to have fallen head over heels in love with me. We married in Ireland and I’d come back to the US with her, only to discover I was the button she used to royally piss off Mummy and Father. We tried to make it work, but about a year and a half ago I got divorced, received my ID, and took off for the West Coast. LA, baby. Those years had been fucked up, but they’d taught me a few things, most importantly being that people put up facades and you can’t trust them worth shit.

  But those facades come down when people get pissed off. Which meant I liked pushing buttons. I liked watching the facade fall away, the fake, sugar coating melt off, and the forced niceties die, leaving just the real person before me.

  I liked pissing people off, because I liked seeing the truth. And I need the truth. We all do.

  So I liked calling Tessa every name in the book but her own just to get a rise out of her, trying to see if she’d show me the real her. But while she'd clearly been annoyed or frustrated with me, she'd never let go of her composure--until earlier when she'd been pounding on my door like a goddamned jackhammer. When I'd seen her, her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing like some wild bronco, I realized this was the moment I’d been waiting for. Finally, she’d shed her Good Girl façade and let me see the real her. Who could have known that all it took was not holding the elevator for Tessa to finally lose it? And full disclosure—I did try to push the Open button but my elbow slipped and the damned door closed before she could get onboard.

  Clearly that was a good thing, because as much as I would have liked being in the elevator with her, I liked opening the door and seeing the real Tessa in front of me even more.