by S. M. Soto
Hate Thy Neighbor
Copyright © 2020 S.M. Soto
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs
Editing by Paige Smith, Jenny Sims, and Rebecca Barney
Formatting by Stacey Blake
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THIS BOOK
MORE BOOKS BY S.M. SOTO
PLAYLIST
EPIGRAPH
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
KISS ME WITH LIES PREVIEW
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Fresh out of a failed engagement, Olivia Hales is in dire need of a fresh start. Tired of being the charming and accommodating girl that always gets stomped on, she’s determined to change her outlook on life.
When she finds her dream job in a small town in California, she thinks she’s finally found her place in life. That is, until she meets her new neighbor.
Roman Banks.
Moody. Foul-mouthed. Jerk.
And the hottest man on the planet.
At a sprawling six foot five, he was coldly distant and physically intimidating. Not only was her new neighbor a God that was good with his hands, he was also a grade-A jerk. Trapped on the same street, sharing the same space together, they’ve become entrenched in an addictive, ridiculous, never-ending game of insults and pranks that result in the destruction of two perfectly good homes.
The tension between them is as thick as the walls of their houses are thin. Roman’s touch burned like fire even when his words were ice, and both of them will stop at nothing to make the others life hell.
In the midst of the pranks and the hate they harbor for each other, Olivia slowly pulls back the layers of the man next door and finds herself consumed with wanting to fix him and his past. When both enemies start to catch feelings for each other, Olivia finds herself hiding her own secrets, not wanting to lose another man in her life.
Lines are drawn. Strict rules put into place. But that doesn’t stop Olivia from wanting to save the quiet, broody man next door.
They say you’re supposed to love thy neighbor, but that was the furthest emotion she felt when thinking about Roman. Hate was all there was to their relationship. At the very least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.
Hate Thy Neighbor is a full-length enemies-to-lovers standalone with a HEA. At the end, I’ve included an excerpt from Kiss Me with Lies, book one in my Twin Lies Duet.
Hate Thy Neighbor concludes at around 90% on your device.
Happy Reading!
XO, S.M. Soto
THE CHAOS SERIES
Deception and Chaos
Blood and Chaos
Love and Chaos
THE SAN DIEGAN SERIES
Scoring the Quarterback
Damaged Heart
THE TWIN LIES DUET
Kiss Me with Lies
Bury Me with Lies
STANDALONES
Ache: A Second Chance Romance
A Cruel Love
COMING SOON
CTM
Jake Wilder
The Consequence of Hating You
Spotify
Here Comes the Sun—The Beatles
Gives You Hell—All American Rejects
Poison—Bell Biv Devoe
Summer Feelings—Lennon Stella ft. Charlie Puth
A Thousand Bad Times—Post Malone
Saturday Love—Cherrelle, Alexander O’Neal
Fuck You—Lily Allen
All For You—Janet Jackson
Body Bag—Trevor Daniel
Afrodisiac—Brandy
Flames—ZAYN, R3HAB, Jungleboi
Feeling of Falling—Cheat Codes, Kim Petras
Neighbors Know My Name—Trey Songz
Faded—VÉRITÉ
Don’t You Know—Jaymes Young
Alone With You—Kito ft. AlunaGeorge
Daydream—The Aces
Change Your Life—Kehlani, Jhené Aiko
Somethin Tells Me—Bryson Tiller
She Wolf—Shakira
It’s You—Ali Gatie
American Money—BORNS
Hold Me While You Wait—Lewis Capaldi
Lucky—Chelsea Cutler, Alexander 23
Softly—Clairo
All Night—Beyoncé
Girls Love Beyoncé—Drake, James Fauntleroy
Little Lies—Fleetwood Mac
Case Of The Ex—Mýa
Invisible Things—Lauv
The Bones—Maren Morris
“Hope is not about proving anything. It’s about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us.”
—Anne Lamott
To the lovers.
The dreamers.
And the floaters.
“Here Comes the Sun”—The Beatles
“You sure you have everything, sweetie?” My mom’s silvery voice echoes from the speaker. With the phone secured against my ear, I hop out from the back of the moving truck I rented and that I’ll be using for the next few days.
“Yes, Mom.” My eyes roll of their own accord. “I have everything. Stop worrying. I’ve been on my own for how many years now?”
The snark that rises in her tone can’t be missed nor mistaken. “This is your first house, Liv. Sue me for wanting everything to go smoothly.”
I slam my eyes shut, feeling awful for keeping her at arm’s length during this whole process. It’s not all my fault. I’ve always been independent. Well, scratch that, I’ve always wanted to be independent. My parents still do many things for me that I often take for granted, even at twenty-five.
“I realize that, and I love you for it.” I sigh. “But don’t worry. I have everything taken care of. Tomorrow, you and Dad are still coming to help unload the heavier stuff before you head back home, right?” I ask, trying to make her feel somewhat better about her role in all of this.
“Your father hasn’t shut up about it, Sweetie. I couldn’t even deter him with sex. That usually always does the trick.”
“Mom,” I groan.
“My God, Liv. I’ve told yo
u, you need to embrace your sensuality, not run from it.”
My mother, Dr. Lisa Hales, is a sex therapist, and the scars from having a parent like her run deep. Nothing is ever off-limits to her. Same goes for my father. He’s a retired psychologist, and I haven’t shared one conversation with the man in all my twenty-five years when he hasn’t tried to psychoanalyze me. The two of them together? It’s about as horrible as you’re thinking. If not worse.
“Mom, I’m all for embracing one’s sexuality and whatnot, but I just don’t want to hear about it when it comes to you and Dad. Please.” A shiver travels through my body, and it’s not a pleasant one.
Mom sighs. I can practically see the displeasure written all over her soft, delicate features, even while on the phone. “We’ll be there. You sure you don’t need us to stay?”
I cringe just thinking about spending an entire night with my parents under the same roof. There’s a reason I packed my shit and fled the nest after high school. Listening to their sexual activities each night was beginning to push me toward the edge of insanity. I swear, they almost ruined sex for me altogether. “I’m positive.”
After hanging up with my mom, before she can ask if I’ve had time to masturbate lately,—she’s been on this masturbation kick and telling me I need to “learn my body and enjoy the fruits,” whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean—I slam the back door to the rental truck shut and turn the handle to engage the lock. Everything I was able to carry and lift on my own is packed in there like sardines. It was like playing a real-life game of Tetris. The bulkier items, I had to have my friends and my previous neighbor help me with. I double-check that it’s locked, before I round the side of the vehicle and climb into the driver’s side.
Destination? My first official home.
That I paid for.
On my own, without the help of my jackass ex-boyfriend.
Scratch that, my ex-fiancé.
You can say I’m excited but even that would most definitely be putting things mildly. I did this all on my own, and I couldn’t be any happier. I mean, I might have to penny pinch and live off ramen for a little while until I get settled at work, but this is where I was always meant to be.
Cranking the radio up, I belt out the song lyrics, feeling more carefree than I have in an awfully long time. My heart fills with a joyous pitter-patter, as I enter the small town of Campbell. It’s not one of those towns where everyone knows everyone, but it’s nothing like Long Beach. It’s a suburb of San Jose and a part of the Silicon Valley area—or at the very least, that’s how they choose to advertise it.
It’s gorgeous here. With great year-round weather and beautiful mountain views, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much by being away from Long Beach. With cute shopping centers and a vibrant community, it’s the perfect place to call home. Gorgeous trees line the streets outside of the various shops and businesses. It all feels so homey and inviting. It reminds me of a town you’d see as the backdrop in a Hallmark movie.
I pass the Downtown District, smiling at the traffic and people as I go by. Yeah, I know, total weirdo, right? I think I’m the first person who has ever been excited to be stuck in traffic. I’m just ecstatic that I’m here. That I’ve made it this far. After my broken engagement to Reid, I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. Because, for a long time, he was what I defined as my happiness, and without him, I felt like I was drowning. It took a whole month of crying in my old bedroom back at my parents’ house to hit my lowest low, and another month for me to get my life together. That third month? It was the tip of the iceberg for me. It was when I realized how shitty my relationship with Reid actually was. I needed the time away to see just how toxic and unhappy we were.
It’s my turn now. It’s my journey. And all that starts here.
I turn down Clearlake, toward the end of the quiet cul-de-sac where my new house is, sighing happily at the beautiful homes that roll past my windows. Campbell is a fairly residential suburb, and by the infinite stream of well-kept neighborhoods, it shows. This house, in particular, was a bit out of my price range, and I’ll have to put even more time and money in to fixing the house and making it presentable, but overall, I’m quite proud of my purchase. It’s in a great area, and anyone else would kill for a place like this, especially at the price point here in Campbell.
My smile brightens when I stop the rental truck in front of said house and throw it into park. It’s a one-story Craftsman-style bungalow that has the potential to be great. The home is a bit of a fixer upper, but it has a whole lot of character, it just needs a little TLC, that’s all.
My eyes trail up the inclined driveway, with my head tilted back the slightest bit to take it all in. The front of each of these houses in the cul-de-sac is designed with big windows to maximize the view outside and allow natural light to filter through. Even with a dilapidated shingle roof and a leaning, broken down fence, the home isn’t the worst I’d considered while searching.
I’m sure I’ll be getting an earful from my parents when they actually see it with their own eyes, instead of just in pictures. That’ll definitely give my dad something else to psychoanalyze.
Is this a cry for help, Olivia?
A quick scan around the neighborhood widens my smile. Everything is the same as it was in the photographs. I was half-expecting to get here and be completely bamboozled and catfished by a crappy property. As the realtor stated, most of the families and people living down this street have either been here for five years or longer or have moved in not too long ago. I make a mental note to introduce myself to the families in the houses next door to mine. On the right, the house is a mirror of mine, only that one is well put together: the lawn freshly mowed and no car in the driveway. When I glance to the left, I see a Prius and a Hummer parked in the drive, which prompts me to frown.
A gas saver and a gas-guzzler? I’m sure an interesting individual lives there. This house is a Colonial Revival-style home that towers over mine, and I wince just thinking about the mortgage on a place like that here.
When I’ve had enough staring, I get to work, unloading all the lighter boxes from the truck, and it takes me the rest of the evening, much longer than I anticipated. The house is in dire need of cleaning, but I’m not too worried about it. My mom promised she’d help me tomorrow when they got in.
My little brother has a game about an hour away from here this weekend, so my parents figured they’d drive my car down for me from Long Beach and help me with the move. Two birds, one stone.
To get a jump-start, I work on sponge cleaning the walls in the master bedroom and then work my way through the rest of the house, scrubbing every surface. I rub my palm along the plain eggshell walls, already plotting color schemes and where frames and knickknacks will go. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, as I envision what the final product will look like.
It’s going to be perfect.
It’s going to be mine.
When I’m finished cleaning about halfway through the house, I glance up, brushing the hair out of my face, managing to smear the sweat across my forehead in the process. It’s well into the night now. I hadn’t even realized when the sun went down. With no blinds covering my bedroom window, I have a full view of my neighbor’s house. There’s little space between the houses. Whoever built them obviously didn’t think either of us deserved much room. Our houses must mirror each other because everything aligns, including our master bedroom windows. There is literally no privacy with the way these identical houses have been built. A light from somewhere inside the home next door flicks on, indicating that the family is probably home by now. Another light shines from the pane next to the bedroom window, and when I shift toward my bathroom, flipping on that light, I realize I’m right. These homes really are mirrors of each other.
After taking a beat to catch my breath, I get back to work, only I find myself glancing over my shoulder at the house next door a few times throughout the rest of the night.
My parents
show up bright and early the next morning to help. With more cleaning supplies than one would use to sterilize a hospital, my mom is ready to roll with a cupholder filled with Starbucks drinks and a bag of takeout breakfast burritos.
For hours, we work, tirelessly, scrubbing the walls, floors, and the windows. My dad and my younger brother, Brandon, manage to bring the heavy furniture from the rental into the house. Everyone is patient, while we move the furniture around, until I find the perfect place for it. It takes about three tries each. We move the L-shaped couch from one corner to the next and do the same with the coffee table, the dinner table, and the bookshelf. The master bedroom is a whole other story.
The fact that no one has wrung my neck yet is a miracle.
“The floorboards are lifting,” my dad grumbles in dismay, toeing said boards. If he had the time, I’m sure he’d redo them all for me, here and now. That is my father; he’s a jack-of-all-trades. The tips of his brown hair hang over his forehead, lightly shielding his eyes. It’s the same color as my hair. A deep brown with hints of honey.
Grinning, I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I know. I have some wood flooring in mind that I’d like to try out. Well, after I paint.”
Both of my parents raise their brows in surprise. “You’re going to paint and do the floors?”
Brandon peals over with laughter from his position on the couch, his shoes resting on my coffee table, infuriating me to no end. My little brother is a senior in high school back in Long Beach. He’s a football star and completely annoying. My parents baby him far too much. Since he’s the youngest and the only one still at home, they wait on the little shit hand and foot. I shoot him a glare, snapping my fingers and narrowing my eyes on his shoes and his sweaty ass that’s perched on my couch.
