by S. M. Soto
My jaw is still on the ground, as I stare at Arnold, trying to make sense of the large sum of money. There’s just no way. My dad usually did all the house maintenance himself. I don’t ever remember him having to call in a plumbing company, but I’m obviously not my father. And I can’t just have him drive all the way out here to fix this.
“What’s the issue?”
I whirl around at the sound of Roman’s voice. He steps up behind me, Max following his every step. The dark pattern on the dog’s face makes him look severe and intimidating, so much so, Arnold glances warily at me, then at Roman. After a few beats, he gathers himself, rattling off everything he just told me, including the price. The entire time, my gaze is fixed on Roman. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt today that hugs his body to perfection. I can’t help the way my eyes trail across his pecs and around the material straining against his biceps. The shirt is plain and dirty, smudged with oil and grease, but he still looks good. Better than good, actually. The man could literally walk around with a smear of shit on his face, and he’d probably still attract women. It’s unfair.
I’m so busy checking him out that I miss half of the conversation, barely clueing in when I hear Roman.
“Thanks for your time. I’ll take it from here, man.”
Arnold shoots me a questioning glance, and I don’t even have the ability to respond because I’m in a state of shock. What the hell? With an exasperated shake of his head, he tosses his clipboard into the company van and climbs into the driver’s side, before taking off.
“What the hell just happened? Why did you do that?” I round on my neighbor, a frown firmly planted on my face.
Roman rolls his eyes. “He was railroading you. New piping doesn’t cost that much.”
I fix him with a glare, propping my hands on my hips. “How the hell would you know?”
“Because I re-piped my entire house, and I can tell you it didn’t cost no ten grand.”
That shuts me right up. A crease forms between my brows. “Oh.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, oh.”
I scratch at my head, glancing back at my house, which, from here, is looking more than a little run-down. I really have to start working on the outside, just as much as the inside. If the weeds in the front grow any taller, this place is going to start looking like the home of Michael Myers or something.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Fucking Christ.” He sighs, swiping a frustrated hand over half his face. Roman starts walking toward my house, and I just stand there, rooted to the spot like an idiot. He pauses on the porch in front of the closed door.
“Well? Open the damn door, so I can have a look.”
“Oh! Right,” I breathe.
I bound up the steps and open the door, wide enough for his tall frame to slip through. Watching Roman walk through my space is beyond weird. He pauses in the living room, near the front door, and surveys the space. He takes in the clumped together furniture, the unpacked boxes, and the horribly worn floors. Feeling the need to defend myself and my purchase of the home that’s obviously more than just a fixer-upper, I jump into a long spiel.
“I’m working on painting. Just need to decide on the color. Then I’ll move on to the floors. I’m hoping sooner rather than later. I originally wanted to go with a simple dark wood, but after watching HGTV for two months straight, I want to try something different. A light, rustic flooring. Kind of like you have. Where did you get the flooring, by the way? Did you do that yourself? I bet you did i—”
When Roman glances over his shoulder at me and quirks a single brow, it shuts me right up. Rambling in front of hot guys seems to be my forte lately.
The entire time he walks through the house, checking on the piping and random things, I can’t help but wring my hands together, shadowing his every move. Having him here in my space is odd and painfully awkward. I don’t think I like it.
Scratch that, I know I don’t like it.
I have the strangest urge to keep explaining my design choices to him, as if he cares. This man, who’s been nothing but rude to me, since the day I showed up on his doorstep with a cake. It’s like he’s incapable of being a decent human. Until now, that is.
At least he’s offering to help. That has to count for something, right?
“I can do it,” he rasps, gaze still surveying my space. “I work every day and have every other Saturday off, but I can make it work.”
I’ve swallowed my tongue. This time I’m sure of it. My throat, mouth, and vocal cords aren’t working. I stand here frozen, completely slack-jawed, staring at Roman like he has two heads.
He seems to grow impatient by my silence—or my surprise—because his eyes narrow and his enticing plump lips thin. “Or I can let you figure this out on your own.”
I shake my head, trying to shake off the effect he’s having on me. “I’m sorry, but what’s happening? I’m so confused. I thought you hated me.”
If it was possible for smoke to billow out of his ears, it would be happening right this second, as he glares down his nose at me. “Christ. Are you stupid?”
I jerk back at his ire. With an aggravated shake of his head, he turns on his heels and storms out. Max, the loyal companion that he is, follows his alpha dutifully. It takes me a while to get my feet and brain to catch up, and by the time I do, he’s already out of my house and halfway across his lawn. I’m left staring after him.
I’m rooted to the spot on my porch with my arms splayed out at my sides.
“You’re a fucking asshole!” I find myself yelling. There’s no telling if he heard me or not. It’s not like he’d care anyway.
Mere hours later, I’m standing in the waiting area for my Chinese takeout. My stomach is growling so incredibly loud, the couple standing next to me keeps pointedly glancing at me. As if I don’t realize that my stomach is, indeed, screaming that it’s hungry.
This is what happens when I skip meals during the day. I get hangry. And you can bet your sweet ass I’m hangry right now. This is the third Chinese restaurant I’ve been to, and each one has been packed solid, with people waiting for food. Did every family in Campbell suddenly realize they wanted chow mein and pork fried rice for dinner? Because that’s what it feels like.
Shifting on my feet, I glance down at the time on my phone and try to reel in my aggravation. It’s not their fault. I know someone has to cook the food back there, but tell that to my stomach and the pounding headache.
A loud bell from the counter suddenly dings followed by the woman’s voice. “Sweet and sour chicken, house chow mein, and the pork fried rice.”
My heart leaps, as I realize it’s my order. I start making my way through the crowd of people waiting on their order, and hell, I swear I hear church bells ringing, as I reach for the outstretched bag, that is, until I’m suddenly nudged out of the way.
A shocked gasp flies past my lips, and when I swing my gaze to the culprit, I see red. There, standing beside me, is Roman, reaching for my food.
No.
No.
Hell. No.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, smacking his hand away from the bag. I hear someone’s sharp intake of breath behind me.
Oh, cool it, Karen.
Roman lazily quirks a brow. “Grabbing my food. What does it look like I’m doing?”
My lips thin into a grim line. “That is not your food. It’s mine.”
“Well, seeing as I’m about to pay for the exact food that I ordered, I’d say, it is, indeed, mine.” He’s smirks, turning back to the woman behind the counter who is eyeing me like I’m insane.
“Ha ha ha.” I glare at the side of his head. “Your wit is unparalleled and woefully unnecessary.”
Roman shoots me an assessing look. “You seem awfully upset over something as simple as takeout.”
That’s not all I’m upset about, dickhead, and you know it.
With my hip, I shove him out of my way and dig into my purse. I’ve been h
ere with him before, and I’m not doing this again. This will not be a grocery store situation all over again, with him pulling a fast one on me. No way.
I thrust out two twenty-dollar bills and hand them to the lady who is still eyeing us both, clearly unsure whose meal is whose now. After a few seconds, she takes the money and rings me up. I smile, victoriously, when she hands me my receipt. When I have the takeout bag securely in my grip, I shoot Roman a mirth-filled smirk that says, “take that, asshole.” He just rolls his eyes, clearly not giving a shit.
Then, the bell sounds again, followed by, “Sweet and sour chicken, house chow mein, and the pork fried rice.”
I grit my back teeth together when I realize I, quite literally, almost fought my neighbor over food. Roman tosses his head back and laughs at my expense, as he pays and takes his food. Whirling on my heel, I head home to eat my food in peace.
So much for getting one over on him.
I spend most of Sunday calling different plumbers, hoping to get a quote, and even though some of them have cheaper prices than ten thousand, most of them are still way out of my price range.
Dealing with Roman is another story. After how spectacularly Saturday ended with him storming away, then the mess of our encounter at the Chinese restaurant, I figured I’d give him the rest of the night to cool off, before trying to talk to him. Or, maybe I was the one who needed to do the cooling off? I couldn’t tell anymore.
What I wasn’t banking on? Him being gone the entire day. By the time I woke up in the morning, there was no sign of him. It wasn’t until I’d finished with my laundry and was prepping my lunch for tomorrow at work that I saw him—or heard him, rather—pull into the driveway. The idiot I am, I watched him hop off his bike through the window, and even though I knew I shouldn’t have, I found myself walking out the front door and crossing our lawns.
“Hey!” I holler, just as he’s disappearing into his garage. There’s a beeping sound, and then the sound of a door opening. Just as I step into the garage, I see Max barrel through the open door, barking excitedly at his owner, then fixing his excitement on me.
My brows tug down, and, for a second, I forget what I came here for when I look down at Max. Did he keep him inside the entire time he was gone? The animal lover in me can’t help but scowl at the idea.
“Did you leave him here all day? That’s kind of cruel.”
I watch as Roman’s body grows stiff. He turns away from the door, fully facing me, with a cold expression on his face.
“Some of us have lives and things to do.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I retort, my nostrils flaring. He chuckles darkly, brushing past me, toward the wall of his garage, to hang his helmet. “Why are you always such an asshole, Roman? What the hell have I done that gives you the right to treat me like I’m shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe?”
“Because I don’t like you!” he barks, whirling on me. Unexpected pain splinters through my chest. “You’re a nuisance. Always in the way, always asking questions. Want to know why I’m such an asshole, Olivia? Because I don’t pussyfoot around people I don’t like.”
Shocked silence descends.
The air is charged with static electricity. It’s a tension that percolates.
“Fuck you.” The venom in my voice shocks us both.
I whirl around, heading back inside, and promise myself that I’m done playing nice with the asshole next door.
If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. I hate my neighbor. With a bone-deep rage that fills my body to the brim with anger.
I am so angry with Roman that I find myself doing something completely out of the ordinary. I go inside, bust out the primer, and start painting the hallway in preparation for the new color that’ll eventually go there. Just to really piss off my dick of a neighbor, I turn on my music, open my windows, and keep my Bluetooth speaker aimed toward his house. I purposely play songs I know will piss him the hell off, starting with Janet Jackson’s “All for You.”
I spend the duration of the song painting, singing, and dancing with a wide, spiteful grin on my face.
Oh, yeah. It’s all for you, asshole.
The victory only grows when I spot him glaring at me through his living room window that mirrors mine. I don’t know where the sass comes from, but I shoot my neighbor a wink and then give him the finger, letting my playlist choose song after song that I know will drive him nuts. By the time we get through a few Danity Kane hits to “Afrodisiac” by Brandy, Roman has shut all his windows and all the lights are off. With a self-satisfied smirk, I watch his house go still, as he likely lies in bed, listening to my music, while glaring up at his ceiling.
The next morning, I wake to my alarm with a contentment on my face I haven’t had before today. I get ready with an extra pep in my step, just thinking about how much I likely pissed off Roman last night. I walk out of the house, my yogurt and granola bar clasped in my hand, my purse slung over my shoulder, and my car keys in my other hand. After locking up, I bound down the porch steps, crossing through the grass toward the car. I suddenly pause, the chipper grin on my face falling, when I glance down. The smell is what hits me first. My stomach heaves when I lift my shoe that is now covered in dog shit.
“Oh, Max.” I groan, looking down at the mess.
My grip suddenly tightens around my breakfast, and my gaze narrows, when I hear the garage next door roll open. I aim a glare in that direction, and my gaze clashes with Roman who is unsurprisingly wearing a crooked grin.
With his black helmet in hand, he tosses a meaty leg over his bike, and before he slips the helmet on, his devious grin deepens, and just before flipping the visor down, he winks.
He winks!
I try to ignore the tingling in my belly and focus on my anger, as I watch him pull away.
After I change shoes and clean up inside, I make it to work in a less than stellar mood. I’m fuming, as I put my stuff away. My co-workers shoot questioning glances my way but don’t ask. It isn’t until we’re at lunch that Lucy and Travis ask if I’m okay. I finally come clean about my neighbor and what an asshole he is.
“Sounds like he’s into you,” Kassandra says, between bites of her turkey club.
My brows disappear into my hairline, and I practically choke on the chip in my mouth. “I’m sorry, are you listening to the words coming out of my mouth? He purposely let Max shit on my lawn, so I could step in it. Like, how calculating do you have to be to make sure your dog shits in the exact place he knew I’d step?”
Travis is leaning back, his hand partially covering his smirk, as he stares at me. He hasn’t voiced his opinion on the subject. He’s just been listening to me prattle on and on about how much I hate Roman.
“I’m just saying. Guys are weird. And to me, it sounds like you irk him because he likes you. He’s probably pissing you off on purpose to be a dick. Travis, you’re a man. What do you think?” Kassandra asks.
Travis chuckles, swiping a hand down his scruff. He’s still biting back his damn laughter at my expense.
“I can’t speak for the guy in question, but he’d be an idiot not to be attracted to you.” I stop mid-chew and freeze at his answer, and when I glance at Lucy, she’s looking down at her sandwich, as if she didn’t hear what he said. My heart pangs for her. “I know a good way to get your mind off it. Come out tonight. It’s Mark’s birthday, and we’re heading to the bar to celebrate with a few rounds.”
I’m just about to say no, when Lucy butts in with a forced smile on her face. “I think that’s a great idea. Travis is right. Drinks always take my mind off my bad moods.”
I shoot her a sympathetic smile, but she quickly averts her gaze, uncomfortable with my knowledge. It’s not exactly rocket science. It’s obvious she’s more into Travis than she leads on. I guess that’s what happens when you mess around with the people you work with. Except, our boss, is a bit of a manwhore, uncaring who he hurts in the process. And Lucy here, always making herself available to him
, even when he’s sleeping with other people at the clinic, doesn’t exactly send the right signals to him.
He’ll likely never get it, until she says something. Or, he could be using it against her, only looking for a quick fuck and nothing monogamous.
I feel bad for her. She’s such a beautiful and sweet girl, and even though Travis is quite the catch, she can do better. She deserves better.
The rest of the workday, I’m left stewing, already thinking of what I’ll do after I get home from work. I let my diabolical mind run rampant with possible scenarios—anything to get back at Roman. It isn’t until we’re heading to the bar that I remember why I can’t chew him out just yet. It’s probably for the best anyway.
Maybe a few drinks are all I need to help me forget about my shitty morning and my even shittier neighbor.
The bar we head to isn’t one of the nicer, newer bars I’ve seen around. This one has a homier vibe with people from all walks of life. The lights are dimmed, music is playing, and the TV, in the corner, broadcasts the nightly sports game for the die-hard fans who simply cannot miss a single one. We all settle at a table near the center of the room. Travis heads to the bar to get drinks for everyone, and of course, Lucy follows. Any reason for her to be close to him.
While we wait, I chat with Kassandra about my issues. And by chat, I mean vent. She snorts, giving me a list of acts for retaliation. Her ideas consist of animal feces, wrapping his car or bike in some kind of wrapping paper or saran wrap, ruining his lawn, and, a few others, I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to try out.
Our conspiratorial smiles are refreshing, and dare I say, it feels good to be bad. Even just the thought of getting back at Roman for being an absolute dick brightens my mood. I lean back in the chair, surveying everyone who’s sitting around the table from work, and warmth spreads through my chest, like a splash of ink spilling in water. It’s as if I’ve finally found my place here. Back in Long Beach, my friends were always Reid’s friends, before they were mine, and since the breakup, I haven’t heard from any of them. Because they were never really my friends; they were his. I was replaceable to them. I was just the girl they got along with because they had to. No doubt they’ve already warmed up to the next woman he’s seeing.
