by S. M. Soto
It’s always been that way for me. The previous friendships I’ve had were always lonely ones. I was never the best friend. I was always second choice, the friend who, somehow, always got left out, even when people didn’t mean to. A small part of me feels, as though, I never truly belonged with any group of friends I’ve had in the past. I’ve always felt like an outsider, doing my damnedest just to fit in and have people there in my life to fill that void inside me. I’ve had best friends, people I thought were going to be in my life forever, but, as usual, it never lasted. They always proved, one way or another, that they weren’t there for the long haul. Yet, sitting here at this table, in a crowded bar with co-workers, it doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.
Not even back home with my asshole neighbor feels lonely. Even fighting with him is more exciting than my entire life back in Long Beach. There was never any spark, any thrill in my life. I can’t even remember the last time I had butterflies, before moving here to Campbell. I sure as hell don’t remember the last time I’ve said so many curse words or felt so angry, all within less than two weeks.
Even though I try not to, my mind drifts to thoughts of Roman. I don’t know what it is about him that drives me crazy. I’m not usually a person who acts on her frustrations. I let things stew, then I tend to blow up, but here I am, purposely poking the beehive, just to rile him up. How crazy is it that I want to get him back? There’s a very large, wild part of me that wants him to have a reason to be angry with me, to be in my space. I’d like to say it’s because he’s easy on the eyes, but something else about Roman calls to me. He’s a magnetic force, drawing me in, even when he tries to push me away with his brash personality.
As if my thoughts conjured him, I hear a few gasps from our table, as the doors to the bar open and in walks the man who has taken too much space in my mind, as of late. He looks good. Too good. Dressed in a leather jacket, distressed jeans, and a plain tee, he walks in with a few other guys who are handsome in their own right, but they have nothing on him. Every woman’s eyes are glued to him, as he walks in, seemingly without a care in the world. My gaze narrows, my nostrils flaring, as I watch him head straight for the open stools on one end of the bar. And, of course, as fate would have it, he settles right next to Travis and Lucy, who, by the way, even look starstruck by his looks. She’s no longer fawning over Travis but over him now, too.
I want to roll my eyes at everyone’s admiration. It’s a bit hypocritical, considering I had much of the same reaction. Scratch that, I have the same reaction to him, each time we’re mere feet apart.
As if sensing my narrowed gaze, Roman twists on the barstool, and his gaze collides with mine. His expression shudders, and his eyes grow stormy. Gone is the cool, calm, and collected man who walked in, and in his place, is now a scowling, hot piece of work, who looks stiff as a board. We spend a long time glaring at each other, before I finally avert my eyes and turn around, with a growl and a hearty roll of my eyes. Kassandra notices and nudges me.
“What’s wrong? You look like someone just shit in your happy little bubble.”
I shoot her a glare, and she cringes, realizing her mistake. “Okay, that was my bad. Horrible pun, considering the day you had.”
“Well,” I respond dryly, “it kinda feels like someone did shit in my bubble, and it’s my neighbor. He’s here.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding? Where?”
I jerk my head behind me. “At the bar. Idiot wearing the leather jacket.”
Kassandra chokes. Her tan skin brightens with color. “You mean the Adonis?” I roll my eyes so hard this time, I’m surprised they don’t get stuck up there. “You mean to tell me this is the neighbor you’ve been complaining about? Him? Instead of complaining about him, you should be letting him drill you into next week!” She nudges me on the arm.
“No thanks,” I mutter, trying not to glance back at him. I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m speaking about him, but by the way Kass is twisted in her seat, doing a full-on exorcist 360, I’d say he knows we’re talking about him. Thoughts of being inconspicuous suddenly fly out the window.
“God, he’s still glaring at you. I can’t tell if he wants to kill you or bang you.”
“Most likely the former. Definitely not the latter.”
“A guy who looks that good? I wouldn’t mind letting him do both.”
I stifle my laugh and tense up, when I feel Travis place his hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Kassandra fills him in. “Liv’s neighbor is here. The hottie at the bar who’s glaring.”
As if on cue, Travis glances back at Roman and surprises me when he takes the spot next to me. Much too close for comfort. I force a smile, not wanting to be weird about it. I scour the bar, searching for Lucy. I shoot her an apologetic smile when I find her, knowing she probably won’t like this. And, once again, she brushes me off like it’s no big deal to her, even when everyone knows it is.
A part of me wishes she’d make her feelings for Travis known, just so he’d leave me alone.
I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or not, but I can feel Roman’s angered gaze on me. It’s as if he’s trying to incinerate me on the spot. I can’t help but wonder if he’s glaring this hard because he hates me or because of something else.
The night drags on, much the same, with both of us trying to avoid each other like the plague. That pretty much gets nipped in the bud when I’m on my way out of the bathroom. I crash into a warm, solid body that nearly knocks me off my feet. Strong hands shoot out, wrapping around my upper arms to steady me. The familiar smell is what hits me first, something masculine and clean, and when I peer up, I see who it is. The scowl that takes over my face is otherworldly. I don’t even know where it comes from, to be honest. I’m never this rude to anyone. It seems being near Roman brings out the worst in me.
“Got the whole hallway, and still, you somehow manage to invade my space.”
My brows raise, incredulously, and I let out a disbelieving scoff. “You’re kidding me, right? You bumped into me.”
Roman glares down at me. My breath hitches, and those pesky butterflies take flight against my will, when he takes a step into me, crowding me.
“Stay out of my way, Olivia.” The way he hisses my name with such hatred and disdain sends chills down my spine. The chills in question should make me scared of him, but it’s quite the opposite.
He turns to walk away, and I don’t know what makes me do it. Once again, I’m poking a bear. I should’ve left it and let him walk away. But obviously, I’m just a glutton for punishment.
“Sleep well, Roman?” The edge in my tone stops him in his tracks. I watch the tension climb up his spine, settling out into his shoulders and the stiff muscles in his back. Slowly, he turns those intense eyes, drilling holes into my skull.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know.” He pivots, closing the distance between us again. This time, he’s closer. Too close. Every goddamn heaven-sent molecule, percolating around us, invades my senses. I can smell his laundry detergent, his musk, his breath—All. Of. It.
“How are your shoes, Olivia? Hopefully, Max didn’t cause too much damage.”
“You’re lucky I like Max and all other animals, or this conversation”—I point between us—“this entire morning would be a different affair.”
Roman chuckles, taking another step into me. He’s so tall that I have to crane my neck back to stare up at him. I try to disguise the ruckus of emotions barreling through me at his proximity. With each sharp inhale, I feel my breasts graze his warm body. His firm chest, all hard planes and muscle. It makes me hate him.
“That a threat, sweetheart?”
I smile. It’s cold and so unlike me. “Oh, no. It’s a warning.”
My heart lurches in my throat, and I let out a gasp, when he presses up against me, caging me against the wall with a hand over my head, effectively trapping me against him. The blood is roaring in my ears, my heart is racing in my chest, and I ca
n barely manage to pull in steady breaths, without thinking of him. He’s everywhere. His scent, the heat of his body, every single part of him is invading that brick wall of anger I’ve built around myself since first coming into contact with him.
The room spins around us, but the one thing that’s at the center of my focus is Roman, as steady and callous as ever. The change of dynamics in our positions can be felt in the sudden shift in the air. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think.
“You sure you want to do this?” he whispers huskily. I feel the effects of it dip low in my gut. Tugging, making me breathless. My lungs squeeze, threatening to give out on me. I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore. All I know is, I don’t want him to move. I don’t want this moment to end. And even though I hate myself for it, I want him to kiss me. I want to taste him. I want to know what it’d feel like to have those plump lips moving in sync with mine.
Would he taste just as fantastic as he smells?
Would his kiss be firm and rough? Or would it be soft and gentle, the exact opposite of everything that makes up Roman?
“Yes-s,” I breathe out, sounding much too husky for someone who claims to hate her neighbor.
My heart stops, and my breath gets lodged somewhere in my throat, when the corners of Roman’s mouth twist, curving upright. He smirks down at me, eyes glinting with something that I’m unable to process further, because he’s suddenly backing away. I almost whimper at the loss of him.
“You just started a war, Olivia.”
I blink. Then blink again. I continue blinking in shock, until Roman disappears with that infuriating smirk and swagger.
What the hell have I done?
“Body Bag”—Trevor Daniel
The second I slide back onto the stool in front of the bar, I gulp down the rest of my, now, lukewarm beer, and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I order a glass of something stronger. Shots of tequila always seem to do the trick. Ever since Olivia moved in next door, I’ve found myself drinking a shit ton more than I usually do. Anything to help take the edge off and get her out of my mind.
She infuriates me.
Drives me absolutely crazy.
The first day I laid eyes on her, I knew she was going to be an issue. Standing there, in front of the moving truck, in jeans and a tank top, all her soft, tan skin and petite silhouette on display. Even from the distance between our lawns, I could see the lush lines of her curves. The way her soft honey-brown hair grazed her shoulders in that ponytail shouldn’t have been as interesting to look at as it was. She shouldn’t have been that interesting to look at.
There was an odd taste in my mouth when I pulled into my driveway. I could feel the weight of someone’s gaze. It was heavy and potent, crackling the air around the quiet street I’ve come to love. When I glanced over my shoulder and saw her standing there, gaze riveted on me, my stomach muscles clenched, and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t taken off my helmet yet. I wanted to cling to anonymity.
It didn’t last for as long as I’d hoped. When she stood on my porch, staring up at me with wide eyes and a face sure to have a man make poor decisions, I felt indignation burn in my gut. She was beautiful. Goddammit, my new neighbor was fucking beautiful, and she was checking me out. Her gaze raked across my naked flesh like she’d never quite seen a man without a shirt on before. I didn’t know how that made me feel.
Scratch that, I did. I just chose to ignore it. Embracing my anger, something that has been a living, breathing entity in me for years, I pushed her away, needing her gone. Olivia is trouble wrapped in beautiful packaging.
She’s annoying, but even with all of that, she still makes my cock rock hard. The fact that our bedrooms are so close means I can practically see everything from my vantage point, and I fucking hate it.
I hate her even more.
No woman has ever gotten under my skin like she has. I wish I could explain why. I wish there was some legitimate reason I can’t stand her, but there isn’t. The second I spotted her standing next to that fucking rental truck, I knew she was going to be an unwelcome problem. Yet, despite all that, I still want to fuck her. The need to fuck her, listen to her moans, and make her scream is a driving force. One I can’t afford to waste my time with. Indulging in Olivia is a disaster waiting to happen, and I refuse to be the casualty.
I keep my gaze fixed on the product of all my annoyance lately. She struts back toward her table of friends, squaring her shoulders and rubbing her palms along her thighs, nervously, as she goes. My lips press together in a thin line when she sits next to the prick who’s had his eyes on her the entire night. He casually tosses his arm over the back of her chair. Only, I know the move isn’t meant to be casual at all.
I wonder just how close the two are.
“Who’s the chick you’ve been eye-fucking all night?” Vic jerks his head toward Olivia’s table.
I grunt, lifting a tequila shot to my lips, and downing it in one fell swoop. “My neighbor.”
“You’re shitting me.” He does a spit-take, as if we’re in a movie. “That’s your neighbor? Please tell me you’ve laid pipe at least once.”
Eyes still trained on Olivia, I scoff. A part of me finds it comical that he’d use the term “laying pipe” to describe what it would be like to fuck Olivia. Funny because, well, I’ve offered my services to lay pipe at her house and that didn’t go over well. Which was my doing, of course. There’s just something about the girl next door that drives me insane. She gets under my skin in the worst ways and makes me react harshly—irrationally. I’m not that guy and never have been, so the fact that being near this woman makes me change all my character traits, that’s not the best sign of compatibility.
Instead of answering Vic, I rub the back of my neck, agitatedly, and try to focus on anything else but Olivia. He must sense my need to move on from the subject of my neighbor because he starts talking about an incident that happened earlier at the shop. Vic and I have been friends for the past three years. I met him while working at George’s Garage, the mechanic garage I’ve been at since I moved to Campbell.
He’s been my right-hand man, the only person in this city who I even remotely consider a friend. As far as relationships go, us going out for drinks at the end of the week is about as good as it gets on my end. That’s the extent of my friendships and all I really have time for.
I watch for the remainder of the evening as the guy next to Olivia flirts with her. His only saving grace—and mine, for that matter—is the fact that Olivia seems uninterested. The amount of satisfaction that courses through me at the realization is, indeed, too much. I know I shouldn’t care about whether men find her gorgeous. I shouldn’t even care if she reciprocates. But that burning sensation swirling in my gut, making its way up the center of my chest? Yeah, that tells me that I do, in fact, care.
I haven’t felt this way since fucking elementary school, and I fucking despise it.
By the end of the night, I’m frustrated, my dick is hard, and all I want to do is head home to Max. As Vic, a few other guys from the shop, and I leave, I can’t help but take notice that Olivia’s party is leaving, too. She slowly trickles out with her friends, saying goodbye to everyone. I don’t know why, but I hang back, waving off the guys and pretending to check my phone. All to keep an eye out for her. And, of course, she’s the last one to leave.
I wonder why she hasn’t left yet, why she just won’t hurry up and go, until I hear the telltale sound of her engine spitting.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Does she have anything that works?
I shake my head, telling myself I need to get over it. Go home. Don’t worry about her. She’s not my problem, and it’s not like she’d accept my help anyway. She hates me just as much, if not more, than I hate her.
Not realizing anyone around her is watching, she has a fit in her car. Tossing her arms around, she’s yelling profanities, while banging on the steering wheel like a complete and total lunatic.
“Christ.”
Snatching my helmet off my head, I toss my leg off the bike and stalk toward her. She doesn’t realize I’m standing just outside her window, until I rap my knuckles against the glass. She jolts, eyes growing wide with surprise.
With a calm that is unexpected, she rolls down her window and shoots me a wobbly smile. Her skin is tinged pink with embarrassment, and I try to hold on to my frustration, as I stare down at her. She makes it hard not to fall into her trap of pure beauty and innocence.
With a roll of my eyes, I jerk my chin over my shoulder, toward my bike. “Hurry up and get on. I don’t have all night.”
Her brows dip comically low. “You’re smoking crack if you think I’m getting on that deathtrap with you—”
I crouch down and level our gazes, startling her. Curling my hand around the edge of her window, I say, “You don’t have any other choice. Get. On.”
A moment passes between us, as we search each other’s eyes, both of us trying to bend to the other’s will. Finally, the hardness in her eyes softens, and, in its place, is trepidation. She glances toward the bike, as she takes her bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling. A spark of heat shoots straight to my groin. She comes to some sort of agreement in her own mind and nods. I push off the window, giving her space to roll it up and get out of her car.
Without waiting for her, I stalk toward my bike, toss one leg over, and wait impatiently for her climb on the back behind me. I blow out a tired sigh when I hear her approach. She doesn’t climb on. In fact, she doesn’t do anything but stand there and stare down at the bike like it’s going to fucking bite her. I refrain from snapping or yelling. That won’t help this situation. Instead, against my better judgment, I latch my grip onto her wrist and tug her toward me and the bike. My hand burns upon impact, and I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the odd reaction my body is having to hers.
