Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  “So, Rome, what do you do for a living?” my mother asks, between bites of her salad. She sounds far too chipper, causing me to shoot a frown her way.

  What’s she up to?

  Roman shoots her what I now realize is his signature grin. “I work at an automotive shop downtown called George’s Garage. I fix up cars and handle a bunch of odds and ends for the owner, George.”

  My mother hmms, utterly transfixed. She shoots me a look across the table, pointedly wagging her brows between Roman and me. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, we both ended up on the same side of the table, sitting opposite my parents. Like we’re a couple. One happy fucking couple. Not a pair of neighbors who have been pranking each other, recklessly, and hate each other’s guts.

  I’m quite certain this is the most awkward dinner I’ve ever been to.

  And, believe me, I’ve been to my fair share. Hell, Reid and I broke off our engagement over dinner at a fancy restaurant in Long Beach.

  We let the oddness of it all pass through us. Because there’s no way he doesn’t feel how strange this really is. And in these small moments, I notice something enter his eyes. It’s almost…soft. So unlike the man sitting next to me. He wears such a hard exterior, and he wears it well, but now, I can’t help but wonder what he’s really like inside.

  Who is Roman?

  Suddenly, I have a deep-seated need to learn everything about this man sitting beside me. To know every moment he carries around. To witness every experience that has molded and shaped him into this unique creature who seems like the strongest, most closed-off person I’ve ever met in my entire life. With a face meant to be worshipped, a body meant to sin, and a smile birthed straight from the depths of hell, my neighbor is an enigma that has successfully burrowed under my skin.

  He seems to enjoy conversing with my dad. They too easily bond over sports, cars, and everything else under the sun. His chuckle isn’t husky or deep, much like it has been every time I’ve heard it so far. No, this time, it’s quite boyish. He seems to be enjoying himself, and it makes me wonder when’s the last time he enjoyed the company of someone else. Other than that of a woman. When has he gone out to eat with family or friends? Not at a bar or a party, but just sitting down and enjoying simple conversations? By the looks of it, I’d say never. And the realization alone makes me soften toward Roman. It makes me wonder what kind of childhood he had that this, this barbecue with my parents, would make him this upbeat. This calm and content. Something I’ve never seen from the high-strung guy next door.

  “So, I hear you’ve been helping Liv around the house? What was the issue with the plumbing, or was it the piping?”

  The guys proceed to go into specifics, and my mom sits there, wearing a wide Cheshire cat grin on her face. I know what she’s thinking, but it’s not like that. Not even close. Rome was just being a (somewhat) friendly neighbor by offering. I refuse to look into it any further than that.

  Hell, maybe some part of him felt lousy for always acting like a dick toward me? One can only hope.

  “Do you live alone, Roman? Any girlfriends?”

  “Mom.” I sigh tiredly. “You can’t ask questions like that.”

  She tosses her hand in the air, exasperatedly, then lets it drop to her lap in such a dramatic fashion that I have no other choice than to roll my eyes. “My goodness, Liv, I’m making conversation, not asking the man for his social security number. Just calm down and eat your food, sweetie.”

  Roman covers the lower portion of his face with his napkin, obviously hiding the fact that he’s smiling. No, laughing at me behind there. I shoot a glare at my mother. She seems to sense this isn’t the direction I want the conversation to go, because she rolls her eyes, changing tactics.

  “Fine, do you have any family nearby?”

  At the question, Rome’s easygoing nature seems to dissipate. I watch through furrowed brows, as the sinews in his strong body tighten. The muscles in his shoulders tense, and if I weren’t watching so closely, I would’ve missed the tic in his jaw.

  Maybe I should’ve let them continue asking about girlfriends and his personal life. He seemed a lot more inclined to answer those questions, instead of this one.

  After quite some time, he clears his throat and wipes the edges of his mouth with his napkin, like he’s mulling over how to respond.

  “It’s just me right now. I don’t have any family that lives near here. But I do have a little brother over in Oakland.”

  My mom smiles enthusiastically, all the while my mouth is hanging open in shock. I had no idea Roman had a brother. I don’t know why I’d expect to know anything about his life at all. It’s not like we’ve had a single informing conversation since we’ve met. Though, for some reason, just hearing he has a little brother makes him seem more…real. More human. He has a family just like everyone else. Why is that so hard to believe when it comes to Roman whatever-his-last-name-is?

  “That’s wonderful! How old is he?”

  “He’ll be fourteen in a few weeks.”

  “Oh! Our Brandon just turned sixteen. Is he into sports, too?”

  Rome opens his mouth, looks at me, then drops his gaze to his lap. He digs his phone out of his pocket and glances down at the screen until a frown takes over his face. “I’m sorry. I really need to take this. I’ll be back.”

  My brows tug down, as I watch him push back from the table and take his “call.” An odd sensation travels from my stomach to my chest, making me shift uncomfortably on the chair.

  I heave a deep sigh. “Mom, you can’t just ask questions about people’s lives like that. Not everyone is into opening up to strangers.”

  She jerks back, affronted. “What? I hardly asked anything bad. I’m doing you a favor here, sweetie. How is it you’ve been living next to this man for however long, and you know next to nothing about him?”

  I roll my eyes. “We’re neighbors, Mom. Not best friends.”

  “Regardless, I’ve taught you better than this. He’s a nice guy. Would it kill you to show some interest? I’d like to have some grandchildren, while I’m still able to play with them.”

  I shake my head, not even bothering with a remark for that one.

  It’s obvious my mom thinks Roman is something special. Hell, anytime she has the chance, she stares at him with hearts in her eyes, more than likely planning out our future wedding, even though that will never happen. I’ll admit, he’s easy to look at, so I definitely see the appeal, but what she doesn’t realize? He’s rotten. He’s a complete jerk, and I am in no way, shape, or form interested in him.

  When Rome comes back, the mood has shifted a bit, but with my mother, being the intrusive, audacious creature, she is, it doesn’t take long for things to return to a semi-normal pace. What with her deciding to retell my embarrassing childhood stories.

  “You’ll never believe it, it was the absolute funniest thing. I walked by her door one night and caught her practicing kissing on her arm.” My mom bursts out laughing, and I have the urge to toss my buttered roll at her head.

  Why is this my life?

  “She was so focused, so into it, I didn’t have the heart to go in there and tell her she was doing it all wrong. The amount of tongue and saliva I saw swapping with her arm was, most certainly, not the right way to kiss.”

  Rome shoots me a smirk, as if he’s having the time of his life. His brow rises the tiniest bit, and my cheeks redden at the teasing glint in his eyes.

  I bet he’s really enjoying himself.

  I shoot him a scathing glare, but honestly, seeing how much he’s enjoying himself, even though it’s at my expense, doesn’t bother me, as much as I thought it would.

  After dinner, we sit around and chat some more. Overall, the dinner is relaxed, and once we get through most of the awkward stories, it really isn’t so bad. Rome excuses himself to use the bathroom, and unable to help myself, I follow. I walk through my own house, taking in whatever he may be seeing, as though it’s my first time. I’l
l be the first to admit it doesn’t look great, but everything is slowly coming together.

  My brows pull down when I bypass the open bathroom door and realize he isn’t in there. I hear something in my room, and my heart rate skyrockets. Swallowing down the sudden thickness in my throat, I push into my bedroom, finding Rome’s large, formidable body, hovering in the space. Having him in here, looking at all my stuff is strange. My bed is merely a few feet away from us. It does strange things to my heart—to my core. Things that shouldn’t be happening.

  “What are you doing in here?” I croak out. Embarrassment crawls up my neck and stains my cheeks, so I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure.

  He doesn’t turn or pay any mind to my question. He just continues snooping around my space. His gaze lingers on my made bed, and for some reason, my stomach flips, somersaulting. It feels like I’m free-falling, and I hate it. Rome shifts from my bed to the window that looks into his bedroom.

  He pauses in front of my makeshift reading nook in front of the window. The same place I rubbed one out to him undressing the other night and stroking his cock. Even though I promised myself I’d never do it again, I lied, because I did, in fact, do it again. It was like my body had a mind of its own, when it came to seeing Roman in the nude.

  I break into a sweat. It’s nonsensical. I was in the dark, and he couldn’t see me. There’s no way he knew what I was doing. But then, why is he standing here, staring so hard?

  Can he smell me?

  I sniff the air discreetly, remaining silent.

  Oh, Christ, pull yourself together. He’s not a damn dog.

  “Interesting view,” he comments, and the heart rate, that I’d just calmed some, spikes.

  So that’s what he was looking at.

  The view from my reading nook in my room has the perfect line of sight into his bedroom. And since it seems his windows and curtains are always open, I constantly have a front row view of him at all times.

  “I like to read there. It’s comfy.” My voice is scratchy. Raw even.

  Why the hell do I sound like that?

  I hope like hell he doesn’t notice.

  “Amongst other things, I presume.” He says it so low, I think I’m imagining things, but when he turns back to face me, I know I didn’t. His eyes are filled with heat. It’s like staring into pools of molten lava, threatening to turn me into ash and tar with just one touch. For some reason, my heart is racing, and it feels like someone is playing the steel drums in my chest. My breathing is labored, as if I’ve just run a marathon, and my body…God, I’m trembling. I can smell him everywhere in here. Rome has such a distinct scent; it drives me absolutely nuts.

  It’s the perfect combination of musk and something tantalizing. I want to bottle it up and steal it for safekeeping. As we stand here, only a few feet apart, I’m surprised by the sexual tension in the air. It’s arcing between us, clogging the air, making it hard for me to breathe. I try to look anywhere but at him, but that proves impossible. Roman’s face is far too masculine to be beautiful, but somehow, he is anyway. An incredible magnetism surrounds him. The way his gaze bores into me makes me want to delve deep into him and figure out all there is to know about the man next door.

  The corner of his mouth suddenly inches up, and the effects of it hit me straight in the core. He takes a step into me, his eyes glittering with abhorrence. “I’ve heard some interesting stories today. I particularly enjoyed the arm kissing one. Absolutely fascinating stuff, babe.”

  My stomach dips at the use of the word “babe.” Frustration and wonderment spear me in the chest. It’s a dichotomy of sensations. I narrow my gaze, my lips pinching together in annoyance.

  “I hate you.”

  Roman laughs. The sound is husky, and it rolls through my body in waves. He leans in, and my body goes still, startled by his proximity. With his lips resting so close to my ear, I can feel the heat of his words race down my spine.

  “I hate you, too, babe. So fucking much.”

  A gasp rips from my chest, and I jerk back, glaring up at him, only to come up short. The look in his eyes tears down my walls and strips me of any barriers. His gaze is filled with heat—not the angry kind but one filled with arousal. One that promises very, very bad things.

  Moisture floods my panties.

  I startle at the knocking on my bedroom door. The moment suspended between us suddenly vanishes. Whirling around, I find my dad standing there in the doorway to my bedroom, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Just wanted to tell you we’re going to start cleaning up. Any longer out there and your mother will find a way to bust out your childhood photos. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I don’t even have childhood photos here, Dad.”

  “I know you don’t, but your mother brought them with her,” he deadpans.

  Oh, Christ.

  I force a laugh, but it comes out oddly, revealing just how nervous and off-kilter I’m feeling. My dad’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of us, before he nods, coming to some kind of conclusion in his head, then raps his knuckles on the door and leaves.

  I linger here with Rome for a beat, both of us staring at each other again. There’s so much I want to say to him, so many questions I want to ask, but I don’t do any of that. Instead, I plaster on a smile and point over my shoulder.

  “I’m gonna go out there and help clean up before my mother embarrasses me some more. Feel free to stay and hang out with my dad.”

  Rome rubs the back of his neck. “I should probably get going anyway. But…thank you.”

  My eyes widen, and he seems to pick up on my reaction, because he rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so shocked.”

  “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Thank you?” He scoffs. “I’m sure there’s been something else nice in there.”

  I watch him disappear, and as much as I tell myself I shouldn’t, I walk to the window, my gaze following him, as he heads inside his house, hating the way my heart and stomach are reacting. I’ve felt this way a few times in my life, and each one has ended with a broken heart or in disaster.

  I can’t afford either.

  “Don’t You Know”—Jaymes Young

  They say you should never fall for the enemy. Well, I feel like I am doing exactly that. All that animosity and hate I felt toward Roman is slowly dissipating, slipping through my fingers like fine grains of sand. A sharp, burning tightness spreads across my chest, in a flash of horrible intensity. It’s the realization that I dislike my neighbor as much as I like him. That isn’t even the most unsettling part. It’s how extreme each feeling is. I’ve never felt the level of rage that I feel around Roman. I’ve never felt so incredibly out of touch and out of control with my emotions. And with these new feelings I have for Rome comes a sudden surge of anger. I can’t even explain why. Maybe it’s when he brings women home. I imagine he’s fucking them, and I have no business getting angry that my neighbor may or may not be sleeping with other women. That doesn’t change the tightness that ebbs and flows through my chest, though.

  I wish it was me he was touching. Me he was loving. I want to feel the strong sinews of his body beneath my fingertips. I want to trace the black ink of his tattoos scripted along his golden skin. I want him. And that is precisely the problem.

  I know it was wrong to watch, and honestly, I’ve already given up on the whole reprimanding myself over it, because I obviously have no self-control where he is concerned. And my logic is, what’s the harm? I mean, a part of me is starting to feel like he is doing it on purpose now. He knows where our windows are. How hard would it really be to shut his curtains before getting down and dirty? Not very hard. I’ve done it. All it cost me was a few seconds of my life.

  It’s frustrating.

  He’s frustrating.

  I think a part of me hopes something will flourish between us, but it never does. Rome seems content to keep his distance—or rather,
keep me at a distance. After he finishes the job in my house, he seems over my presence, and I’m not sure what hurts more. I can’t shake the stabbing sensation in my chest, the green sensation of jealousy that fills me when I think about him and someone else. I am on the verge of being a complete psychopath.

  If my father had access to my brain, I’m sure he’d have a field day.

  So that is why I do it. I don’t know if maybe I want his attention. Maybe I want him to give me more than just a simple wave and a few short glimpses of him during the night. Maybe I want to get back at him, make him angry, too. Whatever the reason, it’s the catalyst for us. It is what starts the clusterfuck of poor decisions. I wish I could stop it; I wish I could take a step back and really think about what I’m doing. The truth is, I don’t want any of that. I just want Rome.

  And that is the root cause of all my problems.

  It’s been so long since we’ve last pranked each other that a part of me is nervous to be the one to restart this war. This prank can easily go south, but I think that’s the beauty of pranks. There’s always a risk, and for once in my life, I want to be that risk-taker.

  Since it’s my day off, I wait until Rome is long gone, before trying to find a way inside his house. I get a little thrill of vindication, when I climb over the fence, ungracefully, and Max doesn’t even bark. Instead, the husky cranes his head to the side, watching me like I’m an idiot.

  He wouldn’t be wrong.

  After trying the sliding glass doors and the back windows, my last resort is his bedroom window, and I snort at the hilarity of it all. It pushes up with no resistance, damn near inviting me to walk on in. His room is the same size and just about the same layout as mine. It consists of dark furniture and clean, sleek lines. There’s nothing out of place.

  As much as I’d like to snoop through his stuff, just to really fuck with him, I decide not to. This prank is more than enough. I navigate my way into his living room, eyeing the bare wall with a wicked grin.