“Is this really your job? Listening to people and telling them that it is okay to have a…” he looks around the house and then at me, “colorful personality.”
My phone rings before I can respond to his rude observation. I glance at the table and see that it’s Callie. I let it go to voicemail, but she calls again.
Reaching for my phone, I press the speaker and answer. “Hey.”
“Did you seriously just tell everyone about my breakup? I just bought you a fucking phone, and you rat me out.”
“You sound upset,” I say, in my most passive aggressive voice.
She lost me my cellphone. She had to replace it. And I lost all my contacts because she couldn’t be bothered to get me my old phone. I plan on replacing it since I’m still paying the old number. I’ll keep this one as a backup—and to make sure she pays the two years to make up for this mess.
“Of course I’m upset, Persephone,” she screams so loud that Chad chuckles. “We have an agreement. My life is off-limits.”
“I didn’t say anything specific, just that we’re having a breakup party.”
“And that you’re bringing booze and sex toys along to celebrate,” my unfriendly neighbor adds. “Which, according to your expertise, are amazing.”
I glare at him.
“Who is that?”
“The guy I told you about,” I answer and then glare at him. “Mind your own business.”
“I would if you weren’t so loud.”
“He sounds hot. Does he have a radio voice and an ugly face?”
“He’s okay,” I lie, because he is hot and his voice is so smooth, I want him to tell me dirty things while... I take a breath and refocus on my phone conversation. “Listen, I didn’t say much about the breakup.”
“How would you feel if I told people about your breakup with Ian and how he told you, in a few short words, that you are a slut who doesn’t deserve much consideration other than to get laid?”
“Ouch, that’s harsh.” I flinch. “He didn’t say that, and I didn’t say anything about your breakup with Jonathan. Actually, why did you break up?”
“You have a weird job, and our parents were having sex everywhere, while we were camping. He thinks I’m a nymph.”
“I think he meant to say a nymphomaniac. A nymph is a fairy,” I explain to her.
“Seriously, Persy, that is not the point.”
“So, he broke up with you because of me?” I ask, irritated because if that’s why they broke up, they sound like lame excuses to just leave her. “There’s nothing wrong with being open about your sexuality.”
“Having a sister who sleeps around for a living isn’t a great track record.”
I gasp, appalled at her.
“Callie, I’m going to hang up because this conversation is getting out of hand. I’m your sister, not your enemy. He broke up with you, not me. If I was a factor, then he didn’t even take the time to get to know you. Now, you telling me that I’m sleeping around is inaccurate and none of your fucking business. I won’t apologize for being me—ever.”
“You should add that to your blog,” Chad suggests. “Sister’s fight over their sexual exploitation.”
“There’s nothing wrong with what I do for a living. Also, there’s nothing wrong about enjoying yourself when you have sex—as long as it is consensual,” I explain.
“All true,” he agrees. “In fact, my motto is always make it fun. So, your name is Persephone?”
I glance at him and nod. “Yes, my parents are Greek mythology junkies. They named their children Eros, Nyx, Calliope, and Persephone. I’m thankful they chose that and not their Star Wars fandom. Can you imagine? I’d be named Yavin or Alderaan. Maybe Tatoonie.”
He chuckles. “So, your sister’s ex, and your ex-boyfriend are put off by your boldness.”
I look at him, unsure of this conversation. “Are you asking if I put out easily?”
“No, just wondering what kind of losers you date.”
“You and me both, Buddy,” I respond. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for days. I went through the list of guys I have dated to see if maybe I can… re-date them.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” he interrupts me.
I glare at him and continue, “Well, duh. It was just an idea. Evidently, if things didn’t work out the first time, they will never work.”
“Obviously,” he remarks.
“See, there’s Darwin who lives in Austria,” I recount out loud. “He’s too far to reconnect with him. He wouldn’t be helpful to my project. There’s Jeffrey, who, according to his social media profiles, married his college sweetheart four years ago and has a baby—” I let out a loud exhale.
“What’s wrong? Is he the one who got away?”
I chuckle. “Nope, I was his college sweetheart. Ari was my roommate.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, either they were fucking while we were dating, or they erased me from their life.” I shrug.
“There’s Thomas,” I continue and scrunch my nose. “A man-child. We lived together for a year and then he decided it wasn’t working. I heard from Claire, one of his sisters, that he’s still doing that, moving too fast and then breaking up with the live-in girlfriend, before the lease is up.”
“Your track record is…”
I show him a hand. “Don’t say it. The five guys I’ve been with are pathetic. I’m trying not to make a list of what is wrong with me.”
“So, you claim to have a lot of experience, but you’ve only slept with five guys?”
“Six,” I correct him.
“The first one was a bust. I learned a lot from him, though. He opened my eyes to what I never wanted to have, ever again. It was my first time. I was seventeen—but he was older.”
“How much older?”
“Twenty-one?” I respond, because really, I can’t remember.
“Still a selfish idiot.”
“Yes, but this selfish idiot taught me how to learn more about what I wanted in bed—or out of it.”
“At seventeen?”
I nod. “Yes, I decided that the next guy I dated would be different.”
“Darwin?”
“Yep. I was backpacking through Europe with my sister, Nyx—she’s only ten months older than me. We met Darwin and some of his friends. We joined their journey, and we had a really good time together,” I say with a satisfactory smile. “Really good time.”
“Why did you break up?”
“He was just a summer fling. Best fling ever,” I confess. “Hence, there’s no point in going back to revisit everything. He’s there, I’m here, and there’s no lost love between us.”
“Jeffrey?”
“Ari can thank me for his excellent skills in bed. I taught him what I like while I figured out what he liked. It was a win-win situation until we graduated. He was ready to become an adult, and I stayed behind.”
“Thomas?”
“Actually, there was a guy between him and Thomas. Lyle. We were great together. I thought he was going to be my happy,” I explain and then shake my head. “He taught me that happiness came from within.”
“What?” he asks confused.
“You can’t depend on other people or circumstances to make you happy. If you’re holding onto the hope that once you get to date a certain person, or get a raise, or go on vacation that you will be happy—you will never let that feeling fulfill you for real. Happy might be reading a book, dancing to the rhythm of your favorite music, a walk, a hike, a bike ride, dinner with your friends … I thought I’d be happy when he finally said, I love you.”
“He never did,” he concludes.
“Never,” I confess. “Two years and he only said, ‘You’re a fun girl.’” I sigh. “Just like my last boyfriend.”
Suddenly, it felt as if the sky opened, and the answer finally fell into my lap. The one thing the guys I dated have in common is that they all say I am fun to be around. They enjoy my company, but I never get to be more. Even
Callie’s boyfriend broke up with her because I am … just a girl to play around with.
“Everything okay there?” Chad asks.
“Great,” I answer. “It’s just that … maybe I found my answer to my latest question.”
“Which is?”
“There has to be a common denominator on how or why things didn’t work out with them, you know?” I explain. “Maybe I’ve been dating the wrong type of guy. I need to make sure that I look for someone who fits my personality.”
“Refreshing,” he says.
“What?”
“You’re not saying, I’ll change them, or I’ll change myself,” he explains further.
“Why would I do that? That’s setting myself up to fail even before I started.”
“So, you are a sex expert, but you’ve only been with six guys?” He sounds astonished by this discovery.
“I’ve been studying human behavior for years,” I explain. “My parents are archeologists. They have tons of books, and I’ve read most of them. I listened to them talk about tribes, ancient civilizations, and the evolution of the world. Throughout history, you can see how relationships evolve. Sex has been different in every culture. Some feel like a kiss is overstepping, while, in other countries, you kiss both cheeks to greet friends, family, and even some strangers.”
He sighs. “You are passionate about the interaction of people.”
“Yeah, and sex makes many people uncomfortable, and I want them to learn that it is a natural thing. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting it, for making yourself feel good, or for giving your partner a great time.”
I swear there’s fire in his eyes, but before either one of us can speak, a guy steps onto the terrace and says, “Hey, Mister, I placed the bags on top of the counter. They didn’t have your beer. Mom said she’ll try to run another errand to a different liquor store tomorrow.”
“Thank her and tell her I still have some, so she doesn’t need to worry about it,” he says, walking away and closing the door behind him.
I stare at his well-formed ass for way too long.
Eleven
Him
Friday, June 12th
Holy fuck!
Life with Persy is harder than I thought, and she doesn’t even live with me.
How am I supposed to endure the next fourteen months around Persephone Brassard?
Her music isn’t too loud, but it is loud enough that I can hear it. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I understand why her sister fought the leasing contract. This woman talks all day long.
Her voice isn’t the problem. It’s the conversations she has with herself or over the phone. Just this morning, she had a call—or maybe it was a video conference. With a serious, professional voice, she gave a detailed description on how to give the best blow job. Just imagining her tongue swirling around my cock took me all the way to the edge, and I had to head to my room to finish the job she didn’t even know she started.
I swear there has to be an amendment to the contract. No sex talk allowed—unless it’s between us, and we are naked. Fuck, I’m glad the doors between our penthouses are shut, because my self-control is weakening every single day. The idea of just pushing her against any surface and taking her is interfering with my work.
Things Persephone Brassard shouldn’t be allowed to do when I am around:
Practice yoga on her social media channel every morning.
Talk about sex.
Wear sexy and revealing clothes.
Smile.
Smell like a Goddess.
I’m sure those rules sound pretty radical, but hear me out before you judge me. When she’s practicing yoga, she is wearing only a sports bra and yoga pants. I get a perfect view of her cleavage, her round, tight ass, and her toned legs. She is flexible as fuck. Watching her sweet body move slowly with grace is fucking hot.
It’s not like I can just stop looking at her. After the first morning I saw her practicing, I tried to ignore her, but the images of her movements are already seared into my mind. Along with her voice, which is raspy, sexy, and rich. Yes, I complain so much about her, but I get a hard-on every time I hear her speak. Now, add to that sex talk and… Are you fucking kidding me?
How am I supposed to survive living next door to her?
I believe in fairness, and I am willing to add a clause to the contract. Things I shouldn’t be allowed to do:
Have sex with Persephone Brassard—or fantasize about it.
It’s an easy clause that I can follow. Tonight, I should go out and find a new fuck buddy. That’s why I am having trouble concentrating. It’s not her. It’s that I haven’t had sex in a couple of months, and well … she’s next door. Easy access should be enticing, except I can only imagine how things would end up between us.
She’s looking for a relationship, and I run away from those. Such a shame that, in the end, we have zero compatibility because, under different circumstances, we could try some of those positions she talks about. I’ll even play with her toys.
Shit. I need to stop thinking about the ways I can fuck her. How bad would it be if we became friends … with benefits?
She’s pretty open about her sexuality. I bet a woman like her would understand if I tell her it’s just for fun. We could take care of each other. I can do a lot of dirty things to her. I’m thinking hot tub, wine, and her as my appetizer. That sounds a lot better than going out and meeting someone new.
Why am I so obsessed? It’s the sun. I usually work inside the apartment—in my studio. Well, there’s the solution: Stop spending so much time on the balcony, pretending to work. I can concentrate better in my home office. Should I check if there’s an empty apartment downstairs to set up an office space away from her?
Yep, that should help me concentrate on my designs and forget about the next-door beauty. Not that she has interrupted me in the past twenty minutes. Hmm, now that I think about it, where is she? She has been uncharacteristically quiet.
“Do you know what is irritating?” she asks to no one in particular, and I smile, because everything is back to normal with the world.
“You?” I ask.
“Are you always this … infuriating?”
So much for having a peaceful moment. “No. Only when you are around.”
“Beside you,” she specifies. “It is irritating when you organize a party and your sister switches everything.”
I’m wondering if the breakup party is off, and she doesn’t have plans for tonight. We could go out, have dinner, and come back to my place. I can find out where she has that larkspur flower tattoo. Fuck, I need to stop looking at her social media.
“Hmm, you’re ignoring me,” she says. “The one time I’m talking to you, and you are quiet. Why can’t you do that after I finish my consults?”
“Sorry, Persephone, but some of us have work to do,” I answer, standing up and walking to the wall that divides our balconies.
I cross my arms and stare at her. “You have my undivided attention now.”
She serves me with an unamused glance.
“Did Callie cancel your party?” I humor her.
“Yes, she wants to go bar hopping instead.” She scrunches her nose. “In Boulder.”
I gasp. “The horror.”
“It’s an hour drive. Nyx and I live on this side of town.” She looks at me curiously, and that’s never a good thing, because this woman likes to ask questions, and so far, I’ve dodged most of them. “So, what is it that you do? Torture your tenants and cash their rent checks every month?”
I smirk at her. “Something like that.”
Her phone chirps, and she groans. “Time to get ready for the parents.”
“Are they coming to visit?”
“Nope. I’m going to their place.” She gives me a brilliant smile. “However, I’m going to convince them to come and visit me next time. We have a grill and all sorts of amenities that will entice them. You might get to meet them.”
“Lucky me.
I’m sure they are just like you.”
“Lovely?” she grins.
“Noisy.”
“When I’m gone, you’re going to miss me.”
“I can’t wait to hear my thoughts again. Have you considered changing that flamboyant personality?”
She glares at me. “Just when I believed you were more than the serial killer everyone presumes…” She sighs, disappointed. “No, I won’t change my personality for you or any other person. Why would I bother to fit in your box? I accept you the way you are, grunts and all.”
I suck in a breath. There is something about this woman that makes me feel uneasy, and her statements are hard to handle. What does she mean with, she accepts me? I don’t need anyone to understand me.
My phone goes off. It’s Nate’s ring tone, and for the first time in ages, I choose to answer, instead of letting it go to voicemail.
“Yeah?” I answer the phone.
“Well, you’re in a mood,” Nate says.
“See you around, Grump Next Door!” Persy says, before she disappears.
Nate laughs. “How are things going with the hottie next door?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt.
“That great, huh? You can kick her out you know,” he suggests. “Like seriously, dude, if she’s so distracting and annoying as you say, why keep her?”
Fuck, I wish I had an answer, but I really don’t want her to leave. Nate thinks I hate her. I don’t hate her, I just… I don’t know what to make of her.
“What do you need?”
“Come over this weekend?”
“Seattle?” I ask, checking the time.
“No, I’m in New York,” he reminds me. As if I keep track of his whereabouts. He jumps from one house to the other all the time. “We closed a deal, and we should celebrate.”
I look at my watch. It’s almost six o’clock in New York. That’s such a strange request, coming from him. Something happened, but he won’t tell me. Still, I ask casually, “What’s happening?”
“Nothing, I just thought we could hang out like the good old days. It’d be cool to go bar hopping tonight, and tomorrow, we can find a few things to do—like skydiving. If you stay until next week, you can work from here.”
Wrong Text, Right Love Page 7