by Anthology
I should protest, or at least pretend to put up a fight. But then he’d stop and I don’t want him to stop.
Do I?
He shifts, changing his angle and somehow intensifying the power of the kiss as a moan vibrates in his chest.
That sound is even better than his growly voice.
No, I definitely do not want him to stop.
I should care about this more, I think. Our limited past hasn’t been the greatest. In fact, it’s been pretty damn volatile at times. Right now, the way his fingers feel digging into my hips, pulling me flush against his hard and naked body (and I do mean HARD—everywhere) is making me weak. In determination and in the knees.
Oh my God. I’m sleeping with the enemy. Kind of the enemy. I mean he was. And we’re just kissing. For now. Dear Lord, please-please-please let me sleep with my archenemy. Except not so much sleep as, you know, ravage sexually.
Okay, maybe I should back up a little here.
Record Scratch.
Freeze Frame.
Yep, that’s me with my leg wrapped around my neighbor’s thigh, oh-so-gracefully rubbing myself against him with zero dignity intact. You’re probably wondering how I got here.
I’m wondering that myself.
Well, it all started about three weeks ago…
Chapter One
“I don’t think I have ever been this tired in my life,” I say with an exhausted sigh. “Please tell me you didn’t eat my leftover lo mein. I do not have the energy to cook tonight.”
“Umm…” Shana’s voice trails off on the other end of the line and I mentally kick myself for ever agreeing to share an apartment with my best friend. I love her. I do. But I love her more when her bad habits are practiced somewhere else and don’t affect me. Like now. When I’ve worked nearly fifteen hours for the third day this week.
“I’ll order pizza,” Shana hurries on. “Extra cheese and green peppers.”
Damn. That sounds way better than reheated Chinese.
“And,” she continues, “a big-ass glass of Moscato.”
She knows me so well. Okay, so maybe it’s not so bad living with my best friend. In fact, I kind of want to hug her.
“All right, you’re forgiven, you little leftover takeout thief.”
Shana snorts in my ear. “Ha, that’s the pot calling the kettle pink.” (It was a whole set, pots, pans, knives, and kettle—all magenta in color and purchased on sale during Black Friday. We’re savvy shoppers.)
“I don’t steal your food,” I say, as I stop behind what should be my open parking spot. A car is parked in the international sign of douchebaggery, taking up one half of two different spaces. And Shana’s car is hogging ALL of mine. What the actual hell?
‘“Little thief,”’ Shana retorts. “I’m taller than you. You’re the short shit who can barely see over the steering wheel.”
Oh no she didn’t. “First of all, I am not short. I am vertically challenged. It’s a condition. Second, I am exactly five feet of pure angelic pleasantness. And third, I can most definitely see over the steering wheel and what I am currently seeing is your car taking up my parking space. Why do you hate me?”
“Five feet of pure bullshit is what you are,” Shana mumbles. “And I had to. Sydney has her boyfriend over and he parked his douchemobile like a jackass. He was taking up half of my spot, so I had to take yours.”
Sydney is our neighbor in apartment 3A. She’s been dating this guy who drives a ridiculously large truck and doesn’t know how to park it in our limited provided spaces. I sigh, long and defeated.
“Did you knock on her door and tell her Neanderthal boyfriend to move his damn truck?”
“Tried. They must have Ubered to wherever they went because they weren’t home. Just park in one of 3C’s areas, and when the assholes get back, I’ll get them to move and get everything back to how it should be.”
Our other neighbor in 3C has two spaces, just like the rest of us, but he keeps a motorcycle there, covered and unused. I sigh again. The only available place is right next to the overgrown bushes. I hate those bushes. Anything or anyone could be hiding in there. Like giant spiders or axe murderers.
“I hope 3C is out for the night because I’m going to look like a real asshole if he comes home to see my car in his spot.”
“He’s never home. We’ll get the cars moved before he sees. And if we don’t, I think he’ll figure it out when he sees the douchemobile.”
“As long as he isn’t too drunk.”
“Why would he be drunk?” Shana questions.
“I don’t know. I assume he’s out partying all night. What else could he be doing that keeps him out until the wee hours of the morning?”
“Booty call? Or maybe he works nights? How the hell do I know? I’ve seen him exactly once from behind when he moved in. Now hurry up and get in here. Your wine is waiting.”
Oh wine. Yum. “Be right up.”
Chapter Two
Rawn
“You ready for another?” I ask, purposely keeping my tone light, voice quiet. Rhys glares at me, but jerks his chin in a nod. I grab his glass and position the straw for easy access. My brother rolls his eyes, shooting me another dirty look as he takes the drink from me.
“I’m not an invalid,” he growls. “I can hold my own water.” Chemo days make him weak, which makes me hover, which pisses him off.
I lift my hands, palms out, placating him. “I know. Just trying to help.”
“Didn’t ask for your help,” he breathes.
He definitely didn’t ask for it, doesn’t want it, and certainly doesn’t appreciate it. But he needs it, whether he wants to admit it or not. I take a slow pull of my beer, meeting his stare. He follows suit, sipping his water. I’m sure he’d much rather have what I’m having. It would do wonders for his mood.
“What are we watching tonight?” I pick up the remote and flip on the TV. We’ve been working our way through every original show on Netflix, but my brother’s been having a hard time focusing, so we’re about halfway through four different series at the moment. It drives me crazy, but I keep my mouth shut. He’s pissy as shit on the bad days and pretty much every day is bad right now. That’s to be expected when his wife, Alexa, started cheating on him less than a month after he was diagnosed with lymphoma. Then took off, leaving both him and their two-year-old daughter behind while he was at his first round of chemo.
Some people are real assholes.
Some people are heartless.
Then there’s Alexa. That girl is a soul-sucking monster. She could easily win awards for Worst Wife, Vilest Mother, and Cruelest Human Being, hands down.
We don’t talk about her, but her carnage is everywhere. I see it most in my niece’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Rhys says. He drags a hand over his face before propping his arm behind his head. “I don’t mean to be such a dick.”
I smirk at him over my bottle. “It’s all right. I know it just comes naturally for you.”
He rolls his eyes and shoots me the bird. “Runs in the family.”
“Yeah,” I concur. “Mara can be a real shit sometimes.”
“God, I know,” he replies with a chuckle. “One minute, that little girl can be so damn precious, and in the next minute, she can turn into a holy fucking terror.”
“Mm.” I nod my agreement with that too. When that girl skips a nap? Satan incarnate. I’ve actually feared for my life on more than one occasion. “Like father, like daughter,” I supply.
He nods, the movement slow and sluggish. “Well, she is adorable.”
“That,” I correct, “she gets from her favorite uncle.”
“Only uncle.”
I lift my shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “I’m still her favorite. Hell, I’m pretty sure she likes me more than you most days.”
“At least someone does.” He manages a smug smile before shifting onto his side. He tries to set his drink on the coffee table, but his arm is frail from the poison pumping throu
gh his veins and the glass begins to shake in his hand. I take it from him and set it on the coaster without a word.
“Stranger Things.”
“What?” I ask, not sure I heard him right.
“Let’s watch Stranger Things. I need to know what Eleven’s deal is.”
Chapter Three
Kenadie
Two glasses of wine, three slices of pizza, and four hours of sleep later, I’m standing in the parking area of my apartment complex, steaming travel mug in hand, wondering if I’ve been cursed.
3C’s car is parked directly behind mine, blocking it in the space. I guess I can’t blame him since I left him nowhere else to park. Not that he couldn’t have moved his motorcycle—which he never uses anyway—taking up his spare spot.
I round the front of my car—my baby that I scrimped and saved to buy—and survey my options, hoping I can just pull straight forward onto the lawn and be on my merry way to work. A frustrated hiss leaves my lips as my gaze falls on the bumper block.
Well, shit.
First I take the guy’s space, and now I’m going to have to wake him up at the buttcrack of dawn. Shana should be the one dealing with this, not me. If she hadn’t taken my space, this would be her problem and not mine.
I set my cup on the hood so I can dig through my purse for my cell. This is when I notice the folded sheet of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. After pressing send on Shana’s number, I slide the note out and unfold it. Five one-dollar bills spill onto my car as I read the script scrawled inside.
Good luck getting your car, asshole. Better get used to the bus, because I’m not moving. Have a wonderful fucking day. Prick.
That escalated quickly.
“What the shit?” I utter, crumpling the sheet of paper in my fist.
“What?” Shana croaks into the phone, her voice full of sleep.
“Why didn’t you have me move my car when you moved yours last night?” I cry in defeat.
“You were sleeping.”
I toss my arm out. “And you didn’t wake me?”
“I tried.” Annoyance colors her tone. “You were out like a light. And I would have moved your car myself, but your keys weren’t on the hook and I was not about to go searching your room for them.”
Oh, of course she’s going to be logical about it. I need someone to be angry with because I am so pissed off right now. And I really don’t want to admit this is my own fault for falling asleep before I could put my car back in its rightful spot.
“3C blocked me in. Can I use your car today?”
“What? He blocked you in?”
I nod, though she can’t see the gesture. “And he left me a really mean note.” Tears sting my eyes. Oh, what the hell? I’m not a crier. It causes mascara to run and I do not waste perfectly good makeup. I need to get some better sleep soon. It’s making me crazy.
“I’m sorry, K, but I have to work. I need my car today. I can drop you off if you give me a few minutes to get presentable.”
I don’t like being dependent on other people. Plus, I’ll be stuck at work during my lunch hour, which is pretty much the highlight of my day. I was looking forward to sucking on a smoothie as I window-shopped in Bellamy Square. I can’t walk all the way to Bellamy Square! Not in heels! This is 3C’s fault. Okay, it’s actually Sydney’s stupid boyfriend’s fault, but he’s not the one currently making my life more difficult.
“No, hold off,” I grumble. “I’m going to try to get him to move first.”
“’Kay, let me know if you need me. Meanwhile, I’m going back to bed.” The line goes dead and I sigh, shoving my phone back into my purse. I grab the money—oooh, I get it. It’s bus fare. How annoyingly clever of him. But I am not taking the freaking bus. I clutch the cash and head up to 3C’s apartment. He’s going to have to move his car if he ever wants his space back.
I pound my fist against his door before crossing my arms over my chest. The vindictive part of me is a teensy bit gleeful to be waking him from his precious slumber. Bet you won’t write me a nasty note again, buddy.
The door flies open, revealing my sleepy neighbor, hand held out in front of his face to shield his eyes, dark hair mussed. “Yeah?”
“Hi, I live next door,” I say, trying to be civil. I shoot my thumb in the direction of my apartment, just a few feet from his. A ginormous, overweight cat slinks between his legs, curiously eyeing me before it decides I’m not interesting and slithers away as quickly as it appeared. I lift my gaze back to my neighbor. “I’m the one who took your parking spot.” I take a breath, ready to suck it up and apologize, despite my urge to defend myself, but he cuts me off before I get the chance.
“Do you know what time it is?”
I snap my mouth closed and stare at his palm blankly. I’d tell him it is a quarter after six, but based on the irate tone of his voice, I’m guessing his question is rhetorical.
“I had a really late, really long, really shitty night. Then I came home to find that some inconsiderate…” He pauses, dropping his hand to give me a scaling once over. His eyes, which nearly glow as they catch the sunlight—linger on my face before trailing slowly down my body, then climbing back up again. “Chick,” he continues, “stole my parking spot. And you think you can come bang on my door at six in the morning and I’ll just scurry right on down to move my car out of the way for you? It’s not going to happen. Take. The bus.”
“It’s six fifteen,” I correct because—I have no idea why. This guy is a total dick. And he’s really cute. And his eyes are so pretty. Like seriously, I’m jealous of those lashes. Why do men always get the best lashes? It’s so unfair. And to top it off, he’s making it hard to form coherent thoughts.
“I had the common courtesy not to wake you up last night,” he hisses, shaking me from my contemplations.
His eyes aren’t nearly as nice when they’re narrowed into thin slits. “Listen, it wasn’t like I took your space to be a jerk—”
“No, I’m sure you just assumed your need for it was more important than mine. You know there is street parking directly out front, right? Was the extra fifty feet too much for you?”
Okay, what the actual fuck? Who pissed in this dude’s Cheerios?
Oh, right. Me. But not purposely.
“I can’t park on the street. Cars get broken into out there.”
“But you expected me to park my car out there to get broken into?”
“No. I thought I could move before you got back, but I fell asleep.”
He scoffs at that. “Aren’t you lucky? You must not have had some spoiled princess banging on your door.”
Spoiled? I have busted my ass for every single thing I have. I’m far from spoiled.
And princess? Please. I am a queen.
I wad his dollar bills up and toss them at his chest, ignoring the way the dark blue material clings to the muscles there. Drawstring pajama pants and an old tee shouldn’t look that incredible. “Will you just go move your car?” I push through gritted teeth.
His eyes move over the money, now scattered at our feet. When his gaze returns to meet mine, he’s smirking. The expression is so smug it makes me want to punch sensitive appendages.
“Nope. I’m going back to bed.”
“What? You have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything but pay taxes and die, sweetheart.” And with that, he slams the door in my face.
Oh. No. He. Did. Not.
I damn near bloody my knuckles beating on his door to no avail. Shana steps out of our apartment in yoga pants, an oversized sweatshirt, her strawberry-blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-shouts. “Someone’s going to call the cops.”
“That son of a bitch won’t move his car and he slammed the door in my face.” I fling my foot out, kicking the wood so hard the frame vibrates.
“Kenadie, calm the hell down.”
I turn my head slowly, fixing her with a glare. “Do not
tell me to calm down.”
“Oh, I’m going to tell you to calm down because you look like a psychotic ex-girlfriend right now. Let’s go.” She grips my arm in a death-lock and drags me toward the stairs. I allow her to guide me all the way to her car, but only because while she’s doing that, I’m pulling out my phone and looking up the numbers to tow truck companies.
If the bastard in 3C doesn’t want to move his car, I’ll move it for him.
An evil chuckle whispers past my lips. Hope I don’t mess his day up too badly. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Shana gives me the side eye. “That laugh just gave me chills.”
Excellent.
Chapter Four
Rawn
Where the fuck is my car?
Chapter Five
Kenadie
I feel proud of myself all morning.
Every time I imagine the guy in 3C going out to get into his car, a wicked grin forms on my face.
Until the guilt begins to creep in sometime in the early afternoon. Because the more I think about it, the more I consider the idea that maybe, just maybe, I overreacted. Visions of my neighbor showing up late to work and promptly getting fired. His cute chubby kitty slowly wasting away because he can no longer afford to feed it. A little kitten-sized tombstone as he buries his furry friend in the small yard behind the apartment complex.
Aww. Poor fat cat. I was just trying to get even, not destroy the guy’s life.
Here’s the thing about me. I like people to like me. In fact, it downright breaks my heart when people don’t take to me. I’m actually quite pleasant most days. However, my mom didn’t raise a pushover. The moment 3C shut his door in my face he declared war.