by S. M. Soto
“What the hell are you doing?” I bark like an insane woman.
“Now I’m being an asshole,” he offers, infantilely.
“You’re a child, you know that?”
“Done talking yet?”
“Asshole.”
“Shrew.”
“Prick.”
“Ignoramus.”
“Dickwad.”
“You seem to be obsessed with my dick.”
My gaze narrows, heat rising to my cheeks, as I glance around. “Excuse me?” I hiss.
“Dickhead. Dickwad.”
“Those are all insults that perfectly describe you. Don’t blame me for the way you come off to others.”
“They all seem to have a very specific focus.”
To my horror, the woman, he let cut him, tries to stifle her laughter but fails miserably. Embarrassment churns my stomach, and I have to work to control my breathing. I’m not a violent person, but I suddenly have the urge to attack this man. Nails bared and everything.
When I don’t say anything in return, he allows me to fume in silence, turning back around and going through the motions of checking out. I glare daggers at his back the entire time. Hell, if I had a voodoo doll, I’d be stabbing the shit out of it with a red pin right about now.
The checkout woman eyes me warily, when it’s my turn, and I do my best to ignore her and everyone else whose gaze I can feel glued to me, just watching and waiting for my next outburst. I’ve had enough of today.
Mumbling curse words under my breath the entire way back to my car, I’m so lost in my own mind, I don’t realize there’s a car backing out right in front of me. By the time I do snap out of it, it’s too late. The car screeches to a halt, still bumping my cart. I let out a gasp, and my eyes widen when I take in the small dent that now rests on the all black muscle car.
No way.
There’s no way.
The driver’s side door is thrown open, and a tall and impossibly intimidating Roman gets out, tossing his hands up in the air.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Me?” I yell back incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me? You hit me with your car, you dickhead!”
“Don’t you look to see where you’re going? Obviously, if a car is backing out, that means stop fucking walking!”
“Ever heard of a rearview mirror, Roman? Try using it!”
With a growl, he throws himself back into his car, pulls out of the parking space, and drives away. I stand there, rooted to the spot, fuming.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
“Fuck You (very very much)”—Lily Allen
The next morning when I leave for work, I pull out of the driveway, just as my neighbor opens his garage and rolls out his motorcycle. Max is nowhere to be found. I watch in the rearview mirror, while I head down the street, as he swings his leg over his bike. A strange burst of warmth and reckless embers explode in my chest when I look in the rearview mirror and see his head crane my way, as he watches me drive away. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction that I get, knowing I obviously get under his skin the same way he gets under mine.
I imagine his bike swerving, and his pride and joy being crushed to smithereens. I smirk.
Would serve the asshole right.
When I walk into work, my steps falter at the broad backed man. I’m even more surprised when he turns around. Dressed in a suit and a white lab coat over it, the handsome man with sandy blond hair shoots me a smile.
“Hey, I’m Travis Bennett. You must be our new assistant. Olivia, right?”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and it takes me a few seconds to get ahold of myself. I plaster a smile on my face and jolt my clammy hand out to him.
“Hi, yes, I’m Olivia. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Bennett.”
He grins, and it’s dazzling. He has the same charm Reid had. The smiles and charisma are what draw you in.
“Please, call me Travis. Mr. Bennett is my father.”
“Travis. Yes. I got it.”
He chuckles and pointedly looks down at my hand that’s still shaking his. I immediately let go and shoot him an apologetic gaze.
God, what is my problem lately?
“Come on, you can assist me for the morning. I could use some help.”
“Of course!” I jump into action, washing my hands and scrubbing down. For the rest of the morning, I split my time between following Travis’s instructions and learning more about him. He grew up here in Campbell. His mother was always a stay-at-home mom, and his dad opened the clinic when he was just a kid. From there on, he knew he always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and, one day, take over the family business.
In the few hours I spend with Travis, I learn a lot about him, some good and some bad. The good? On top of being good-looking and funny, he’s an incredible doctor. The bad? Obviously sleeping with co-workers is a nonissue for him because throughout my shift I’ve caught him and Lucy making “sex eyes” at each other. Which honestly wouldn’t bother me at all if he hadn’t already made subtle passes at me.
The “oh, how could a woman as beautiful as you be single?” or the, “I look forward to getting to know you, Olivia. All of you.” Yeah, there was no missing that innuendo. And like I said, normally, it wouldn’t bother me. Hot boss who loves animals? Count me in. But in this case, I don’t want to shit where I eat, metaphorically, that is. This is my job. The last thing I want to do is cause any drama or make room for any awkward situations. There’s no telling how many women he’s slept with in the office. The thought alone skeeves me out. Becoming another notch on his bedpost isn’t exactly appealing, no matter how hot he is.
I mean, who am I kidding? What’s going to happen when I sleep with him, and I start to grow attached—because I know I will grow attached. I’ve never been a one-night stand type of girl. I know myself well enough to admit that seeing him flirt with Lucy and Kassandra around the office would bother me. After leaving one toxic relationship, the last thing I want to do is find myself in another one. The whole point of this fresh start, this move, is to become my own person. Fall into that independence I so desperately craved in my previous relationship.
I’m cleaning and sanitizing room three, when a knock sounds on the door. Travis pokes his head in, an enticing smile on his face.
“How do you like it here so far?” He rests his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest, as he watches me finish up.
I shoot him a genuine smile over my shoulder. “It’s great. The drive here is short, and the staff is incredible. I’m loving it here.”
“Glad to hear it.” He pushes off the doorjamb and uncrosses his arms, drumming his heavy fingers along the wall. “You about done in here?”
“Uh, yeah. I just need to sweep, then this room is all set for the night shift.”
“Great.” He lingers, and it prompts me to pause. I turn toward him fully and raise a brow. I brace myself for whatever it is he’s here for. “You up to doing dinner tonight? I know this great Mexican place about fifteen minutes away.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but at the very last second, I shake my head. “You know what, I would, but I have some stuff to do at home. New place and all. I still have quite a few boxes to unpack, but, uh, thank you. For offering. That’s nice of you.”
He nods, grinning to himself, like something is amusing. He pats the wall, signaling his departure. “No worries, Olivia. See you tomorrow, and great work today. You’re an excellent addition to the staff.”
My grin is probably borderline insane, but I can’t contain my happiness at his praise. “Thank you, Travis. That means a lot to me.”
I spend the next hour finishing up with the sweeping. This was my last room I had to sanitize before I could leave. The second shift assistant and vet tech start soon, and they stay through the night, until the next shift takes over. They have a great system going, what with this being a twenty-four-hour clinic a
nd all. I haven’t had to work a full night yet, but I’m sure it’s coming soon. I think they’re still giving me time to get used to how things work here.
When I pull into my driveway at a quarter to six, I can’t help but glance next door at my neighbor’s house. Against my will, my heart lurches at the sight of his open garage door, and the light spilling out. Max’s black and white furred body is lying on his doggy bed, and of course, the man in question, Roman, is there. Once again, he’s working on the car. The hood is up, shielding him from view, but I can see his legs. The light inside the garage is bright. Way brighter than mine. I’m sure he’s handy enough to change his own lighting, unlike me. I haven’t had the guts to venture into the garage yet. The last I checked, it was filled with spiders, and I swear, I even heard something scurry by the garage door.
My car is just fine sitting in the driveway, thank you very much.
Inhaling a deep, stabilizing breath, preparing for whatever Roman I’ll be getting today, I hook the strap of my purse over my shoulder and slam the car door shut. Max perks up, glancing my way, and much to my surprise, he hops out of the bed and saunters toward me. Unable to help myself, a grin tips the corners of my lips, and I find myself crossing our lawns toward the garage. Max jumps at me, his heavy paws pushing against my legs and almost knocking me over. I bend, patting his head, giving him a good scratch behind his ears.
Even though it practically kills me to do this, to be the one to extend the olive branch between us, I don’t want to start our neighbor relationship like this. Maybe, if I find out what ticked him off in the first place, we can get past all the nastiness that has transpired since then and move on. I don’t expect us to become the best of friends, but honestly, I don’t know how much more of his scathing glares I can endure.
“Hi, buddy. How’re you doin’?”
“Mad Max, sit,” Roman commands.
A laugh climbs up my throat at the name. “Mad Max is such a…” I trail off, when I glance up and finally take in my neighbor.
My mouth drops open, and my eyes grow twice their normal size.
He’s shirtless, his skin slick with sweat. There are smudges of black on his hands and forearms, and a red dingy rag is tucked in the pocket of his low-slung jeans. My throat goes dry, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I swear I even forget how to breathe.
Roman’s body is insane. There are abs, definite abs there, and way too many for me to count without being too obvious. And his chest, Christ, his chest is just…perfection. His pecs are smooth and tanned, and I can see every droplet of sweat beaded over the script tattoo on his right one. Slowly, I trace my eyes down to the dark trail of hair and the protruding veins that lead into his jeans, hanging low on his hips. For the life of me, I can’t tear my eyes away from that deep V of muscle. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I notice it’s been too long. I’ve been too silent. I’m gawking and ogling like I’ve never seen a man like him before, and shit, I need to pull myself together.
I force myself to fix my gaze on his face, and in doing so, I do another slow perusal of his body. His Adam’s apple juts out against his olive skin. His beautiful brown hair curls around his ears and the nape of his neck. He must’ve shaved recently because the scruff I noticed, the day he came over to yell at me and yesterday at the grocery store, is now gone. He’s perfectly clean-shaven, and honestly, I can’t tell which looks best on him. His lips are plump, the bottom much larger than the top, but both have me beat in the plump department.
But his eyes? They’re what do me in. They’re what cause my breath to hitch, my heart to pound, and my stomach to dip with that damn foreign sensation. The pewter blue is vibrant, taking on a gray hue. Like sunlight on chrome, ice in the Atlantic. A fucking stunning pale blue. He really is beautiful. Not in a feminine way, but one you can’t help but stare at. He’s beautiful in a dark, rebellious way. I feel it in the way the air is charged around him—around us.
I start coughing when I see the makings of a smirk on his face. He’s caught me red-handed. It’s the last thing I was expecting from him. And it’s gone before I can analyze it further. Embarrassment coats my cheeks because he knows I was checking him out. I mean, it’s obvious. I wasn’t exactly discreet about it. Not in the least.
“Soooo, Mad Max, huh?” I try for nonchalance, but my voice, my whole fucking body, betrays me by sounding breathy. Ignoring me, Roman snaps for Max to come, and he does so begrudgingly. Tentatively, I invite myself inside his garage, observing the space. I take in the license plates on the wall and the hardware and other tools. There’s a station with car parts and items resting on a toolbox.
“You fix cars?”
Roman crosses those thick arms over his big chest, glaring daggers at me. The smirk that was inching across his face is completely wiped away now. It’s like he suddenly remembers he hates me.
“Is there a reason you’re here talking to me?”
I fidget under his intense glare. Shifting toward the car he’s been working on, I decide to ignore his obvious dismissal and take in the shiny black paint job and the red stripes over the hood. It’s nice. A muscle car. The same one from the grocery store yesterday.
“What is this, a Mustang? My dad would probably love this car.”
Roman scoffs. “A Mustang,” he mumbles under his breath, shaking his head with disappointment. “You can clearly see it’s not a Mustang.”
I roll my eyes. “You know, you don’t always have to be so rude about everything.”
“If you think I’m so rude, why are you here?” he quips coldly, leaning his black smudged hand against his pride and joy. There’s a gruffness in his tone that sets me on edge. The question stumps me, because I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I knew coming here to play nice was a mistake, but foolish me had hoped that he’d be an adult about this situation. That’s obviously not going to happen.
I don’t understand why I find myself constantly thinking about him. I refuse to believe it’s just because he’s hot. There’s something about Roman, an air of mystery around him that has me wanting to know who he is.
Why is he such an asshole?
Why did he name his dog, Mad Max?
Why does he hate me so much?
It doesn’t matter because it’s not like he’ll tell me anyway. I’m familiar with Roman’s type. I know his type all too well. He’s just like Travis and Reid. Men who look like them always treat women a certain way, and honestly, it’s a waste of my time constantly trying to figure him out. I refuse to settle, not when I deserve better than either of them is willing to give.
“You’re right. I can’t fathom why I’m here. I know your type well enough to grasp that you’re a jackass. Just like the rest of them.” Fuming, I spin on my heels and stomp out of his garage. I’m partly angry with myself. I hate that I’m like this. I gravitate toward men who are bad for me, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. I have a loving father, so it’s not like I have daddy issues, but a part of me goes out and hopes, it’ll be the moment I meet the one. I’m constantly searching for love.
I’m also angry with my god-awful neighbor for being such a dick. For invading my headspace and being an unwanted distraction in this new chapter in my life. Why couldn’t he just be a nice, regular neighbor who I don’t have to worry about walking on eggshells around?
His next words stop me in my tracks. They’re spoken low. So low, I almost don’t hear them, but I do. They send a tremor down my spine.
“I can assure you, I’m nothing like them.”
I pause, glancing at him over my shoulder. The muscle in his jaw jumps continuously, as if he’s grinding his teeth together.
Too bad for him, I don’t care enough to know how different he really is.
But that’s just another lie.
Because I do care. Way more than I’d like to admit.
The weekend comes with its own set of issues, the first being the plumbing in the house. Or is it the piping? Whatever the hell i
t is, the water is still cold as shit. The water heater isn’t working either, but I refuse to call my dad back here so soon. For once, I need to figure this out on my own. And sadly, YouTube hasn’t given me the answer. Yesterday on my lunch break at work, I called a local plumbing company, and they agreed to send a guy out to take a look and see what the problem is.
Which brings us to now. He toured the house and checked the water heater, and as he did it all, he did nothing but grunt and scribble something on his clipboard filled with papers. We finally head back out toward his truck, and he slams me with the bad news. In my peripheral, I can hear Max growling. I glance over my shoulder, spotting Roman and Max in the garage. He’s working on the car again.
The same car that is most definitely not a Mustang.
I can feel his heated gaze on me from here. It has my stomach dipping violently. I hurry and whirl around, focusing on Arnold, the plumber with a beer belly that rivals my old neighbor’s. Mr. Greene was the poster child for a man with a beer belly, if there ever was one. It was like his gut had a mind of its own. When he’d laugh or grunt, the thing would bob up and down in a distracting way. And regardless of how big the man’s shirts were, his belly would always manage to make an appearance.
“Well, I found the problem. You have weak piping. It’s an old house, so this was bound to happen. It definitely needs work done. We’ll have to re-pipe. You need a new water heater. The unit you have in there isn’t working anymore. I can help you out. A crew of guys can be here next week, but you’re looking at about eight to nine grand, not including the cost of labor.”
I choke.
Literally. I start choking, right there in front of my house.
I think I’ve even swallowed my tongue.
“I’m sorry, what? Ten grand?” On the verge of hysterics, my voice is deafening. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire neighborhood heard me just now.
“It’s an old house, ma’am. If you want warm, clean water, this is what needs to be done.”