Hate Thy Neighbor

by S. M. Soto

  He is also a disgusting, chauvinistic pig. During my fifteen, I take a quick bathroom break when I spot him cornering Lucy in the supply room. His hands are running up and down her body, and I’m sure he is whispering sweet nothings in her ear. If the goofy smile on her face was any indication, I’d say she’s falling for every second of it. Disgust churns through my gut, as I walk past them. The fact that this man, who seems to have no boundaries at all, was at my home, only hours prior, professing how much he thought we belonged together is scary. As much as I like Samuel Bennett, his son is a fucking idiot.

  Samuel has a busy schedule today, but he does stop me, while I am on my way to lunch and says he wants to have a conversation with me sometime this week, when we’re both free. That can’t be good.

  Once our shift is over and the night duty staff comes in, I change out of my filthy scrubs and back into my dress, while everyone gathers their stuff and talks about stopping at Cole’s to get drinks. My original plan was to go home and wallow, but after the days I’ve had, lately, getting drunk with Kassandra and a few of the other vet techs doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

  I’m grabbing my purse out of my locker, talking to Kassandra, when a voice stops me in my tracks.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turn toward Travis, whose narrowed gaze is aimed at me. Everyone in the clinic pauses to watch our exchange. “I’m grabbing my bag, so I can go home.” I point down at my purse, my brows creasing.

  Travis scoffs, an ugly, cold expression washing over his face. “Olivia, I asked you earlier to stay after and clean all the exam rooms before leaving. Something tells me you haven’t done so that quickly.”

  Like a bucket of ice-cold water has been thrown on me, I freeze. My stomach turns, and I shake my head, my brows tugging low. “No, Travis, you didn’t ask me to stay. I would’ve remembered.”

  “I think your mind has been elsewhere, Olivia. If you plan on staying here, you need to do the work. I need you to stay and clean those exam rooms. I don’t care how long it takes.”

  Embarrassment crawls deep into my chest, heating my face. I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, everyone watching to see what my reaction will be. I will not let this ass-wipe make me feel like an idiot in front of everyone. Luckily, I’m not the only one who thinks it’s unfair because Atticus steps in for me.

  “Hey, Trav, c’mon. It’s been a long week. Why don’t we all just head out to Cole’s for some drinks? The night staff can handle it—”

  “I didn’t ask the night staff to handle it, Atticus. I asked Olivia. And that’s final. Everyone else is free to go.” Travis’s gaze pauses on me. “And once those exam rooms are finished, you can go, too.”

  Slowly, everyone trickles out of the break room, and I’m left standing there, my chest heaving violently, my nose tingling with pressure, as I work to hold back my tears. Kassandra hangs back, placing a soft hand on my shoulder.

  “You want me to stay and help?”

  I turn away from her, dislodging her hand. “No, it’s fine. The last thing I need is him saying I let you do all the work. Just go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Olivia.” She tries to get my attention, but I already have my back to her, walking to the supply room for cleaning products.

  I spend the next two, almost three hours cleaning the exam rooms. My feet are killing me, and the dress isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing to clean in, but seeing as my scrubs are filthy, I didn’t like the idea of putting those clothes back on.

  The night shift watches me clean with sympathy, but they offer no help. Not that I’d take it anyway.

  I’m so angry with myself for letting those words slip out in a moment of anger. It felt like Rome and I were finally finding a common ground, and I ruined it. He hates me. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I am now.

  With a heavy sigh, an aching body, and a growling stomach, I walk out of the clinic to a downpour. The first I’ve witnessed here in Campbell. I stand under the awning of the roof, staring at my car in the dark parking lot, that’s illuminated by the glow of a yellow streetlamp. I didn’t know rain was in the forecast today, but I should’ve figured. When it rains, it pours, and it’s definitely pouring right now.

  Using my purse as a shield, I brave the rain, running across the parking lot to my car. My body is shivering, my teeth are chattering, and my dress and hair are already soaked to shit by the time I’m inside. The fabric of my dress squelches against the now damp leather seats, and the water sticks to my thighs in the most uncomfortable way.

  I feel a weight lift off my chest, as I pull out of the clinic parking lot. I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. What if today with Travis wasn’t the worst of it? What am I going to do then? And now that his father wants to have a conversation with me in private, I can only expect the worst. He’s probably going to fire me for being unprofessional.

  Sadness clogs my throat. I’ve made friends here. Atticus is the sarcastic prankster who is never not in a good mood. Lucy, though she has her own faults, is as sweet as pie. Kassandra has the best sense of humor and the biggest backbone on the planet. She claims it’s all in her “black girl magic,” but really, it’s her heart. She’s the one I’ll miss the most, if I have to leave.

  Do I really want to go job hunting all over again? And Samuel, what will he think if I complain to him about his son? Will he think of me as some hussy, just trying to get a leg up? I cringe thinking about the compromising position he found me in the other day. A position I didn’t even want to be in.

  I’m a little less than halfway home when, through the windshield wipers, I see smoke billowing from under the hood of my car. My eyes widen, and I pause, as dread takes root in my belly.

  “No, no, no, no.”

  The car sputters, and with no other choice, I pull onto the side of the road, letting it coast down one of the side streets downtown. Turning off the ignition, I hop out, getting soaked all over again. The smoke is still billowing from under the hood, and when I try to lift it, I burn the tips of my fingers in the process. Letting out a curse, I hop back into the car and slam the door. I deflate against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the car. There’s no way this is happening to me. Not today. Not after everything.

  With a frustrated growl, I dig into my purse for my phone, so I can call the insurance or a tow company. Anything to help get me home. I swipe my finger across the screen. I press the power button and nothing.

  Nothing.

  An overwhelming wave of emotion slams into me. Tears spring to my eyes, and my bottom lip trembles. My car won’t start, my phone is dead, and it’s pouring down rain outside. I quite literally have no way to get home.

  I bang my head against the steering wheel, hating that this is my predicament. I shouldn’t have yelled at my mother this morning. Because now? My pride won’t allow me to run to them for help—not that I’d be able to anyway. It’s nearly eight p.m., and unless I want to risk walking alone at night, I’ll need a tow truck to, hopefully, give me a ride to the nearest garage. Only, I can’t call for any of those things because my phone is dead.

  I war with the decisions in my mind. I can either stay in the car until the rain clears, or I can get out now and try to find a phone, or my last, and final, option is just to walk home. I still have about a twenty-minute car ride to my house. I can’t imagine how long that will take me on foot. In wedges, no less. Grabbing my purse and useless phone, I hop out of the car, locking it behind me, as I trek up the street, the way I normally would if I was driving home.

  Settling my bag over my head, I try to shield most of the rain, but it isn’t very much help. It adds an extra five pounds to my already long and endless trek. I spot a sign up ahead for an automotive garage, and a small ounce of hope filters through my chest. I quicken my stride, trying to get there before they close. I don’t imagine a lot of mechanic shops are open around eight p.m., but one can hope.

  My lungs are wheezing, and I’m out of breath, when I finally
reach the garage. The lights are on inside, beyond the glass windows, and that hope blooms to life in the confines of my chest. I hurry toward the entrance, but pause, when I spot the older fellow in uniform on his way out.

  “Excuse me! Hey!” I wave him down, running toward him in my wedges and soaked dress.

  Truly, I don’t think things can get any worse.

  I’m wrong. Obviously.

  The man starts shaking his head. “Just closed, babe. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”

  My heart shrivels in my chest. “No, please! You have to help me out.”

  He blows out a sigh and peers over his shoulder toward the shop. “Fine. I have a guy in there who can help. If he wants to help you out, it’ll be up to him.” He turns, walking back toward the entrance, and I follow.

  “Rome! I got a job for ya!” he hollers, as soon as we walk in. I practically stumble over the threshold, when I spot Roman wiping his hands free of grime. Dressed in the same getup as the older man, I can’t help but stare, mouth agape. The black mechanic jumpsuit covers his long legs, but he has the top half-zipped down, hanging around his waist. He’s wearing a white shirt beneath it that does nothing to hide his muscular physique. It still has grease stains, despite the fact that he has on the coveralls to prevent just that from happening.

  I just about swallow my tongue when he glances up, his ice-cold eyes drilling holes into me.

  You’ve got to be shitting me.

  Turning back toward the older man, I resort to begging. “Please, I’ll pay extra if you stay and help. Please—”

  “Look, lady, it’s my daughter’s birthday. I gotta get home sometime tonight. If Rome wants to help, ask him.” With that, he disappears, the bell attached to the door jangling behind him, leaving Rome and me.

  Alone.

  The air around us grows heavy with tension.

  Silence passes between us. The soft trickle of water hits the tile floors from my soaked outfit, but I can’t find it in me to feel bad for that. Instead, all I can seem to focus on is him—the strong, corded muscles of his arms, the golden hue of his skin, and the smudges of dirt on his clothes that should turn me off, but they do anything but. My heart races against my chest, and I swallow thickly. I’m sure I look like a foolish girl, standing here in a dress, resembling a wet dog, in the middle of a rainstorm. I almost want to cry at the shittiness of it all.

  When Roman continues standing there, glaring at me, that hope in my chest deflates like a knife to a balloon. “I’ll just let myself out.”

  I turn on my heels, taking my puddles of water with me, and freeze at the gruff sound of his voice.

  “What do you need?”

  Slowly, I turn back around to face him, a sheepish look on my face. “My car is a few blocks away. There was smoke coming from the hood, then it just stopped.”

  Roman’s jaw ticks. “Why not call your insurance company?”

  I glance down at my heeled feet, unable to look at him. “Because my phone died.”

  He blows out a sharp breath, and then he’s gone, the sound of a door slamming shut behind him. My shoulders slump, and I just about fall into a heap on the scuffed tiled floor and cry.

  That is, until he comes back.

  With a windbreaker in hand, he tosses it at me, jerking his head out toward the tow truck parked in the front.

  “Put it on.”

  His command is cold and filled with no-nonsense. So I slide the jacket over my body, and immediately, just from the smell, I know it belongs to him. It smells like the very essence of Roman and cars, all wrapped in one. I’m realizing now this is slowly becoming a favorite scent of mine.

  Following him out to the truck, I wait as he locks up the shop and proceed to give him directions to where I left my car. While out there in the rain, he hooks my car up to the tow truck and brings it back to the shop. He does all of it without so much as one word to me. Not even a glance my way. To say I feel like a burden would be putting it lightly.

  I watch in silence, as he works on the car in the spacious garage. There are other vehicles vaulted on jacks and some looking worse for wear. There are a handful that look amazing, just like the car in his garage. My gaze slides over his exposed muscles and the finesse of his hands, as he works with tools under the hood of the car. I want to strike up a conversation and ask him what the problem is, but a part of me is much too afraid to say anything. We’ve had too many strange moments lately, and I’m not sure how to feel around him.

  One day, we’re just neighbors, and other days, we’re neighbors who kiss each other and touch ourselves to thoughts of the other. He’s insinuated that he knows about me touching myself to the mere sight of him in his bedroom, in what I thought was the safety of my home. He’s picked up on my attraction to him, and all I get back are his mood swings and his very rare smirks. I can’t keep up with this man.

  “You’re mad at me. I get it.”

  He scoffs, still working on the car. He’s lying back on one of those roller things now, inspecting under my car, while it’s on the jack.

  “I don’t get you, Rome. I thought we were…connecting. I thought we were finally becoming friends.”

  “I’m not your friend, Olivia. And I don’t want to be your friend.”

  My heart splinters at the caustic remark. “Then neighbors. We can be friendly neighbors.”

  “Don’t want that either.”

  I grit my teeth. “So, what do you want, Rome? You want me to have no friends? I don’t understand you! I told you I didn’t mean what I said the other night. It came out wrong. Travis has been hounding me about you, and it just…God, it slipped.”

  He shoves out from beneath the car, shooting to his feet. “That’s why you think I’m mad?”

  “Yes!”

  His chest puffs out, rising on an inhale. He clenches his jaw, the muscles there jumping against his tan skin. “I’m mad because I can’t get you out of my fucking head, Olivia. I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when I know I shouldn’t be. I’m mad because I fucking care at all.”

  His response takes my breath away. He tosses his oil rag, clearly frustrated. I rise to my feet on shaky legs, and the next thing I know, we’re merely inches apart. He stares down at me, those bright eyes drilling holes into me. Up this close, it’s easy to admire how handsome he is. There’s a slight scruff on his lower jaw, but it does nothing to hide his masculine good looks. Those plump lips are practically calling to me, and when I look into his eyes, I see the intensity there. I feel it. The way it travels through my body in waves. The way it caresses my soul with a finesse I haven’t had the pleasure of feeling in my entire life.

  Waves of static electricity zap between us, the tension growing thick, so heady and powerful, I can’t breathe without inhaling him. His very essence infiltrates my senses.

  My tongue darts out, swiping across my lower lip, and his eyes follow the movement, heating like they’re molten lava. Like a rubber band snapping beyond its capacity, we slam together in a mess of heat and passion. Our mouths collide, tongues clash, and I feel his hands on my skin, caressing my body. It feels like he’s branding me with fire—marking me as his. I moan into him, as he tangles his hand in the soaked strands of my hair.

  My dress clings to my skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind. With an urgent growl that reverberates in his chest, he grips the top of my dress and yanks down the cups. When he takes my nipple into his mouth, my head falls back, and I groan, thrusting my chest toward him. I don’t care that this man has been nothing but a jerk since I’ve moved in. I don’t care that it’s obvious he has a gaggle of women who want him. I don’t even care that he might hate me. All I care about is this. Feeling his hands and mouth on me. All I want to feel is him. His tongue flicks and laves, toying with my nipples, until I’m a wet, panting mess.

  With quick, deft movements, he hauls me into his arms, dropping me on top of the car and spreading my legs. I throw my head back, and my eyes roll into the back of my head, when he
jerks my panties to the side and his tongue swipes down my middle. He fucks me with his mouth that is far too skillful to be normal. His tongue dips inside me, toying with my entrance, fucking me until I’m a gasping, trembling mess. When Roman slides a finger inside me, I cry out at the sensation. With his tongue fluttering over my clit and his long, thick finger pumping in and out of me, it’s driving me up the wall. I can feel the orgasm building. The throbbing in my core becomes incessant and the blaze of heat that crawls over my skin is all-consuming.

  “Christ. You’re so fucking wet.” He strokes me, playing with my pussy, until I’m coming on his fingers. “That’s it, Olivia,” he praises. “Come all over my fingers. Just like that, babe.”

  Blinding swirls of color burst behind my eyelids and my body spasms. Aftershocks from my orgasm roll through me, as his tongue still flutters over the bundle of nerves. He drags his tongue down, licking at me. He’s slurping and kissing, like he’s been dying to taste me on his tongue for ages.

  When Roman stands upright, hovering before me, my core throbs painfully, as I take in the scorching expression on his face. His eyes are liquid pools of heat, as he stares down at me.

  His mouth descends on mine, and I let out an embarrassing moan, when I taste myself on his tongue. My juices cling to his lips. A satisfying ache blossoms between my legs at the thought of the remnants of my sex clinging to him.

  There’s a second when we pull away, where we’re just panting for much-needed breath. We use this second to breathe each other in, searching each other’s eyes. My heart stutters at the look in his eyes, as he looks down at me. Underneath all the heat and desire, there’s a softness that tugs at some place deep inside that’s never been touched.