Loud: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Male Romance) (3 page)

She blushed and giggled politely, but I could tell the
joke made her a little uncomfortable, or maybe she just didn’t think it was
funny. Oh well, at least I tried. I made a mental note that I shouldn't try any
more jokes, especially seeing as I appeared to be dealing with someone who
didn't actually have a sense of humor.

“Come on, follow me,” I said. “I'll show you a
shortcut to get to the back of the building where the dumpsters are.”

“Thanks,” she replied, and we both set off.

She followed behind me. We didn't talk much as we went
down the fire escape stairs — the shortcut I'd been referring to — but I could have
sworn I could feel her eyes on me every step of the way. And not in a bad way,
either. There was definitely something in the way that she looked at me when I
glanced back at her. I felt it. She, however, seemed to be doing her best to
pretend it wasn't there. If she didn’t feel it, I don’t know why. I'm sure she
could see the same thing in my eyes.

When we got to the dumpster, she opened the top for me
so I could swing the heavy bag over and in. It landed with a crashing thud,
making a huge racket. For a moment, our eyes locked and we both started
laughing. Then, it seemed that she forced herself to stop laughing, as if she
was doing something forbidden, and she looked away.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate the help.
Anyway, I guess I’ve gotta-”

“Emerson!”

We both looked up at the sudden intrusion. Walking
down the alley, dressed in a sleek, impossibly tight-fitting and tiny cocktail
dress, was Melissa, swinging an unopened bottle of vodka in her hand. Her
apartment complex was only a couple of blocks away and the alley was the
shortest distance. Her timing, as always, sucked.

“Oh, uh…hi, Mel,” I said, painfully aware of how
awkward I suddenly felt. “You're a bit early.”

“It's never too early to party, Emerson, dear,” she
countered, staring at me with a lascivious gaze. She walked over and looped her
arm through mine then leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Well, are we just gonna stand here next to the
dumpster or are we gonna go up to your place and get the party started?” That’s
when Melissa’s stare moved to Brooke. “And, who's this? I don't recall inviting
anyone else to the party,” she said as she stared coldly at Brooke.

“Oh this is-”

“I'm Brooke.” Brooke jumped in before I could finish
my sentence. “I'm just a neighbor, that's all. Nothing more.”

She extended a hand to Melissa who ignored it. Brooke
gave her a look I could only describe as disgust. I had to suppress a laugh.

“Neighbor, huh? I hope you don't mind a little noise
then, honey. It
is
Friday night, after all, and Emerson and I are gonna
be getting a bit wild later on, I can tell ya that.”

“I'll be sure to put in some earplugs. Hyenas have
never been my favorite wild animal,” Brooke said icily. “You guys have a good
time,” she said, and turned on her heels. I watched her stride briskly to the
building before I could say anything at all.

After Brooke had disappeared around the corner, Melissa
turned and stared at me until I brought my attention back to her. Suspicion was
bubbling in her eyes.

“Just a neighbor, huh?” she asked with an arched
eyebrow.

“Yeah, just a neighbor. What's it to you, anyway?”

She waited a while, studying me for some reason,
before replying. “Nothing. Now come on, let's get upstairs, stud. This vodka
isn't gonna drink itself, and the other girls will be here shortly.”

“Alright,” I said reluctantly, following her.

I paused for a moment and stared at my new neighbor’s
door before Melissa pulled me into my apartment.

CHAPTER
THREE

Brooke

I knew it, I just
knew it.
I was
totally
right
about Emerson. Seeing him with that fake-tittied bimbo downstairs only confirmed
everything
I suspected about the type of guy he is. Seriously, no guy
who looks like that is
ever
a solid, down-to-Earth, nice guy.
Ever.
That's
just the way the world works. I called it from the moment I saw him. He's a
player. I'm sure of that now, and as hot as he is — and
God
, is he hot —
the best thing for me to do is just stay the hell away from him. For a brief
moment there, before bimbo Barbie showed up, I actually thought there was a
chance I might have jumped to conclusions a little too quickly. I thought there
might be something different about him. But I was a fool for thinking that could
be the case. Nope. That was just straight up wishful thinking. At least I had
proof to confirm my suspicions when Leslie tried to talk me into getting to
know him better again. That'll help erase any trace of attraction I may have
had for him. Let him have his bimbos. That’s exactly what every player deserves
— a woman as fake as they are.

“Hey, Bee, you gonna actually cut those potatoes or
just stare at them for another five minutes?”

“Sorry, Les,” I said, snapping out of the
thought-trance I'd slipped into. I do that sometimes.

“What were you thinking about? You looked as if you
were a million miles away.”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Not Andrew, I hope.”

“Nope. Not Andrew, I promise.”

“Good.”

I started cutting the potatoes while Leslie got on
with preparing the chicken, each of us doing our work in silence. That is,
until a gaggle of high-pitched, very loud female voices began echoing bouts of
raucous laughter up and down the outside corridor of our apartment.

“Damn, sounds like a whole cheerleading squad is
busting some moves out there!” exclaimed Leslie. “What the heck is going on?”

“Oh, I think I know. The guys next door are having a
party tonight, and those are their 'hoes,' or whatever they call them.”

Leslie busted out laughing.

“Their 'hoes,' huh? Really, Brooke?”

I looked at her, my head cocked to the side.

“What? I'm not joking, Les! I met one of them half an
hour ago when I took the garbage downstairs. She was wearing the shortest
cocktail dress I've
ever
seen. It was practically screaming 'hey
everyone, look at my panties!' every time she took a step. That is, if she was
even wearing panties. And her boobs looked like they were planning a jailbreak
from the top of that dress. Not that it would have been much of a jailbreak.
Those things were barely covered by an inch of fabric to begin with.”

Leslie lost it. She was laughing so hard she had to
sit down in a chair at the kitchen table.

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

Her laughter was infectious. I couldn't help letting
out a few giggles myself and grinning from ear to ear, even if I was feeling a
bit jealous thinking about Emerson and bimbo Barbie.

“I'm completely serious. She looked like she just
stepped off the set of a porn film.”

Leslie laughed again.

“Damn, so that's what those two players next door to
us are into, huh?”

“I guess it is. Are you really surprised, though? I
mean, that’s exactly what I imagined Chris would be into.”

She shrugged and shook her head, still laughing.
“Well, I guess not.”

Another bout of bawdy laughter echoed outside our door
and a high-pitched, exaggerated, “Oh my
God!”
boomed down the corridor.
We exchanged glances and then both burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” repeated Leslie in a mocking high-pitched
voice that sounded very much like a stereotypical airhead.

I couldn't help laughing hysterically. Then we heard
Chris's voice booming outside.

“Ladies! Welcome to the party palace!”

That’s when we really lost it. We almost fell over
laughing at that one. After that, though, the noise died down, as they'd all
gone inside the apartment. We could hear a bit of bass coming through the walls
from the music, but that was about it. We prepared the rest of our dinner giggling
and sporadically blurting out, “Oh my God!”

***

After dinner, the music ramped up a bit.

“Sounds like things are getting serious over there,” I
remarked to Leslie.

“That it does. You wanna go over there and join ‘em?”

I laughed. But part of me wasn’t so sure she might not
have meant it.

“No thanks! But seriously, the music is getting a bit
much, don't you think?”

“Yeah, it is kinda getting on my nerves. Should we go
over and ask 'em to turn it down a little?”

A shot of uncomfortable heat coursed through my veins
at the thought of seeing Emerson drunk with those half-naked bimbos. Then the
thought that he might very well be half-naked, too, took over. I didn't really
want to see anything like that at the moment.

“Um, nah. It's Friday night, you know; we should just
let them have their fun. Besides, we just moved in. Let’s not be those
neighbors on the first night here.”

“Valid point,” she agreed.

“Let's crack open a bottle of wine and watch some TV.
We've got a long way to go to catch up to where
The Walking Dead
is at,
right? C'mon, I'll get some snacks and we can chill out on the sofa. The sounds
of zombies on TV will drown out the sounds of the zombies next door.”

Leslie chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. I'll put the
dishes in the dishwasher, and you can get snacks and wine.”

A few minutes later, we settled down on the sofa with
a glass of wine each and chips with salsa.

“This really
is
a comfy sofa! Especially
without the plastic wrap,” I teased.

“You know what old people say, they don't make 'em
like they used to. Well, that's true for a few things, I think! This sofa being
one of 'em.”

“It sure is! Alright, let's get our
Walking Dead
on.”

We put on the show, settled down on the big, plush
sofa and started to enjoy the evening. As we had hoped, the sound of the show
managed to drown out the strains of music coming through the walls, and soon
we'd all but forgotten about the party going on in the apartment next to ours.

After we'd watched two episodes, Leslie started
yawning, and her eyes looked as if they were about to close, with her eyelids
hanging heavily.

“I'm tired, real tired,” she sighed. “All the effort
of moving, carrying stuff, unpacking, cleaning… I think it's finally gotten to
me. I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Aw, but, Les, we've just opened a second bottle of
wine! And it's our first night together in our new place. You can't just fade
out now!”

“Sorry, Bee, I'm just dead tired. You know I haven't
slept much the past few nights, and it’s really catching up to me.”

“Well, who am I gonna watch
Game of Thrones
with then?”

Leslie rolled her eyes.

“C'mon, Brooke, you know I only half watch that
anyway. Most of the time I sleep through it. I’m not crazy about it like you
are.”

I knew she was right – she didn't care much for it.
She watched it with me kind of like I watched
Sons of Anarchy
with her. I didn’t much like it, but it was only
fair.

“And besides, haven’t you already watched the entire
thing twice? I don’t know why you wanna watch it again, seriously.”

“Because it's like-”

“The best show
ever,
I know, I know. You’ve
told me like, a million times!” she laughed as she got up from the sofa. “But
really, Brooke, I'm spent for the day. I feel like one of the zombies from
The
Walking Dead.
The combination of wine and exhaustion over the past few days
has really knocked me out. I'm off to bed, girl.”

“Alright, alright,” I conceded. “See you in the
morning. Sleep well!”

“Will do. You, too, when you eventually make it to
bed. Night owl.”

I watched her trudge off to her room and sighed as she
shut the door quietly behind her. Here I was, sitting alone in front of the TV
on a Friday night, with a bottle of wine. It all seemed just a little bit sad,
suddenly. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t going to be
every
Friday
night.
Or is it?
A shudder ran down
my spine at the thought. I brushed it off as quickly as I could and started up
an episode of
Game of Thrones
.

Leslie was right; I'd already watched it all the way
through,
twice
. But hey, it really
was
my favorite show. I'm a
sucker for a story with unexpected surprises and twists. And boy did this series
have them. More than that, it had genuinely interesting and fascinating
characters set in a world full of sorcery and magic. I have kind of been a
closet geek girl since I was a little kid, but because fantasy and sci-fi had
always been seen as such a teenage boy kind of genre, I'd never had any female
friends who were as into it as I was. Well, to be honest, who were into it
period
.
Oddly enough, none of the guys I'd ever dated had been into it, either.
Especially Andrew. He pretty much loathed it with a passion. We had never been
able to relate at all on that level.

Come to think of it, we didn’t really relate on a lot
of levels.

In fact, I felt like I could relate to fictional
characters more than I ever could with Andrew. Arya Stark, for example — a
headstrong, quick-witted girl who valued intelligence and independence far more
than the conventional “girly” things, like beauty and dresses. That was me. I
didn’t need to get all dolled up to feel like I could impress a man. I wanted
more than a physical connection. Arya was also thrust into a totally different
world in which she was moved around from place to place and had to rely on her
own determination and grit to survive. She never got the chance to have any
close friends because they were removed from her life by forces beyond her
control. I could relate. I could
totally
relate.

I got comfy on the sofa and pressed play. At that
moment, I heard a noise outside in the hall. I paused the show so that I could
hear what was going on a bit more clearly.

It was Emerson and Chris, of course, and their bevy of
bimbos. They were all laughing raucously and talking in loud, boisterous voices.
Clearly, they were all wasted. Probably heading out to continue partying at a
club somewhere. I shook my head, although a little bit of…
something
I
couldn’t quite explain…twisted inside me at the thought of those girls pawing
at Emerson's hard, muscular body and grinding against him on the dance floor-

Stop it,
Brooke!
I took a deep swig of wine and
resumed playing the show.
Game of Thrones
would keep me company and entertain my mind in a far more effective manner than
any brainless muscle-head. Let them go out and get wasted. Whatever.

I leaned back and let myself get whisked off into a
different universe.

That is, until I fell asleep.

I'm not sure how late it was when I woke up, but it
must have been some time in the early hours of the morning. I felt a little
disoriented the shock of sudden panic hit me waking up in a completely
unfamiliar place. It took a few seconds before I remembered I was in my own
place, my new apartment.

I turned off the TV, heaved myself off the sofa, and
stumbled to my bathroom, still feeling the effects from all the wine I'd drank.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got undressed. Then I slipped into bed,
snuggling up to my sheets and pillow, the only familiar things in this new room.

And that’s when I heard it.

Bumping. Vigorous, regular, rhythmic bumping. It was
coming from the room next to mine. Something was being knocked against the
wall, with quite a fair amount of force. I listened for a second until I heard
yet another sound on top of it.

“Oh my God. Oh. My.
God.
”

It was the bimbo I'd met by the dumpster. I recognized
that shrill, annoying voice. She was moaning and gasping. It was muffled by the
wall, but there was no doubt that it was her voice. I also heard a guy's voice
grunting and groaning with both effort and pleasure.

Awesome. They're
having sex.
Right next to me
. Emerson and that damn slut.

I was too tired to deal with it. I didn't want to even
picture the slightest hint of what was happening on the other side of the wall.
I got up, got Tylenol PM out of my medicine drawer, and washed it down with the
last of the wine. I then plugged my headphones into my iPhone, put on some
Adele, and let her voice drown out the sounds of…whatever was going on next
door. Soon, I drifted off into a deep sleep, oblivious to what was happening on
the other side of the wall.