Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (17 page)

Graham Stone: Come over? I want to talk to you.

Florence Randall: Can’t. Have to video chat with my mom.

Graham Stone: After?

Florence Randall: I’m probably going to work for a while afterward.

Graham Stone: Work here.

Florence Randall: I can’t even work from over here because of your noise. What makes you think I’d be able to work sitting in the same room?

Graham Stone: I’ll be quiet. Promise.

Graham Stone: Please? I can give you some suggestions for your book.

Florence Randall: …

Florence Randall: Fine. You’re persistent, if nothing else.

Time dragged slowly by. I wheeled around Tommy’s apartment wondering exactly how long it took to video chat with one’s mother. What in the hell could they be talking about for over two hours?

With time to burn, I sent Martin a quick text to check in with him.

Me: Hey, brother. Just checking in. All’s well here.

It was customary for us to send a text at least once a day even if we were busy. Accountability to someone other than yourself was central to sobriety. I stayed accountable to Martin and he stayed accountable to me, and I think we both slept better at night for it.

I channel surfed for something decent to watch and ended up on a cooking show that had my stomach growling in a matter of minutes. It did nothing for my mood, which had been on a slow decline anyway. Cabin fever had settled in, the pin sites on my leg were killing me; I had a serious craving to bury my cock in my beautiful neighbor, the same neighbor who had gone from hot for me to frigid and disinterested as far as I could tell. I still wanted to strangle Halley for her bullshit.

I sat there feeling sorry for myself for some time. My phone rang within the pocket of my shorts and I fished it out.

Flor.

“Hello?”

“Still want me to come over?”

“Yes, please.”

“Are you hungry? Need anything?” The all-business tone to her voice was depressing. I wasn’t sure how I’d win her interest, but I had to try.

“Have you had anything to eat? I could order something for us.”

“I’m not hungry but if you are hungry, go for it.”

“Flor?”

“Yeah?”

“Just come over.”

“Okay.” She sighed and her voice took on something that sounded a little like sympathy. I didn’t usually care much for sympathy from others but in this case, I’d take it. It was better than that remote, disinterested tone she was putting off. I didn’t like it and I’d hoped it wasn’t genuine. I’d hoped that somewhere in there was the feisty, sexy, beautiful woman who had offered herself to me inside the elevator at my club.

I left the door unlocked for her, so when she knocked, I shouted for her to come in. It was easier than trying to answer the door, which required more maneuvering than I felt up to doing. It seemed like I scuffed my hands nonstop in Tommy’s small apartment, and though I preferred being here right now, I was beginning to miss the space that my place offered.

Leaving for my apartment wasn’t an option, though. Flor was here. Right next door. She was my Aphrodite and small space or not, I was staying put. I knew that if I left, I had little to no chance of convincing her to spend time with me at my place.

When she came in wearing her jean shorts, sandals, and tank top, my mouth watered to taste her on my lips again. Memories from the night in the elevator were a sore spot. You’d think they would be something I enjoyed looking back on—and if things had gone well, I would have—but things hadn’t gone well at all. Those memories were giving me a serious case of blue balls and relief wasn’t in sight.

“Hey,” she’d said, switching her weight from one foot to the other.

“Hey. Come in. Sit down. I was just about to order some food.”

“Oh. I actually brought you something. I just tossed it together real quick,” she said as she began digging in her leather shoulder bag. She produced a paper sack and stepped forward to hand it to me. “It’s nothing special or anything.” The scent of her perfume, soft, sweet and subtle, hit my nose and I breathed it in for fear it wouldn’t last as soon as she stepped away from me.

I opened the paper bag to find a whole pile of thick cut potato wedges covered in bacon and cheese nestled in a bed of foil. They were still hot. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. She was acting disinterested but she’d brought me something good to eat, something she’d made herself. That had to mean something, right?

“Thank you. This smells amazing. You smell amazing, too.” I watched as her cheeks tinted a rosy pink, and I decided right then and there that she looked even more beautiful with blush on her cheeks. I’d make it my job to make it happen as often as possible.

I dug into the potato wedges. They were amazing. So she’s a good cook. It was no surprise to me. She was the total package.

“Can I ask you a question?” I wiped my hands on the napkin she’d handed me and stuffed it down into the discarded paper bag.

“Sure.”

“Are you not attracted to me?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because not that long ago we were getting to know each other at a rapid rate and now you seem intent on keeping me at arms distance.”

She took a deep breath and her shoulders slumped a little.

“You’re my neighbor and it’s just a little weird.”

“I’d say convenient.”

“Graham!” She squawked, throwing a couch pillow at my face and that subtle blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. God she was beautiful.

“If it’s the neighbor part that bothers you, you should remind yourself that I don’t live here full time.” I held up my finger as I made my point.

“You do for now.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m stuck for now. Will you come over tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here.”

“Good. I like having you here.”

“I like spending time with you too.” Her voice was small, like the rest of her, when she’d said the words but they were huge to me. It was evidence that I desperately needed and wanted. I could see a glimmer of a chance with her. We’d started off a little rocky but there was no reason we couldn’t find our way to smoother ground. “Graham, what happened?”

“He died.” Those two words still caught in my throat. It had been nine years and they were just as difficult to say now as they were the day that it happened.

“When I was a kid, my sister died.” She fiddled with the strap of her bag and I knew she had offered her confession to make me feel a little better about my own. “The end of this month will make—God—twenty-two years. Seems like a long time but it doesn’t feel like a long time has passed.”

“I’m sorry.” I caught her gray eyes and noted the glistening tears there. She sniffled and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Flor

Deal

W
hen the other shoe dropped, it just sort of plopped limply on the floor. There was no resonating thud. No life-altering sonic boom. It was just kind of…expected. My time at Social She was over.

“I’m sorry, Flor. I know this is hard on everyone and we hate that there aren’t more positions to fill but…” Chris, my boss, shrugged, shaking her head. I felt bad for her. Delivering all this bad news had to be unpleasant. “But, if you need anything at all, if you need a letter of recommendation or you’d like me to make some phone calls on your behalf, please don’t hesitate.”

“It’s okay, Chris. I appreciate it. My dad has offered me a position and I may end up taking it.” I smiled, pretending that everything turned out fine but it was mostly for her benefit. Maybe if she thought I already had a job lined up, she’d feel less guilty about being the messenger.

“Well, there ya go!”

“Yes. I’m lucky like that.” I smiled again and got to my feet, thinking that I was glad that I didn’t have my own office with a big desk. Less to pack.

I made my way back to my desk and mentally took stock of all my things to gauge what size box I should bring with me to work on my last day. My stomach turned and defeat swaddled me up in a stuffy blanket made of discontentment. The idea of packing my desk up and walking out of the building with all those sympathetic stares made me want to crawl out of my own skin.

I lunged forward and grabbed the picture frame showcasing a photo of Matt and me last New Year’s Eve, my mini orchid and my headphones. I stuffed it all into my bag, deciding that I’d clear out a little at a time if it meant avoiding the final walk with a box in my arms.

I was thankful that the day was almost over. I had enough time to save and backup all my files and grab my leftover lunch from the lounge.

Today, I found myself thankful that I’d be seeing Graham later that night. I needed a distraction and if that man was anything, he was distracting!

Graham took one look at me and furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Balls,” I demanded holding my hand out, palm up.

“Excuse me?” He raised his brows.

“Your tennis balls, racket balls, whatever they are. Hand them over.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” He crossed his thick arms over his chest, making his muscles look impossibly bulkier.

“Nothing. I lost my job. No big deal. Give me the balls.”

“Shit, Flor. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, ignoring the lump in my throat. “Balls.”

“What makes you think I have tennis balls here?”

I planted one hand at the dip in my waist and watched as Graham’s eyes followed my movement.

“Because I have heard them hitting the wall. Balls,” I repeated with my hand still held out in front of me.

“You’re bossy.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Fine. I’ll just go back to my apartment.” I turned and picked my shoulder bag up off the floor as if to leave.

“Okay, okay. You win, but you can’t have them. They aren’t mine. The tennis stuff is my brother’s.” He motioned his slightly dimpled chin toward a tennis bag hanging on a hook near the front door.

“Promise to stop with the wall ball?”

“Promise. I didn’t know you were home. I thought you would be at work.” He held his large hands up in surrender and I felt victorious. My smile probably said as much.

“I was until I wasn’t. I left a few minutes early. And no more blaring music?”

“I’ll turn it down a little.” He nodded.

“Thank you. And no more—”

“Don’t push your luck, bossy,” he warned, staring me down with those intense chocolate eyes.

I turned my attention back to my bag and began digging out my sketch book.

“What’s that?”

“Work.”

“You’re an artist too?”

“Not so much but that’s the beauty of writing and illustrating children’s books. I don’t have to be the best artist.”

“When will the books be done?”

“Um, it’s hard to say. There’s a disconnect right now that makes me feel more like a fraud than an author. Just trying to work through it, you know?”

“Can I take a look?”

I eyed him for a moment and decided that I could use the feedback. Matt always said that everything about the books was wonderful and he couldn’t wait to see my name on a bestseller list. I reminded him that he was nuts and that an honest critique was invaluable.

It was no secret to me that my books were lacking something very fundamental. I wasn’t under the impression that they were perfect and destined for instant success. I had been struggling with the entire process and I was very honest with myself about it. I just didn’t know how to fix it.

“Go easy on me. It’s a work in progress.” I handed him the first book and tried to quell the ball of nerves that had set up shop in my stomach.

Graham’s dark eyes looked over each page. He made a few sounds that were indiscernible as approval or disapproval, which did nothing for my nerves.

He finally seemed to have seen enough because his gaze came back to meet mine and, at that point, it was clear that he wasn’t going to be a fan.

“I really like the art, but the story—this—this could be much more accurate.” He shook his head, thumbing through the rough draft with a critical expression marring his handsome face.