Chapter 1
Jessie
I wrapped the pillow around my head, covering my ears. At first, all I heard was the stuffing settling into place inside it. Then the strains of Mr. Brightside, loud and somewhat off-key, pushed through the fabric.
“That’s it. I’m going over there.”
Cole stirred next to me. “Don’t be a Karen, babe. Let them have their fun. You have to get up in a few hours anyway.”
“Exactly! I have to get up and go to my job where I have to prove myself so I can get a not-shitty job! They’re keeping me from sleeping!”
“It’s not a job. It’s an apprenticeship,” Cole said. I hated when he did that. I made money at it, so how was it not my job? Plus, it was a stepping stone to the kinds of roles I could dream of in L.A.
Cole went on. “And anyway, you don’t even sleep when it’s silent.”
I growled and bopped him with the pillow. I stomped into the bathroom, or rather, wavered my way in there. The sleeping pill that didn’t work to make me sleep made basic locomotion a challenge.
I glared at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands, so frustrated I wasn’t sure if I’d scream or cry. I just needed peace. Why couldn’t I have the peace of even six hours of sleep? I’d kill for six hours.
When I walked back in the bedroom, Cole was already asleep again, peacefully snoring. How fucking dare he.
That was the last straw.
I slid on my house flip-flops and stalked to my front door. I flung it open and made the sharp turn to be at my neighbor’s door. I knocked as hard as I could, figuring those dopes couldn’t hear shit over their own squalling. I knocked again and waited. I must have stood by the door for a full two minutes.
In my blind rage, I tried the door handle. To my surprise, it opened, and I found myself face to face with a kitchen full of tall, athletic men.
A few raised their eyebrows. One who was especially enormous with curly blonde hair, a missing front tooth, and an absurd number of tattoos stepped forward.
“Uh, miss, you can’t be in here,” he said, reading the rage on my face and trying to temper his statement accordingly. “It’s a private party.”
“Not anymore, it’s not,” I seethed. “Where’s the fucker who lives here?”
The blonde grimaced and turned to the living room behind him. “Mikey, someone’s here to see you.”
I pushed past the men in the kitchen and headed where the blonde had looked.
“Did somebody send me a birthday surprise?” drawled a familiar man in a backward hat on the couch. I’d seen him in the hall or on his balcony a few times. Definitely my neighbor. I stood in front of him and crossed my arms. Walking aggressively across the room reminded me that I wasn’t wearing a bra, my boobs waggling as freely as they wanted. I was wearing a silky white pajama set, a loose strappy tank with admittedly tiny shorts. My hair, upon last inspection in the bathroom mirror, looked insane, half of my long bob pulled up in a haphazard bun.
I stood in front of him, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The sleeping pill made confronting my neighbor seem like a good idea, but arriving half-dressed in front of a room full of men was sobering. My neighbor gave me a long look from my bare legs to my unfortunately erect nipples.
“Hey, Sweet Cheeks.”
“Cut it out. I came over here to tell you to shut the fuck up,” I snorted, trying to seem as mighty as I could.
A quiet “ooh” issued from the kitchen, where everyone had turned to watch whatever I had planned.
“And why’s that? Since you’re here, grab a drink. Stay awhile. We don’t bite,” my neighbor cooed. The asshole had the gall to smile and wink at me, the deep canyons of his dimples cuttingdown his cheeks.
Why did he have to be hot? The kind of hot that just laying eyes on them made you a little sweaty. A tuft of reddish-brown hair peeked out of the front of his backward hat, his eyes an amber whiskey to match. A dusting of stubble that would give the perfect burn along your neck and jaw in the right situation. Not that I was thinking about those kinds of situations.
And he wasn’t just physically attractive. He oozed charisma. And hearing all his conquests through the walls, it sounded like he knew what he was doing in the bedroom.
The kind of hot that was nothing but trouble, so totally not my type. Cole was my type. Sensible. Practical.
“Looks like you could do to blow off some steam. Why don’t you stay?” he said, filling the silence as I wobbled in front of him.
“Some of us have to work in the morning, that’s why,” I said. “It’s two in the morning and you’re treating the place like a goddamn frat house. It’s a Wednesday night.”
