I press send on the final email of the day and close down my laptop before clearing away my paperwork. It doesn’t take very long, I’ve organized this office like a machine. Everything I need is within an easy chair-rolling distance—with no obstacles, of course—of my desk, and the soft couches surrounding it are only used when I have clients here. It makes them feel more comfortable, which is why I arranged the place to look cozy. Soft lighting, curtains at the windows, faux flowers—because I have clients with allergies—pillows, and blankets…it’s a home away from home.
The only parking lot on this row of commercial businesses is behind the supermarket, so it’s easier for me to leave my Firebird out front, where I can casually glance at it through the window between clients. Though it’s not an unsafe town—the sheriff’s office is only two blocks over—I prefer not to walk at night from my end of the street to the supermarket at the opposite end. It’s not so bad in the summer when the ice-cream shop three doors down stays open late, the short five minute walk to the parking lot can be quite nice, but this time of year it gets dark too early for all that single-woman-in-a-parking-lot nonsense.
Unlocking the Firebird, the old-fashioned way with the key in the hole, I slide onto the smooth leather seat and start her up. The rumble of the V8 engine is almost enough to turn me on. If only there was a firm-chested, tattooed bad boy in the passenger seat ready to pleasure me, it’d be perfect. I will reiterate thatthe tattooed bad boy should be anyone other than my asshole neighbor, because that could be awkward.
Tanner’s whole existence made my life hell from the age of eleven until the day he enlisted at eighteen. The thought of him bringing me to an orgasm is vomit inducing.
Shoving him out of my thoughts, I concentrate on the road ahead. The long straightaway that I know is just around the bend is my favorite part of the journey. My Firebird is amazing and thrives in a straight line, but she doesn’t handle corners too well.
The thrill of breaking the speed limit quickly dies as I approach my street, knowing it’ll be another week before I get her out again. There’s nothing other than myself and my need for routine stopping me from taking the Firebird out on any day…I’m aware and unwilling to change.
I push the button to open my garage and take my sweet time parking her, mainly because I know it pisses Tanner the fuck off with all the noise from the engine. He must be choosing peace over violence, though, because he doesn’t come out onto his porch like a nosey neighbor, hands on hips and wagging his finger. Not today, anyway.
Am I disappointed?
Maybe.
Inside my house, I shove a frozen carbonara into the microwave before stripping off and turning on the radio…loudly. A cover ofI Was Made For Loving Youby Yungblud comes on, and I turn it up to the maximum so I can sing along in the bathroom.
I pee, then jump in the shower and start washing my hair, singing at the top of my lungs before the song finishes and another comes on. After finishing my mini concert, I exit the shower and dry myself off. I laid my underwear out already so I slide those on with ease. A nice matching red lacey set that happens to be super see-through.
Downstairs, I turn the music back on and take my dinner out of the microwave, giving it a little stir and a blow before sitting at my small, round kitchen table. The carbonara is pretty tasteless, but I hate cooking for myself. It feels pointless.
I love cooking for others…well, my parents, but it just seems like such a waste to do it for only me. Plus, a microwave meal is quicker.
Wednesday night at the club in the next town over is ladies night and I like to get a table with a good spot. It has to be one small enough that I don’t look like a weirdo sitting on my own, close enough to the dance floor that I won’t lose my table, in a section with wait service, and with a good view of the door so I can check out the talent on their way in.
Yeah, I have no friends, but for the last six months I have filled my time by being filled—when I’m not working, of course. The interactions are all meaningless, but I’m hoping that one day a handsome-as-sin man will whisk me off my feet and make me forget what loneliness is. In my humble opinion, that can never happen if I’m cooped up in my house by myself, so I hit the club. I’m that desperate for love, so sue me.
A familiar banging at my front door when there’s a break in the music makes me roll my eyes. I know that bang.
“What do you want, Tanner?” I yank the door open with a scowl on my face and a glass of white wine in my hand.
His deep brown eyes trail down over my chest, my stomach, my legs, then they come back up again, resting on my breasts and my red lacey bra for longer than is polite, so I clear my throat.
“Excuse me, perv. What. Do. You. Want? This isn’t a free peepshow.”
“Then put your fucking tits away, Berk. Your nipples are practically waving hello to the fucking neighborhood. And turn down that music because it’s more annoying than your voice.Mr. Reeves across the road is deaf and I bet even he can fucking hear it.” Without giving me a chance to respond, he reaches in and slams my door shut from the outside.
I stand there for a few seconds longer than necessary, unsurprised at his reaction but gobsmacked all the same.
I mean, he isn’t wrong, my nipples aren’t exactly hidden beneath the thin lace, but they’re not big enough to wave. Weirdo.
Coming to my senses a little, I down the rest of my wine and pull open my front door, unashamedly stepping onto my porch and searching him out with my eyes.
There…
“Hey, asshole!”
He pauses, but he doesn’t turn.
“At least my voice isn’t as annoying as your face!” I really should have thought that through but he just riles me up.
“Pathetic.” He grants me a half-turn of his head in my direction, a snarl upturning the corner of his top lip, before he frowns and shakes his head.
“Fuck you!” I storm back inside, slamming the front door behind me, and stomp toward the kitchen.
That didn’t go as planned.
