The space suddenly feels tight with his large body taking up most of it. I've been on this elevator with at least four people at a time. When did it become so small? I fidget in place as the elevator slowly ascends. I sigh audibly when the doors open.
I don't look back at Matt, worried he might read my very horny, very inappropriate thoughts.
I beeline to Dalton’s apartment first, in case he’s back. But no one opens the door again, so we knock on the door exactly opposite to Beck’s and wait for someone to open the door.
“I know the woman who lives here,” Matt says.
“Marge? Yeah. Nice woman. She’s pretty open to conversation about her neighbors,” I reply slyly.
“Oliver, are you politely implying the woman is a busybody?” Matt asks, amused.
“Shhhh,” I shush, trying to listen for footsteps. Marge has sharp ears for an old lady.
Matt huffs out a laugh.
“Okay, kinda,” I admit.
“She’s a gossiping menace, is what she is,” he says in a normal voice.
I glare at him. I know he doesn’t talk to everyone in the building, but you can’t just go around talking shit about people… at least, not where just anyone can hear. For fuck’s sake!
But he’s not wrong. Oh, old Marge loves to talk. I met her the day I moved in, and she interrogated me for our entire one-minute-forty-five-second elevator ride, collecting all my information. She even suggested setting me up with one of the guys in the building, probably to hint that she’s okay with my sexuality. How did she know my sexuality within thirty seconds of meeting me? I don’t need to know.
The next time was in the lobby while she was shouting at someone. But as soon as she spotted me, she latched onto me to tell me about how fourth-floor Martha's niece hooked up with second-floor Susan. I tried to extricate myself to no avail and ended up knowing more about our neighbors than I’d bargained for.
For the last seven months, I’ve resorted to hiding whenever I spot her. I’ve ducked behind pillars and taken stairs. One time, I ducked behind a bushin shorts. Not a very happy day for my knees.
There’s no answer from the door. I knock again, this time louder. I’m volunteering my head on a silver platter, and Marge has suddenly decided she doesn’t want to talk? I knock again.
Matt looks at me with a small smile on his face, like he can read my thoughts. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow,” he suggests. “You must be tired after work.”
I look at him, confused. What’s up with this guy wanting me to sleep all the time? Unless he's implying he'd like to join me? Not that he ever would. I mean, look at him! I shake the idea from my head and frown. “Let's try another apartment.” I point to the door across from Dalton’s.
Matt mutters something under his breath. “Sure, let's go,” he says out loud.
This door opens after an acceptable amount of time. Melanie stands there in a cute pink crop top and yoga pants. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she has a little bit of flour on herforehead. Her kids sound like they’re starting up a storm in the living room.
“Who is it, Mom?” her oldest son calls out, joining her at the door. At seven, the kid’s already got a pretty mean glare going. But it’s focused on Matt, who honestly looks kinda scary with his permanent frown and general ‘guy who can benchpress a truck’ look.
“Ollie,” she smiles, giving me a quick hug. She essentially ignores the budding hatred developing in her periphery.
I bring out my plate of cupcakes to put the kid at ease. When he looks at them, the glare melts into a grin.
“Can I have one?” he asks his mother.
I offer the plate to him anyway. He takes one and runs inside.
“You’re Matt from the sixth floor, right?” She finally looks up… and farther up at Matt. “Didn’t know you bagged the hot playboy of the building, Ollie,” she says appreciatively.
I gasp and quickly shake my head. “Umm, no… It’s not… we just wanted to meet our neighbors,” I finally land on.
“Ooooh! That’s so nice of you! I barely ever talk to any adults after work. Don’t go having kids right away is all I’m saying,” she laughs. “Enjoy that beef buffet for as long as you can,” she whispers loudly, pointedly looking at Matt.
Matt chuckles. “We’re just neighbors,” I quickly clarify.
“Jeez, alright!” she placates. “Why don’t you guys come in?” She opens the door wider for us.
We walk inside to a living room, which is, to put it kindly, a mess. The kid with the glare sits on a flannel couch with his sister, who is currently trying to claw the cupcake out of his hand. He has it just out of her reach.
