The Dick Next Door Read online

  The Dick Next Door

  Simone Sowood

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  Copyright © 2017 by Simone Sowood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Blurb

  I hate my neighbor, and I’ve never even seen him.

  * * *

  Do you know what happens when you're kept up all night by your rude, noisy, dick of a neighbor?

  Crazy stuff, that's what.

  Like, for example, you smash the hell out of your ceiling.

  Imagine my surprise when I finally do come face to face with him, and his rugged looks and tattoo covered muscles melt my panties.

  I want to give him a piece of my mind, but the more I talk to him, the more I might end up giving him my body instead.

  But I don’t think I can ever forgive him for all the sleepless nights.

  I hope you enjoy this super short romance!

  Chapter 1

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Crash.

  From deep within me, a groan forms and erupts out of my throat with ferocity. My back arches and my hands fly to my face, sending the pillows scattering across the bed.

  I’d piled the pillows high on my head, trying to drown out the noise.

  It didn’t work. Even with my brand new earplugs in.

  No matter what I do, this fucking asshole’s drumming wakes me up every night.

  I hate him.

  Life was great last month, until asshole moved in. I live in a cute house that’s been divided into two apartments. Mine is on the ground floor. I get the backyard. The basement has a shared laundry room, but I’ve never seen him down there.

  My dick neighbor lives on top of me.

  Of course I renewed my lease a few weeks before he moved in. I love my place. Loved my place. I’ve lived here for three years, and it feels like home. It’s probably worse because it is a home and not just another apartment. My home has been invaded and completely changed by a dick.

  I’ve never seen him, ever. I don’t know what he does all day, or how I’ve never seen him coming or going — because believe me, I’m always on high alert for a sighting. There’s nothing I’d like better than to meet him in person so I can tell him how horrible he is to live underneath.

  The soundproofing in this old house in pathetic.

  In the evenings, I get to hear him thumping around like he’s jogging on the spot.

  One time I heard his front door close. Naturally I ran straight up the stairs and banged on his door. When he didn’t open, I started screaming and kicking the door. Nothing. I gave up. Just like all the other times I gave up.

  In the nights, I get to hear him drumming.

  One night, he even drummed for three hours straight. I was crying after the first hour. By the third, I’d rolled up in a ball in the bathtub and buried myself in the cushions from the couch.

  Yes I’ve tried knocking on his door. Repeatedly. I don’t think he cares. I’ve put notes under the door, I don’t think he reads them. Or more likely, he doesn’t care.

  Bang, bang, boom, bang.

  The green numbers on my clock shout three fifteen at me. Is there a worse time to be awake?

  Rummaging around under my pillow, I find my phone and wake it up. The brightness from the screen is blinding. With my eyes squeezed shut, I turn down the brightness on the screen as low as it will go. It still blazes like the sun.

  With one eye squeezed shut, I slowly manage to get the other eye open enough to read the screen.

  I google “world’s best earplugs.”

  I already own all of them. The world is in desperate need of new earplug technology.

  I google “best over the counter sleeping pills.”

  I took two before bed tonight.

  I google “maximum safe amount of sleeping pills to take.”

  Random people on the internet assure me I won’t die if I take another one. It’s not like I have much of a choice. I have two important meetings in the morning.

  Boom, crash, crash, bang.

  Resigned, I fling my comforter back and get out of bed. I pad off in the direction of the kitchen to get more sleeping pills.

  If I didn’t suffer from such bad hangovers, I’d take a Marilyn Monroe cocktail of rum and pills every night. Maybe I’ll start. What’s worse, the sleepless nights or the hangovers?

  Bang, boom, crash. Boom, boom, bang.

  Why does he think he’s Tommy Lee? Can he not here what I hear?

  Asshole.

  Crash, bang, bang. Crash, crash, crash.

  Good lord, not the non-stop symbols again. I can’t decide if they’re better or worse than the drums. Why can’t he play the flute?

  I’ve complained to the landlord, via my agent. I hate that I rented through an agent. I’ve never actually spoken to my landlord, and I’d really, really like to give him an earful. Giving my agent an earful just doesn’t have the same therapeutic value.

  All the agent ever says to me is, “The landlord will speak to him about it.”

  Thanks. That helps.

  I open the cupboard and take out a glass. As I’m filling it with water, dick really outdoes himself. He thinks he’s playing the encore of a performance at the Astrodome.

  Water overflows my glass, and I slam it onto the counter, sloshing water everywhere.

  I snap. Without even bothering to turn the tap off, I grab my broom and bash it against my ceiling.

  I carry on bashing it through my kitchen and into the living room, until I’m directly under the fucking drum set.

  It’s so noisy that there’s no way he could hear my bashing over his banging, so I start timing my broom bashing with his beat.

  “Fuck you, dick!”

  I fling my broom up with all my strength. It goes straight through my ceiling and hits the floor boards. Whatever, I don’t even care. I carry on with his beat.

  Boom, badda boom.

  Bang my broom and yell “What’s the matter with you?”

  Boom, boom, crash, bang.

  Bang my broom and yell “Shut the fuck up!”

  Boom, da, boom, crash.

  Bang my broom and yell “I’m trying to sleep!”

  Why do I feel like I performing in a German industrial band?

  A neat little hole is forming in my ceiling. Fine, better access to the floor boards.

  We continue our percussion duet. Plaster and pieces of ceiling debris rain down on me. Still we continue, until my throat is raw and my arms ache.

  I can’t believe asshole didn’t pause once. He didn’t didn’t give any indication that he even heard my efforts to shut him up. And unless there’s a one way sound proofing going on, there’s no way he didn’t hear me.

  What a fucking dick.

  It’s nearly four, and I’m fully awake after the broom thumping. There must be something I can do.

  Sitting on the sofa, I open my laptop and dim the screen down to a tolerable four am level. I start typing:

  Dear Dick,

  You are the most selfish person on the planet. Your late night drumming is ruining my life but I don’t suppose you are capable of thinking about anyone but yourself.

  I have lived here far longer than you, and it would be unfair if you are the reason I have to move out and leave my previously ideal home.


  I don’t know what your problem is or why you won’t answer your door and speak to me like a normal human being. Would it be so hard for you to simply talk to me and work out a solution? The solution being you stop drumming in the middle of the night. Or perhaps soundproof your apartment?

  The landlord has been informed about your intolerable behavior. If you do not change, I will be forced to involve the authorities.

  I am more than happy to discuss this matter in person, you know where to find me.

  Sincerely,

  Your sleep deprived neighbor.

  Satisfied, I run into the entrance hall, Zip up the stairs and shove the note under his door. I head back to bed and bury my head under the pillow.

  Chapter 2

  I’m struggling to stay awake. Leaning on the meeting table, I prop my head up with my hand. I’ve given up trying to follow and contribute to the marketing discussion. Instead, all my energy is spent on keeping my eyelids open.

  It’s now Thursday, and I’ve been like this all week.

  The Dick upstairs has been banging his drums every night. The hole in my ceiling has gotten bigger from me pounding on it with various items. Anything that I think will be loud enough to be heard over the drums.

  I reported both the banging and the need for my ceiling to be repaired to the agent, but so far neither have been dealt with.

  “Lily?” My boss, John, says.

  “Yeah?” I say hesitantly.

  “Are you awake?” he asks.

  My cheeks burn red as the eyes of all six people in the meeting turn to me.

  “Sorry, I’ve been having problems with my neighbor making noise at night and I haven’t gotten any sleep this week.”

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest now.”

  The redness spreads from my cheeks all the way down my neck, and up to my hairline. I don’t know if he’s being nice, or is really pissed off at me.

  “Okay, thank you, it won’t happen again,” I say, and gather up my things.

  I make my way to my car, and plunk myself behind the wheel. I wonder if I even should be driving given how tired I am, but I manage to drive home without incident.

  As I get out of the car, I pause and look up at the second floor windows and sigh. Why did he have to move in? Here, of all places. Why me?

  I put my key in my door and turn, springing the door open. Making my way through the little entrance hallway, I emerge into the living room and jump.

  A man is up a ladder and plastering the ceiling. A plastic sheet covers my furniture and floor. Not just any man, a jaw droppingly hot man. And I do mean man, with a capital M.

  “You okay?” the guy says, his voice deep and gravelly.

  “You startled me, I wasn’t expecting to come home and find a man in my living room.”

  He hops down off the ladder and wipes his dusty hands on his jeans. His dark hair is messy, the strands long enough to reach his eyes.

  My heart beats faster and faster as I take him in. His eyes are dark, such a deep brown they almost look black. The eyelashes that frame them are so long and thick, they seem to tangle with the messy hair hanging from his head. His jaw is chiseled, and a day’s worth of scruff completes his rugged appeal.

  His black T-shirt betrays his muscular physique. His tattooed arm muscles are dusty from the plastering, creating an effect that is irresistible and it takes all my self-control not to reach out and touch the stranger.

  As I stare at him, I become aware of his eyes raking over me.

  When our eyes connect a jolt of something So powerful it hits me in my chest, and I have to move my foot behind me to steady myself.

  We stand in silence, our eyes locked. Suddenly wide awake, my mind races, trying to understand my intense attraction to this man. I wonder if he is thinking the same things.

  “I’m glad they finally sent someone to fix the ceiling,” I say, my voice breathy.

  “So am I,” he says, our eyes still connected.

  I swallow, and say, “I’m Lily.”

  “I’m Max.”

  He steps toward me, his hand extended. On reflex, I lift my hand to his. He takes it, sending warm from his hand rushing through me.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offer, my heart pounding.

  “Would love one,” Max says, but doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “Hot or cold?”

  “Whatever.”

  We remain motionless, in the center of my living room. Somewhere in the back of my head I think the drinks are in the kitchen. But I make no motion to move.

  Max swaps the hand he is holding mine with, and leads me to my kitchen. Opening the fridge, I grab the first thing I see, a Corona. I hold it up to him and he takes it from my hand. I reach back into the fridge and grab a second one.

  We each open our beers.

  “Cheers,” he says, clinking his bottle against mine.

  “You did a real number on your ceiling,” Max says, half smirking.

  My cheeks flush, and I say, “I snapped. The guy upstairs is a real dick, and keeps me up all night banging on his drums. I was trying to get him to stop.”

  “He sounds like a real jerk.”

  “Yeah. He won’t answer his door, and even the landlord will respond to to my complaints. I’m surprised they actually sent you to fix the ceiling.”

  “When property is damaged, it’s more likely the landlord will act.”

  “I wish they cared about my job. I got sent home today for being so tired and useless in a meeting. It’s going to get me fired.”

  The fatigue and frustration comes rushing back, and I turn and step toward the kitchen to hide the emotion on my face.

  “Hey, hey,” Max says, grabbing my shoulder and turning me back to face him. “Sorry this happened, you don’t deserve it.”

  “Yeah will tell it to him. I can’t lose my job over this.”

  My lip quivers as I struggled to hold back tears. I’m not usually so emotional, but the exhaustion is really getting to me. I turn my head, embarrassed that I’m about to break down in front of the stranger.

  Max’s hand is firm on my shoulder, and he wraps his other arm around me pulling me into him. My body buzzes under his touch, and I welcome it. Somehow he soothes me.

  I let him hold me tight against his strong chest and even wrap my own arms around his muscular frame.

  He’s tall, and my head nestled against his chest. I listen to his heart, the beating is fast and racing the same way my own heart is. I’ve never felt such an instant connection to someone before.

  “Lily,” Max says.

  Looking up, my eyes once again connect with his and I feel that jolt run through me again. It seems like he’s going to say something else, but doesn’t.

  Unnerved, I let go of him and back away.

  “Well, I should let you get your work done,” I say.

  “We haven’t finished our beers yet.”

  The Corona is still gripped in my hand and I look at it as if noticing it for the first time. I take a drink, wishing it were something stronger.

  “Okay, let’s sit at the table,” I say, realizing the furniture in the living room is coated in plastic sheeting.

  We sit at the table, sipping our beers. The conversation with Max is easy, and when we finish our beers I find myself automatically getting two more from the fridge.

  Before I realize it, we finished the six pack. Whatever instant attraction I had for Max has only grown.

  Chapter 3

  Aside from how hot he is, the conversation is easy and I’m totally comfortable in his presence.

  “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight?” Max asks, quirking a brow at me.

  Heat rushes through me at the thought of spending more time with him.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Good, let’s order pizza.”

  “Don’t you have any more jobs to do?”

  “They can wait.”

  We order a double pepperoni pizza, and I open a bottl
e of Merlot while we wait for it to arrive. I arrive back at the table with the open bottle and two wine glasses. Max stands, and takes the items from my hands and sets them on the table.

  He stands close to me and I inhale his manly scent. Leaning over, he breathes me in, and stands tall.

  Max moves to the living area, and rips the plastic sheeting from my couch. Dust flies through the air from the action.

  Sitting on the couch, he pats the seat beside him, motioning for me to sit. Without hesitating, I sit. My body buzzes where our legs touch. He drapes his arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him.

  Our closeness has my body buzzing and seemingly on fire everywhere we’re touching. Feeling bold, I rest my head against his shoulder.

  We get lost in our conversation, and I lose all track of time.

  “Wait,” Max says.

  In a flash, he stands and strides the front door. I watch helplessly as he moves through it.

  A moment later, Max is back in the room carrying a pizza box. His face beams in a broad smile, and there’s a hunger in his eyes. But the hunger seems to be for me and not our dinner.

  “I saw the car pull in the driveway.”

  I get two plates from the kitchen and pour two glasses of Merlot. Wine and pizza, a strange combination but I’m out of beer. The only other thing I have in the apartment is orange juice.

  We sit back on the couch to eat. We talk all the way through dinner, until the pizza is finished. I only eat three pieces, but Max polishes off the rest of it. When the pizza is gone, Max puts his arm around me and pulls me back into him.

  We carry on talking long after the wine is finished and the sun has set. Although Max energizes me, my body is still exhausted from all of the interrupted sleep. My eyelids are heavy and I struggle to keep them open.

  “It’s getting late,” I say, leaning forward and turning to look at him.

  He smooths my hair away from my face, my skin tingling where his fingers come into contact with my skin. My breathing is so fast that I worry I might pass out.