Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (22 page)

I bent down and grabbed my shoulder bag from the bottom drawer of my desk and settled the strap across my body as I made my way to the elevator. My older brother’s office wasn’t far and I decided that if I was going to give The Stone Kid Experience sincere effort, I needed to talk to Anthony. I’d packed my lunch this morning and was glad that I’d opted for a chicken wrap, because I ate as I made the walk to the law firm where Anthony was a junior partner.

“Hi, Natalie.” I waved to my brother’s secretary as I approached her desk just outside of Anthony’s office.

“Hey, Flor! He isn’t doing anything. Go on in.” I liked Natalie. She was a pretty woman with hair nearly as dark as Graham’s. She was my age, I guessed, and she was a saint in my book for putting up with Anthony and his workload.

I wonder if Anthony has ever considered firing Natalie so he could date her?

“Thanks.” I knocked on his office door as I walked in. Anthony was behind his desk, eating his lunch amidst papers scattered on his desk.

“Oh, Flor! I didn’t know you were coming by.” He came around his desk and wrapped me up in a familiar hug.

“Surprise,” I deadpanned. “Why don’t you fire Natalie so you can ask her out on a date?”

“What?” he spat, shaking his head as though I’d just slapped him.

“Natalie. You should ask her out.”

“Oh. Well…” He seemed to think about it for a beat, but he didn’t say anything else about it.

“How’s work?” I flopped down in the leather chair in front of his desk and tossed my used napkin in his trashcan.

“Oh. You know, busy. Plenty of clients. Plenty of cases. Not near enough me.” He sighed and settled back into his seat, careful not to let his abandoned suit jacket slip off the back of his chair. He looked tired. The blue eyes he inherited from our mother were a little duller than I remembered. His ruddy brown hair was slightly disheveled and his tie hung loosely at his neck. “How’s work for you? Mom said the magazine is in trouble?”

“Ugh! Mom! You know how she is. The magazine is restructuring.” I didn’t want him worrying about me. He already looked plenty stressed.

“So you didn’t lose your job? If you need help, you know you can ask me. You don’t have to ask dad if you don’t want to,” he offered, his blue eyes taking on a warm look.

“Thank you. I did lose my job, but I found another. So all’s well. Anyway, I came by to discuss something with you.”

Anthony looked up through his lashes at me. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“We didn’t have a childhood.”

“Of course we did. Why would you say that?” His brows furrowed and I couldn’t help but note the little wrinkles bracketing his eyes.

“Because it’s true, and it’s making writing these books feel all wrong.”

“I distinctly remember having a great childhood, all things considered, and so did you.” He wagged his finger at me.

“No, we really didn’t. We did nothing that normal kids do. I don’t know about you but I feel…robbed. With everything that happened and then the divorce, and dad being here and dealing with all his crap,” I mumbled, shaking my head.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. How hard could it be? Binge-watch Nickelodeon or something.” Anthony shrugged and relaxed back into his seat.

“Right,” I muttered, picking tiny specks of lint off my black leggings. The intercom buzzed and Natalie’s disembodied voice informed Anthony that he had a call from a client on line one.

“All right. I’ll let you get to it. Dinner soon?” I stood up and slipped the strap of my bag back over my head.

“Sure. Just let me know when.”

“Dad’s having his birthday dinner soon. Are you going?” I certainly wasn’t looking forward to his birthday party, but if Anthony was going to be there, I’d be a little more likely to go.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Aren’t you? You should at least try to be there, Flor.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll try to make it.” I didn’t sound sincere at all.

“You do that and make sure to let me know.” Anthony came around his desk again and gave me another quick hug.

“You mean let Natalie know.” Anthony looked at me guiltily.

“Be safe getting back to work and let me know when you get there, please.”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” I teased.

“Very cute, Flor.”

I begin to open my mouth to assure him that I would call or text to assure him that I was alive and well but I stopped myself, thinking back to Graham and the stupid list of things he’s made. The various things he said kids do ran through my mind like a ticker and I made a mental note to re-write the list in a neat, legible fashion.

“I’m taking this,” I said sharply as I swiped the stapler off his desk. His brows wrinkled in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because…I want to. I-I need a stapler…so I’m taking yours.” I dropped the stapler into my bag and put one hand on my hip, challengingly.

“Okay? Should I get another? Or…”

“Yep,” I said, punctuated with as much conviction as I was capable of.

“Are you feeling alright, Flor?” He cocked his head at me.

“I’m great. See you later, Anthony.”

“Let me know if you need any other office supplies,” Anthony called out dryly as I strode out of his office thinking that “steal something from a sibling” could be marked off my Stone Kid Experience list.

I checked my cell phone for the time before I hurried into the store on my way back to work. I stopped for a moment and seriously considered buying the Coke and the Pop Rock candy from two different stores. What would I look like? A twenty-six year old woman buying those two items? I didn’t have much time. I needed to get back to work, not that I’d have much to do once I got there. I could buy the candy here then just go to another store on my way home from work. I thought about it as I perused the candy aisle.

My eyes grazed over the Pop Rock selection and I opted to buy the watermelon-flavored pouch. I snagged the pouch from the shelf, noting how light it felt, then shook it. What sounded like loose sand rustled from within, and I headed to the checkout counter trying to look as inconspicuous as I could. I dropped my candy on the counter and looked up at the teenaged cashier.

“It’s for…my son. He, um, just loves this stuff. Not that I let my child eat a bunch of candy or anything. Cavities and all. Well, not that he has cavities…” I trailed off feeling like a nervous moron.

“That it?” The young man behind the counter had to be about seventeen and could not have cared less about my explanation. His monotonous tone had indicated as much.

I paused, considering what he’d asked. I didn’t have time to make more trips than I had planned and I was itching to get back to Graham’s place as soon as I could. The convenience store was on my agenda and nothing more.

“No. Hold on one minute, please.” I hurried back to the coolers and snagged a bottle of Coke then speed-walked back to the waiting cashier. “This too. For me. They are both for me.” I confessed, trying to sound cool and calm but inside I felt like a mischievous kid. Wasn’t that the point, though?

The cashier eyed my purchase and looked up at me with a faint grin. “It’s not true, is it? You know? What they say?” I whispered, leaning forward marginally.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” he whispered back, his smile in stark contrast to the ominous overture in his voice.

“Good luck,” he called after me as I slipped out the door determined to reclaim the childhood that had been taken from me, and I was going to do it all with the boy next door.

Another unexciting day at the office had left me tired and bored. The remainder of my Friday at work dragged on and on like a bad date. Ordering out didn’t sound half bad, but Graham really enjoyed when I whipped up something with my own two hands, and I enjoyed that warm tingly feeling that bubbled up in me every time he gushed over how good the food was.

As soon as I got home, I hopped in the shower and scrubbed and shaved until I felt smooth and clean. I slipped on a cotton blouse and clean leggings that I adored. They hugged my body and the fabric was ridiculously soft. I absently wondered if Graham would like them.

Jesus.

I was acting like a smitten teenager! I had to gather myself. I needed to calm down. I didn’t know what this thing with Graham was and I felt very close to getting ahead of myself.

I dug through the pantry and decided that my four-ingredient peanut butter cookies were quick and guaranteed to brighten his day. They were fast too and I was ready to spend the evening with my noisy, handsome, enigmatic neighbor.

I stacked a plate full of cookies, decided to leave my cell phone charging on my nightstand and grabbed my bag.

“Graham?” I called as I shut his door behind me. I still couldn’t believe that he handed over a spare key just for my use. “I brought you some cookies and I swear to you, if you don’t eat them this time I’m gonna—” I froze in my tracks when I made it into his living room. He was reclined back in his chair, his body limp, sweat beaded across his brow, his cheeks were flushed bright red.

My heart crashed to the pit of my stomach where it clanged like an empty pot on a stone floor. I dropped my things and ran to his chair. I sat down on the arm of the recliner and took his face in my hands. “Graham? Graham, look at me.” I spoke firmly and clearly as I held his face in my palms, trying desperately to rouse him. He was burning up. “Graham, I’m getting help. I’m going to use your phone. Don’t worry.”

He mumbled inaudibly as I grabbed his phone from the table beside his chair. My hands were shaking. I was no nurse. I knew only the basics. Fever was a natural response and it was okay until it wasn’t. Fever that had rocketed from warm to smoldering was bad, and his felt way too high. It was especially bad for someone who had open wounds because it meant there had to be infection. My eyes peered down at his leg and noted that his leg looked markedly more swollen than it was last night and near one of his pin sites, angry red steaks swept across his skin.

That was it, right? An infection?
Antibiotics. He needs antibiotics.

I swiped the screen of his phone and realized that access required a password.

“Four-19,” he mumbled with his eyes still closed. I stared at the screen, my mind reeling.

Four-19? Why is he talking about the club?

I was sure fever had scrambled his brain.

“Four-19,” he repeated.

Oh!

I typed in the code and relief washed over me when the home screen popped up. I jabbed the phone icon and began scrolling through his contacts, looking for Halley. His long list of contacts went by in a blur as I scrolled right to the H section. I knew that Graham being the man he was would use his sister’s nickname with her contact information instead of her actual name.

Ms. Brunette picked up on the third ring. “Calling to apologize?” she almost crooned. God, I didn’t like this woman.

“Hi. Um, Halley. I mean, uh, Margaret. Right? This is Flor, Graham’s neighbor. We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” The alarm in her voice had me wondering how she was such a bitch if she obviously cared about her brother so much.

“Graham has a fever. I think he may have an infection or something, but I’m not sure.”

“That stupid, obstinate, sonofabitch! I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone before I could say anything else. I hurried into the bathroom and snagged a washcloth from a small basket on the counter. I soaked it in cool water and brought it back to Graham. Folding it neatly, I brushed his hair from his forehead and began wiping his brow.

“Have you taken any medicine today? Anything at all?”

“No,” he groaned, shifting his leg restlessly.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm.”

I went right for the bathroom and began rummaging for medication. He had to have a fever reducer somewhere in here. Didn’t everyone have that on hand? I pulled a drawer open and found a bottle of acetaminophen there. Taking two from the bottle, I hurried to his kitchen for a glass of water.

“Take these, Graham. It’s only fever reducer.” I tugged at his chin, encouraging him to open his mouth for me. His eyes opened a little. He swallowed them down with a big gulp of water and rested his head back against the high back of the chair.