Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (32 page)

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said as I hauled the heavy backpack up, holding it to my chest.

“No. It’s okay. Leave it there.” He motioned toward the counter where I’d set it down before. “Don’t leave again.” I dropped the backpack to the counter and prowled toward him.

“Alright, Goliath, but only if you agree that we can check off one of the girly things from the list tonight after the party.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he accused with narrowed eyes.

“Me?” I squeaked. “Last time I checked,” I said pulling away from him and fishing my list from my pocket, “I have done the following things—
in stride
!” My eyes scanned the tattered list in my hands. “I have tried out Coke and Pop Rocks. I let you toss a brand new pair of shoes over a grounding wire! I have engineered a massive rubber band ball that serves no purpose whatsoever other than to say that I did it. I have eaten s’mores until I thought I’d throw up—” I shivered at the memory of it.

“It’s a rite of passage,” he said as he worked to swallow down his own laughter.

“I’m glad you enjoy picking on me.” I glared at him then got back to my list. “I’ve made out with the boy next door.”

“Sure have.” He nodded arrogantly.

“I now communicate with Matt via Star Wars walkie talkies when we are both at home.” I rolled my eyes and refused to admit aloud that they were pretty handy at night when Matt was already in his own bed and I was in mine with our phones plugged in to charge. The walkie talkies were instant and simple. Anytime I picked up my phone I somehow ended up scrolling through emails or social media for at least an hour.

“I stole my brother’s stapler. An act that now has him questioning my sanity.”

“You should have told him it was a war,” he rebutted as though I was being dense.

“You can’t be serious.”

“How else does the enemy know what your actions mean? Make your directive clear. You declare war, woman!” He flexed his muscles and hammered his own chest like some sort of Viking lunatic.

“Okay, I’m
so
not declaring war with my adult brother. He’d have me committed the same day.”

“Missing out,” He shrugged. “I’ve been at war with Halley since grade school.”

“Yeah and how’s that working out for ya?”

“Meh.” He waved his hand out dismissively.

“Moving along,” I muttered. “I’ve pranked the neighbor—”

“What? When did you do that one?” he interjected.

“I pepper sprayed you in the face,” I said flatly over the top of my list.

“I recall,” he said dryly. “That doesn’t count though.”

“I’m counting it. And stop cutting me off!”

Graham raised his hands in surrender and I continued taking inventory of what I had and hadn’t done.

“I only have a few things left. Super glue, which I still don’t understand. Skinny dipping.” I winked at him. “Build a fort. Useless. Sneak out. Also useless. Try a new sport. Climb a tree. Chubby bunny. Camp outside. Skip class or work. Save a stray animal. Give someone a wet willy, which I absolutely
will not do
. Manicure. Pedicure. Facials. Chick flick marathon. Tea party. That’s it!” I announced as I folded my list and shoved it into my pocket.

“Okay, so let’s get to it. Chubby bunny time.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“Please, no more marshmallows,” I pouted with my shoulders slumped forward.

“Don’t eat them. You just stuff them in your mouth.”

“And what’s the point of this exercise?” Graham seemed to ponder my question for a moment then finally looked at me.

“Bragging rights, of course.”

“Of course,” I mocked. “And what do we have to do again?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” Graham crutched himself to the cabinets on the far side of the kitchen and began rifling through them in search of the marshmallows that I was hoping weren’t available. “Ah-ha!” He held up a bag of fluffy white, pure, nauseating sugar and I withered a little on the inside.

I watched as he ripped the bag open. Like a child. He poured a large amount of marshmallows out on the counter top. “Rules are simple. One marshmallow at a time. No chewing, no swallowing.” He paused and smiled at me.

“Oh, don’t worry!” I laughed humorlessly. “I won’t be swallowing…the marshmallows. Savage,” I whispered, shaking my head.

“You must be able to clearly say chubby bunny. We alternate, taking turns adding a marshmallow each turn until we can’t fit another one in our mouths. Whoever fits the most and says the words, wins. Simple. I’ll go first.”

“Ugh.” I curled my lip, hating that I was about to be victimized by peer pressure once again. “I’m only doing this now if we get to watch
Sleepless In Seattle
later,” I declared with my finger held up in defiance.

“Fine.” Graham popped a marshmallow in his mouth and packed it back into his cheek like it was gauze from the dentist.

“Chubby. Bunny,” he said smiling with a bulging right cheek. In spite of myself, I laughed. He looked so ridiculous.

“Go,” he ordered.

“Fine. Fine. This is dumb,” I whispered. Plucking the least fluffy marshmallow from the lot, I put it in my mouth and said the words. “Chubby bunny.”

Graham snagged his next marshmallow and tucked it into the back of his cheek on the opposite side as the first one and smiled. I laughed. Again. “Chubby. Bunny.”

He sounded ridiculous and looked even more ridiculous. It was great. “Wha? Something wong?” He acted confused with wide eyes and it forced me to laugh even harder, which made not spitting out the marshmallow very difficult.

“S-stop!” I stuttered as I chose my next marshmallow. I thought for a moment, trying to figure out where the hell to stow it in my mouth. I followed Graham’s method and tucked it away in my cheek. “Chubby bunny,” I said looking up to Graham who was cross eyed and twitching his nose with his top lip rolled up, showcasing his straight white teeth like a deranged rabbit.

Laughing made holding the damned marshmallows extremely difficult but it felt so good to laugh like this. My cheeks began hurting. My eyes were watering.

He shoved his third marshmallow into his big mouth. “Shuvvy. Vunny.” He nodded and held up his fist like a boxing champ as though he’d just kicked ass and won a title match.

I snorted and tried to keep my composure. This was getting difficult. I held one hand over my mouth and wagged the other at him, pleading for him to stop trying to make me laugh.

“Wha? Why er you ‘miling. Ith a theriouth medical condithion I haf. Overthithed gumth. Theriouth thuff.” He nodded and mocked seriousness. As hard as I tried to keep my lips sealed shut, trapping my own marshmallows, I couldn’t go on. I exploded with laughter and so did my mouth, sending sticky, wet marshmallows flying out onto the counter and spit went with them.

Very thexy.

I wiped my sleeve across my mouth and doubled over clutching my stomach as I tried to gather myself.

“Oh. Oh, my god.” I sighed, wiping tears from my eyes. “That was funny.”

“I don thee whath tho funny.” He crossed his arms over his chest but his lips were fighting a smile and he gave in, leaning to spit the mashmallows into the kitchen sink and laughing loudly.

“That was funny,” I panted, trying to catch my breath.

“I win.” Graham took a big gulp of water from the faucet and wiped his mouth. “Do I get a trophy? A medal?” His eyes took on a lusty glimmer and I cocked my head at him.

“You tell me,” I said as I rounded the island to stand in front of him.

“I definitely deserve something.”

“I think I can come up with a reward or two.” I brushed my ass against his waist and reached back to touch his already semi-hard cock. Chubby bunny quickly turned into my new favorite game.

“Wow. Who knew being a boozer came with such perks?” I said dryly under my breath as we entered the ballroom where Liza was holding my dad’s birthday party. “Sorry,” I added, only truly feeling sorry that I’d said it loud enough for others to hear me.

“What?”

“My dad. It’s his birthday today but it’s also his sobriety-anniversary or whatever boozers call it,” I muttered.

Graham’s eyes grew serious but he didn’t say anything to that. I didn’t expect him to. “Want something to drink?” I asked Graham, noticing a waiter milling through the crowd, handing out drinks to those who wanted one.

“Water.”

I snagged a glass of water for him and a flute of champagne for myself. He took a long drink from his water and I took it back so he could use his crutches. We took our time getting through the crowd of formally dressed party-goers wandering about the ballroom. My dad had quite the circle of friends. Liza must have invited a couple hundred people or more.

“Oh. There he is,” I said steering Goliath right to where I’d seen my dad’s shiny bald head. He was standing with his back to me, talking to a few other men. I cleared my throat and he whirled to face me, his bald head gleaming in the light coming from the chandeliers above. I handed Graham his glass of water as we came to a stop. He took it from me absently. His eyes were locked on my dad.

“Flor,” my father greeted and instantly looked at Graham.

His eyes widened and he looked to me then back to Graham.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Graham Stone. Graham, this is my father, Martin Petersen.” I looked between the two men and noticed they both seemed tense, their eyes locked on each other, unmoving.

“Shit,” Graham muttered, raking one hand through his obsidian hair. His face had paled in a way that I hadn’t seen on him since he had been feverish with infection.

I glanced to my father and watched his reaction. He pursed his lips and sighed deeply. He tugged at his tie in that way he did when he was frustrated.

Either they were taking the boyfriend meeting the father for the first time entirely too seriously and the nerves to a whole new level, or something was wrong. If the nerves were the only explanation, it would have tugged at my heart to see it.

I wasn’t feeling as though my heartstrings were playing a symphony. Instead, my heart sank, my stomach churned queasily like red flags shot up the flagpole and flapped violently in a growing storm. I glanced at my dad and noted that he looked flat out uneasy.

What in the world?

I lifted my hand and laid it on Graham’s arm to silently reassure him and question him. My father may have been one of Manhattan’s elite but he was still just my dad.

Graham was one of Manhattan’s elite too, so what was the big deal? Graham’s hand was stuffed in his pants pocket and with my own hand resting on his forearm, I could feel the muscles in his forearm twitching. A subtle clink seemed to come from his pocket, and something dreadful and familiar took root in my gut shining an ugly light on an even uglier realization.

My brows furrowed as I looked between both men who seemed unnaturally tense.

“You two know each other,” I stated more than asked in a voice barely above a whisper. Neither one of them confirmed or denied my accusation, which only made the knot in my gut twist painfully.

“How do you know each other?” I spoke eerily calm, careful not to let on to those around us that there was about to be a serious issue if I didn’t get some answers soon. Neither one of them volunteered to speak up and fury rose in my chest like white-hot fire licking at the back of my throat.

I inhaled deeply with my eyes closed, my nostrils flared. “I said how. Do. You. Know. Each. Other?”

“Flor, honey, let’s go sit down—” my father had begun but shut his mouth when I glared up at him.

I looked up at Graham from where I was standing beside him. With our eyes locked onto each other, I ran my hand slowly down the inside of his arm. His dark orbs seemed pleading and scared and…guilty. I slipped my own hand into his pocket and his big paw froze.

My fingers wrapped around something in his palm. I withdrew the coin from it’s dark home where it had likely been hiding the entire time I’d known Graham, like some dirty secret, it dwelled under cover of darkness and I was none the wiser. It had to be why he didn’t want me doing his laundry. It was why he freaked out when I had picked his clothes up from the bathroom floor. That’s why he looked relieved when I gave them back to him, none the wiser about what was in the pocket.

The coin was weighty in my hand. It was made of what I’d guessed to be bronze and it was fair sized in terms of coins, about the same size as the standard poker chip. It was warm to the touch, a product of being so near to the heat Graham seemed to constantly let off.

“And here I worried that you two might not get along,” I joked dryly with a false smile plastered on my face. “Is this it? Your big secret? The thing you’ve been so intent on keeping from me?” I turned the coin over in my hand studying it. “So you knew about my childhood. You knew how I felt about this and you kept it from me. I was worried you and him,” I motioned my thumb toward my father, “wouldn’t get along. I worried that you’d hate him because maybe you’d blame him for everything like I do. But as it turns out, you’re exactly the same, aren’t you? Two obscenely wealthy, lying alcoholics who feel the need to pick and choose what I get to know. Take your coin, Graham,” I snarled as I dropped his sobriety coin into his glass of water with a
plunk.
“That secret you kept? Well, I have one too. An alcoholic ruined my life once because I loved him. That’s why it hurt so much. I loved him, and in return, he destroyed me. I never thought it would happen again. There. No more secrets.” I ignored the pained look in Graham’s dark eyes and I spun to face my father before he could respond. I gave one more half snarl half smile to my father. “He’s all yours,
daddy,
” I ground out as I turned on my heels and slipped out of the nearest exit.