Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (4 page)

Work was a lot easier to commute to from where our apartment was situated. Social She’s office and the spa that Matt worked at was only blocks away from our place.

That spa was where we met.

After everything that had happened, my father and Liza’s solution was to throw money at it. Matt was the singular positive thing that was born from the darkest time in my life.

He was my proof that light is only born from darkness. That’s the only time a person really notices light—when they are enveloped in the dark. So, in a way, I had to be glad that I was once a desperate, confused seventeen-year-old girl with a very, very poor plan to win my mostly estranged father’s attention.

Flor

Goliath

T
he thing about Matt was, despite my overprotective upbringing, my paranoid mother, and my tendency to unknowingly mimic her paranoid behavior, he always knew exactly how to show me a good time. Even when he dragged me out of our apartment kicking and screaming, I’d always end up back home, usually blissfully tipsy, if not somewhat sore from dancing far too much.

I hadn’t resisted going out that night. I knew I should have stayed home to work on my books, but I didn’t have it in me. Not after the day I’d had.

The beat of the music pulsed through me, making fear and worry about my future feel like the less prevailing emotion in the pit of my stomach. If I had stayed home, I chanced wasting the night away feeling sorry for myself instead of working. In truth, I was tempted to do just that, but that was a dangerous path for me. I knew it. Matt knew it.

The staff meeting we’d had that morning hadn’t been a good one. The dozens of employees at Social She filed out the doors of the conference room mostly in silence, all of us scratching our heads and working to steady ourselves after Chris, the Editor in Chief, dropped the bomb. On a Friday no less! Way to ruin the weekend for the lot of us.

“We’re restructuring, folks.
Social She
, as of the end of next month, will be an exclusively online women’s mag. Our print editions have run their course. It’s time we focus all our efforts on our e-mag side and make this magazine the best damned women’s magazine available on the web, and to help with that, we are launching our very own app!” She pulled a black pitch drape from the storyboard stand displaying the new app icon and how it would appear on the screen of a smart phone, tablet and PC. Half of the staff ooh’ed and ahh’ed and the other half sank in their seats a little further. I was one of the ones who sank into my seat a little further.

She had sounded confident and reassuring, measured, excited even, but it didn’t do much to quell the fear that sprang up in me. I was the contents girl for the print editions. The e-mag side of
Social She
had a graphics team who handled that side of things. I had zero noteworthy experience in the realm of online publishing, no qualifications, not even the confidence to dive in. There would be no use for me.

Restructuring.

It was the one word that stuck out. What did that mean? Were our jobs safe? I didn’t like the sound of it. Were any of us going to be collecting unemployment soon?

I’d hoped not. Anxiety was decidedly
not
conducive to creativity. My books felt like they had just tumbled to the bottom of my priority list and rocketed to the very top, simultaneously.

“Shots! You need it,” Matt shouted into my ear, working to make sure I’d hear him above the music. He’d said that I was the one who needed a little dancing and drinks tonight, but I knew that he needed it just as much. Cal, the most recent object of his affection, hadn’t shown his face or called since our orchestrated run-in at the art gallery and though he’d never admit it, it was bothering him.

Could Matt be serious about this guy?

I secretly hoped for Matt’s sake, Cal would pull his head out of his nether regions soon and call my amazing best friend.

In the meantime I nodded, not hesitating at all when he tugged me forward to the crowded bar nearest the dance floor. Club goers squeezed in on each other, all vying for the attention of the bartenders working fast to keep up.

How do they pour so fast?
I wondered absently, alcohol making my brain fuzzy and free to roam aimlessly.
Maybe drinking is the key to being successful in the publishing world. Wasn’t Hemingway a drunk?

Even the notion of relying on alcohol to be a decent writer made me cringe. I would rather collect unemployment.

“Wasn’t Hemingway a drunk?” I shouted into Matt’s ear, standing somewhat behind him, his hand clutching mine tightly, the way he always did when we went out. Gay and fairly feminine or not, he was very much my masculine defender, my keeper, and I liked to think I was his keeper too.

Our bond went far deeper than amiable companionship between roommates. Thoughts of the past threatened and I tamped them down before they grew too big. The last thing I needed right now was a fresh bout of guilt and shame and anger.

“Who’s drunk?”

“Hemingway!” I shouted again, my lips brushing clumsily against Matt’s ear, making him flinch away laughing.

“That tickles! And I don’t know who you’re talking about, babe,” he barked back, looking around.

“Never mind,” I mouthed when his eyes came back to me. He smiled and pulled us forward as soon as the man in front of us vacated a very small segment of the open bar.

It took our bartender all of fifteen seconds to pour two shots of Patrón and prop a slice of lime on the rim of each. Matt slid cash across the bar and handed me the shot. The top rim of Matt’s shot glass clinked against mine, then we clinked the base and smiled at our little routine before pouring the liquid fire down our throats.

I held my breath, allowing the heat to pool in my belly before exhaling. My stomach churned warmly then settled down as the alcohol began going to work, erasing all my worries about the future, anxiety over my books and frustration over my asshole neighbor who seemed keen on disrupting what little creativity that
had
been flowing.

“Prick,” I grumbled quietly, the insult disappearing into the noise like I hadn’t said it at all.

“Dance!” Matt ordered, grinning like a fool as he dragged me out onto the floor once again, Ellie Goulding’s “Outside” blasting loudly from the speakers.

Two more songs had come and gone by the time I snuck off the dance floor to catch my breath and relieve myself.

My skin felt sticky with sweat, my heart was pounding, my head delightfully weightless. I grinned like an idiot as I made my way to the nearest bathroom. I was pleased to see that no one had puked all over yet, it was clean, smelled pretty good and though there were plenty of ladies coming and going, there was no line to contend with. I’d take my victories where I could.

I adjusted my skirt, tucked my rusty brown hair back into place and dried my hands. In spite of the wash my life had been recently, I was having a great night so far and I was determined to soak it up for all it was worth. God knew I’d needed the fond memories by the time the sun rose the next day.

The wide corridor connecting the bathrooms with the main area of the club was crowded with people coming and going to the facilities and people looking for a quieter corner to hear themselves think and chat with others for a moment. There were also the token club goers intent on making out where they could.

I weaved around bodies on my way back to find Matt when a broad back clad in a black sport coat blocked my way. I felt dwarfed by the man in front of me. My five feet-three inches felt more like two feet-three inches by comparison to the goliath.

Goliath! Art gallery goliath!

I peeked to the side, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of his profile and my suspicions were confirmed. He was speaking to another man and I cleared my throat hoping he’d hear me and step aside. Or turn around and let me look at him…

He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t even register my presence no more than four inches or so at his back. My eyes drifted unabashed down his backside as I waited for an opportunity to slip by but, in the meantime, why not enjoy window-shopping?

Impressive.

Dark denim jeans—expensive looking jeans—clung to his thighs and backside, making me temporarily forget that I was attempting to walk around him. I shamelessly scooted a little closer once the scent of him filled my nose. Reeling me in with a mix of male goodness, I leaned slightly forward and breathed deeply. He smelled like soap and something slightly fragrant that was a mystery to me. I couldn’t put my finger on it but it certainly smelled expensive. There was no way it was a drugstore special.

“All right then, brother. I’ll give you a call when something opens up,” he spoke above the music like his voice was practiced in the art of talking over loud music. Benefactor or not, he was likely a club-dweller too. I couldn’t hold that against him, though. Not looking like that. Especially not
smelling
like that.

Just then, he turned my direction, his arm grazing against the front of me, causing my breast to tingle at the inadvertent touch. I’d been single for too long and it was apparent that my neglected body agreed with my brain’s summation of my love life.

A clumsy woman in heels that she likely didn’t know how to walk in, stumbled, bumping my shoulder hard. I instinctively put my hands up to brace myself. My palms landed against rock hard muscles and for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to apologize…or remove them from his chest.

I glanced to the giggling woman and her friend as they kept moving along the hall, back out to the club. The goliath, Mr. Stone, in front of me placed his hand lightly over mine against his chest. His other hand rested against my waist.

His dark eyes landed on me from above. He said nothing. His hair seemed impossibly dark in the low light, the shadows making him seem even bigger than I recalled him being at the gallery where I’d first met him.

“I—uh—excuse me,” I mumbled, averting my eyes, feeling only slightly embarrassed that I had ogled and that my nipples pressed against the fabric of my shirt in silent salute to our brief and accidental contact. I should have been more embarrassed, but alcohol had doused my inhibitions in good tequila and lime.

Thanks, Patrón
.

He said nothing. The corner of his mouth curled up in obvious amusement. His eyes twinkled. He released me and my arms fell to my side. His long arm waved outward formally, motioning me ahead of him, and I scurried away without looking back, though I wanted to.

Maybe a tumble in the sack with a specimen like that would make me feel even better about my current circumstances.

Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” dominated the speakers as I entered the main area of the club again, and my muddled brain couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Stone, Goliath, looked like a dark horse with a dominating build, a mane of black hair, wild eyes so dark they appeared nearly black, though I was sure they were likely the darkest of browns.

I shook my head, breathed deeply, decided that more Patrón was in order and got down to the business of locating Matt.

Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my eyes from searching for a monster of a man in the packed club. The deep-seated ache that my second brief encounter with him had caused left me feeling frustrated. I needed a distraction. Matt was easy enough to find. As though I had some sort of secret homing beacon for Matt, I spotted him off to my right.

“Hey, gorgeous! You ready? Cal sent me a text,” he said by way of explanation for him wanting to leave. At least he had the sense to look a little bashful. “You don’t mind if we go, do you?”

Yes I mind! Goliath is in here somewhere and if I find him, I may seduce him in a dark corner.

“Not at all,” I shouted above the music with a fake smile on my face. It was just as well, I supposed. If Goliath was interested in me, he knew who I was. He knew that Cal knew Matt and that Matt was my best friend. If he wanted to, he could ask for my contact information but he hadn’t. I pretended that realization didn’t sting but it did.

“Alright then! Let’s go,” Matt whooped, clearly excited that he was going to hang out with his most recent love interest. I grumbled under my breath and took one last glance back into the club as Matt tugged me forward by my arm.

There he stood, his back to me, his obsidian hair blending in with the darkness.

Beautiful.
Damn you, Matt!