Easy to Hate: Neighbors Series #1 Page 2

  “Why? Because you’re a stalker or a rapist?!” she accuses, stepping away from me and aiming her pepper spray at me again, even though the safety is now on. She probably doesn’t even know that, though.

  I sigh in exasperation and raise my hands in surrender. “No, because I was in the Marines. Getting pepper-sprayed was part of my training. It taught me how to protect myself against attackers.”

  She lowers the spray, guilt etched in her features. “Oh, sorry. My roommate said you might be another Ted Bundy, and I don’t want to get raped and murdered.”

  “Yeah, because breaking into your neighbor’s apartment and stealing his shoe right in front of him is a good way to prevent something like that from happening,” I say facetiously.

  “Well, no, but that’s what the pepper spray was for.”

  “It won’t do you any good if you don’t use it properly. You need a firm grip and to use your thumb to activate it so no one can snatch it out of your hand like I just did from yours.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” She raises the pepper spray at me again and presses the button to activate it. But it’s still disarmed. Once she realizes her mistake, her eyes widen.

  I cock my head to the side and plant my hands on my hips. “Really?”

  She offers an apologetic smile, then scurries toward me, ducks under my arm and squeezes past me, darting for the front door. “I’ll bring it right back, I promise!”

  I don’t even try to stop her and instead exhale another deep sigh. What could she possibly need my shoe for, anyway? To squash a spider? Can’t she use her own goddamn shoe for that?

  Right, she probably doesn’t want to get her precious shoe all nasty, so she’s using mine instead. Which means there will be spider guts on the bottom of my shoe when she returns it.

  Fantastic.

  I go to the balcony, curtly grab my beer and head back inside, closing the sliding doors so I don’t have to hear every goddamn word of their conversation again.

  Pound, pound, pound.

  What the hell?

  It sounds like they’re banging something against the wall.

  My shoe, perhaps?

  Pound, pound, pound.

  Then I hear a loud pop!

  “Yeeeeessssss!”

  They got the cork out.

  Spectacular.

  “Holy shit, you made a mess!”

  “Sorry, but at least we can keep drinking!”

  “Woohoo!”

  I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, looking forward to going to bed and getting some rest tonight. But then there’s another knock on the front door.

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter with a mouth full of toothpaste and spit it out into the sink before going over to answer the door. It’s probably the blonde neighbor with my shoe, but I’m not sure I want it back.

  Sure enough, it’s her.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow it.” She hands over my shoe with a small smile and heads back to her apartment.

  “You didn’t borrow it, you stole it!” I call after her.

  She completely ignores me. “And sorry I tried to spray you...twice!”

  I bring the shoe to my nose to get a closer whiff. I noticed the smell as soon as she handed it to me. “Hey, why does my shoe smell like wine?!”

  I’m talking to the door at this point.

  I shake my head and go back inside, trying to decide if I should try to get the smell out or just toss the pair into the trash. For now, I set it aside and go to the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth, hoping my neighbors will down their wine bottle, get tired and go to bed so I can have a quiet evening.

  No such luck.

  They turn on the music, and I can hear the pounding bass through the wall and also, “Yeeeeesssss, this is my jam!”

  The walls are actually shaking.

  Why do the other neighbors put up with this? It’s absurd, really.

  They should be evicted.

  I contemplate calling the police to make a complaint, but this is New York City. The police have better things to do than respond to non-emergency noise complaints. So I return to my bedroom, strip down to my boxers and toss my clothes into the hamper before slipping into bed. I can still hear the noises coming from the unit next door, but thankfully, I’m a patient man.

  An hour passes and the music still doesn’t cease.

  I roll over on my stomach and pull the pillow over my head, wishing I had noise-canceling headphones. I’m normally against the idea of something that cancels all sounds, because it also cancels sounds that alert danger. Like a burglary, an explosion, or a gunshot. But right now, I’d do anything to get a good night’s sleep.

  Between arguing with my brother over the phone into the wee hours of the morning and spending all day moving into my new place and unpacking, I’m completely exhausted. Not to mention, I start my day at five every morning. My classes don’t begin until eight, but I like to get an early start to my day. I got up that early when I was in the Marines, and some habits never die.

  I’m about to get up and go down the hall to ask my neighbor to turn down the noise, but when I asked her the first time, she got offended, so I doubt a second attempt will do any good.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Audrey

  I shake the pill bottle and groan, making a mental note to get some more Motrin the next time I’m at the store. I woke up, regretting the three bottles of pinot gris Harper and I imbibed last night. My head is pounding, I’m dehydrated and I have to be at work in an hour. I take two painkillers and drink a full glass of water before dragging myself into the shower.

  When I leave my bedroom, dressed in my scrubs, Harper is shuffling out of her room.

  “Morning,” she says groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  “Morning, Harp.” I head to the kitchen to make her some coffee. I’m not a coffee drinker myself, but I know Harper can’t function without her morning caffeine fix. Scooping out some fresh coffee grounds from the canister, I dump them into the clean coffee filter.

  “Remind me again why we drank on a weeknight?” she grumbles, taking a seat at the table.

  “That’s an excellent question.” I pour water into the coffeemaker and place the pot on the warming plate before turning it on.

  Harper buries her face in the cradle of her arms on the table as I grab the last of the Motrin from the bathroom and return to the kitchen, filling a tall glass with water. She doesn’t have to work today, but she has classes. She’s already a registered nurse like me, but she’s going for her master’s degree so she can become a certified nurse-midwife. And also because she’s an overachiever, when it comes to her career at least. I just wish she were an overachiever with other aspects of her life, like the men she dates.

  Or maybe Harper was purposefully aiming for Class-A levels of douchebaggery when she started dating Bryce. If that’s the case, then she definitely went above and beyond expectations. And while she is my best friend and roommate, there’s only so much sense I can talk into her, but I’m not willing to let some lowlife scumbag come in between our friendship.

  “Here, these will help.”

  Harper lifts her head and takes the proffered items. When she pops the pills into her mouth, swallowing them down with a big gulp of water, I grab a bag of Tate’s chocolate chip cookies from the pantry and grab one before extending the bag to Harper.

  She takes a couple, looking up at me. “Speaking of drinking, are you going to be here Friday night?”

  I snort-laugh into my hand to keep the food from projecting out of my mouth.

  She gives me an odd look. “What?”

  “You’re still recovering from a hangover and already have booze on the brain.”

  She shrugs defensively as she snacks on a cookie. “I’m just thinking ahead.”

  “Well, that depends. Will Bryce be here?”

  When she brings the glass of water to her lips and sips on it slowly to wash down the cookie and probably to hide the guilt evident on her face, I know what her answer is before she says it out loud. “Well, considering he’s the one who invited a few people over for a small get together, yes, he’ll be here.”

  I scoff. “Then no, I definitely won’t.” Whenever she says he’s inviting a few friends here, I know it means there will be a party. Otherwise, he could just invite them over to his own apartment. I’ve never been to his place, but Harper told me he lives in a tiny studio apartment his father pays out the ying-yang for, so there’s no way he’d be able to have more than a few people over there.

  Disappointment clouds her face. “Why not?”

  As I grab another cookie from the bag, I’m flabbergasted she even has to ask. “For one, Bryce’s idea of a small get-together never comprises just a few people, and two, I don’t care to be around him. You know that.” I take a bite of my cookie.

  “That’s a shame because he has a good-looking cousin who thinks you’re gorgeous,” she sing-songs.

  “Which cousin?” I mumble through a mouthful.

  “Treyton. You haven’t met him before, but he saw your pics on Instagram.”

  “How did he find my Instagram account if we’ve never met?”

  “Bryce showed it to him.”

  What the fuck?

  I furrow my brows in confusion. “Okay, why did Bryce show his cousin my Instagram account?”

  She smirks. “Because Treyton was asking him if I had any cute, single friends.”

  I sigh, not liking the idea of Bryce trying to set me up with someone, especially someone he’s related to. If his cousin is anything like him, I wouldn’t so much as kiss him if he were the last man on earth. I shake my head. “Sorry, not interested.”

  “Aw, come on, Aud. Give the guy a chance. I mean, I don’t know him very well
, but he’s hot.” She picks up her phone from the table and pulls up something on her screen before handing it to me. “See for yourself.”

  I reluctantly take the device, a heavy sigh leaving my lips. I highly doubt his looks will sway me. Even if he is cute, he’s still related to—

  Holy crap.

  There’s something about him I’m immediately drawn to, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s his smokey grey eyes, his chiseled jaw, the sprinkling of scruff framing his lips or his disarming smile.

  Well, fuck.

  “So...what do you think?” Harper asks curiously, trying to stifle a smirk as she perches her chin on the back of her joined hands, her elbows resting on the table.

  I try not to show how attracted I am to a freaking photo of a guy I’ve never met before, but damn, those eyes are spellbinding, and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. “Okay, he’s a little cute.”

  “A little? Honey, you and I have similar tastes in men, so I know you don’t think he’s just a little cute.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. We usually do, which is why I have no clue how Bryce got your attention. He must have a big dick or something.” I narrow my eyes. “Does he have a big dick? Because that would explain a lot.”

  Harper bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Aud, you know it’s not all about the size! And no, he doesn’t, but as much as you hate him, you can’t deny he’s good-looking.”

  “Yes, maybe on the outside he’s cute, but personality-wise, he’s ugly as fuck.”

  She sighs in defeat. This is just an argument neither of us will ever be able to agree on. Well, until she finally takes off those damn rose-colored glasses and sees Bryce as he truly is. But I know it would make Harper happy if I agreed to stay for the party. I know sometimes she feels out of place, considering most of Bryce’s friends are undergrads. She’s typically the oldest person at these parties, but one could never tell because she has a baby face and looks at least five years younger than she is, so to the undergrads, she’s one of them.

  “Fine, I’ll be here for the party,” I sigh dejectedly as I hand over her phone.

  Harper gapes up at me in shock. “Really?”

  But I guess I don’t blame her for being surprised or for not believing me. I always escape from Bryce’s stupid parties. I don’t trust him or any of his friends as far as I could throw them. Closing up the bag of cookies, I replace it in the pantry and give her a stern warning. “Yes, but if any of his friends grab my ass, I’m leaving.”

  She nods. “Deal.”

  Once the coffee’s done brewing, I grab Harper’s favorite mug and pour a generous amount of creamer before adding the hot liquid, because that’s how she likes it. As soon as I hand her the cup, she immediately sips her coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation.

  “Thanks, Aud.”

  I grab my keys and strap my purse over my shoulder, heading toward the front door. “No problem. See you tonight.”

  When I unlock the door and pull it open, I notice a note taped to the outside. I peel off the tape and unfold the white copy paper, expecting it to be from the building management. But the letter is written in fancy cursive, and the management always types theirs out on a computer.

  Who even writes in cursive anymore?

  The first line of the letter further disproves my initial assumption.

  To the two hoity toity princesses in 6C,

  I now suspect it’s from Mister Grumpy Pants across the hall. But he’s never left letters before. It’s not his style. He’d just chew us out in person. The last time he knocked on our door to complain about the noise, he made Harper cry. So I marched across the hall and threatened to call the police on his dog since she was a stray pup when he brought her home and never went through the legal adoption process to own her (I looked up the New York State law on this matter before I went over, pounding on his door). He leaves us alone now. So I’d be surprised if it was him who left the note.

  Can you kindly tone down your loud music and obnoxious woohooing, laughter and overall commotion that kept me up until 2 a.m.? Some people actually have to work on a Tuesday morning. I, myself, wake up at 5 a.m. every single day and am now forced to go to work on three hours of sleep. Luckily, the students I teach possess much more class and are at maturity levels neither of you could achieve if you tried.

  I know you could never possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty, as you’re both city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income and never worked a day in your lives, but some people actually have responsibilities and obligations, not just classes they can skip whenever they feel like it. So have a little respect and lower the volume a few notches.

  This time you get a warning, but if the noise persists, I’ll be forced to contact law enforcement. Have a lovely day drinking your Starbucks lattes and trying to get rid of what I hope are nasty hangovers.

  Sincerely,

  The tired and cranky guy from 8C, thanks to his loud, annoying neighbors

  P.S. The blonde who took one of my brown dress shoes owes me a new pair, seeing as it now reeks of pinot gris. Thank you very much.

  My nostrils flare before I even finish reading the letter.

  The actual audacity of this asshole!

  He doesn’t even know us, hell he hasn’t even met me in person, yet he makes all kinds of false assumptions about us.

  I know neither of you could possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty.

  What the actual fuck?! Harper and I both wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work at the hospital, and we’re constantly on our feet for at least twelve hours. We only work three days a week, but our jobs are emotionally and physically draining. I use the other four days to sleep, recover, clean the apartment and run errands. So, for someone to say we don’t work or ever get our hands dirty is a blow to the gut. We’re nurses, for crying out loud! Getting our hands dirty is part of the job.

  Another remark of his that irks me: You’re both city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income. Not only is this so completely untrue for Harper, my parents would actually laugh out loud if they read this comment. They always tell me how independent I am. Hell, I wouldn’t even allow them to pay for my schooling, even though they wanted to. I insisted on doing it all on my own, so I had two jobs while I went to college. And even though they weren’t too happy when I took a job in New York, they told me if anyone could handle herself in the big city, it was me.

  But the fact this asshole is so ridiculously wrong about us makes me smile a little. It will feel so goddamn good to make him see the error of his ways.

  I’m still carrying the letter as I go to my bedroom closet. Grabbing my stationery from the top shelf, I take out a sheet of paper and pen from the box, replace it on the shelf and return to the kitchen. I hate the idea of using my good paper on this asshole, but if I’m going to stoop to his level, I might as well do it with class.

  “What’s the note about?” Harper asks with furrowed brows. “I paid the rent just in the nick of time.”

  “It’s not from management.” I take the pen and paper to the table and begin writing. “It’s from our friendly neighbor in 8C,” I explain, my words laden with sarcasm.

  Her eyes widen as she reaches for the copy paper. “What did he say?” When she reads it over, the sleepiness in her eyes morphs into anger. “What the hell?! Who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know us!”

  “Exactly.” I look down again at the paper and continue the sentence I was working on.

  I can feel her staring at me as I write. “What are you doing?”

  “Replying to him,” I answer without taking my eyes off the page.

  “What? Are we in elementary school?”

  “According to him, we are.”

  “He’s just an ass. You can’t take anything he says seriously.”

  I almost laugh. Normally she’s the one wanting revenge when someone wrongs her, and I’m the one having to talk her out of it. “Maybe, but this will teach him not to make assumptions about people.”

  When I finish and let her read the letter, she seems to be as equally satisfied with it as I am. After I tape it to his door, I head to work with a smile on my face. This should teach him not to be such a dickhead.