him the finger, and I promise myself, the next prank will be the last. I’ll be ending it, once and for all.
“Neighbors Know My Name”—Trey Songz
After shampooing and conditioning my hair three times, I could still smell the faint traces of vinegar the next day at work. The same went for Travis. He couldn’t believe how diabolical my neighbor was. To spray someone with vinegar, while they were getting home from work?
That took a lot of forethought. Certainly premeditation.
It was further proof of what I already knew. My neighbor was the devil.
Everyone in the office spent the day giving me advice on how best to handle him. Half told me to talk it out, to tell him we needed to end this stupid battle, before one of us did something really out of line. The other half? Well, they had some great ideas. Some I couldn’t pass up in terms of payback.
After work, I did some shopping around, trying to find most of the supplies I’d need to get him back for what he did. Instead of working in the house or in the yard like I’d planned, I sat on my bed, holed up inside, and got to work looking up the other items I’d need for the prank to end all pranks. Most of them I’d have to buy online, but I went to the website Atticus told me to and read instruction after instruction. If there was anyone I trusted with pranks, it would be Atticus. He was the king of pranking people, an absolute jokester back at the clinic.
Though I haven’t been there long, I can already count on both hands, the number of pranks I’ve witnessed him pull. From dipping onions in caramel and leaving them in the break room, to ridiculous jump-scares that somehow still work.
Still feeling burned out from my overnight shift at the clinic the other night, I found myself growing tired, while I did my research. At one point, I decided to push my laptop aside, slide under the blankets, and close my eyes for a while.
I stir awake, groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. A glance at the clock lets me know what was supposed to be a short nap has turned into full-on sleep. It’s two a.m., and the chances of me being able to fall back to sleep, before getting up for work, are slim.
The breeze from the open window has a cold chill traveling through my body. I’m just about to get up and shut it, but I freeze on the bed when I hear something. My eyes widen, and I pause, trying to figure out if it’s just the drowsiness playing tricks on me.
But nope. There it is again.
A moan.
Along with the sound of flesh clapping and heavy panting.
Slowly, my gaze drifts to my open window, and I let out a gasp, when realization dawns on me. There, with a significant amount of light streaming into his bedroom, is Roman with a gorgeous busty woman folded in half on his bed, as he pounds her from behind.
I realize I should turn away and look at anything but this. My neighbor is quite literally in the middle of having sex. I feel like a creeper. It’s not like he knew my window was open. In Campbell, the weather has been nice enough to leave them open all night, so this is nothing new. I just personally, for safety reasons, never do that. I always shut my windows before going to bed. It seems Roman doesn’t subscribe to that rule, though.
Who screws someone with their window wide open? Jesus Christ.
With my gaze fixed on his open window, I watch, in complete awe, as his body works. I can’t make out much; the glimmer of light in his room is just enough to spot the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. I can’t tell if it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, or if I really can see that far. I mean, good Lord, the builders didn’t think we needed more privacy than this? My eyes fixate on him. The way the muscles in his biceps and arms strain, as he grips onto the woman’s ponytail and yanks her head back. The muscles in his abdomen jump and flex with each pump. And his thighs, sweet Jesus, his thighs are just as thick and as powerful as I imagined they’d be.
I can feel myself growing hot and bothered. I’m tender and flushed between my legs. Perspiration beads