“I’m sorry. I might have missed something,” I say, raising my voice in case he’s hard of hearing. That can be the only explanation for his silence. “I’m your new neighbor. O-liv-i-a.” I make a show of breaking my name down and speaking loudly. There’s no way he can misinterpret that. Unless he’s deaf.
Oh, fuck. What if he really is deaf?
His grip tightens on the door, and his brows dip, the sharp edges slanting down, casting shadows across his face.
“I heard you the first time.”
His voice…Christ, his voice. It rolls through my body. It feels like warm, melted butter on my skin and stirs something unfamiliar inside me. His speech is flavored with whiskey and tobacco. I’m not even entirely sure if that’s a thing, but I feel like it is. It’s so deep and masculine—and all too hot—it takes me a few seconds to realize what he said. When I do, my face scrunches with confusion.
Well, if he heard me the first time, why is he making me sound shit out for him and look ridiculous?
“Oh, sorry,” I mumble, glancing down at my white painted toenails. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” I trail off, waiting for him to be a gentleman and give me his name. He doesn’t. He gives me a cold leer.
Okaaay.
“Here, enjoy this. I have a few more stops to make, then some shopping to do, but I’ll see you around.” I thrust the plate with the foil-covered cake toward him, and he glances down at it like it’s offensive, making no move to take it. My arms start to grow heavy, hanging between us, and a long, awkward beat passes. It’s a test of sorts, as we stare at each other, seeing who will break first. The muscles in my arms are screaming, on the verge of trembling, and I will him with my eyes to take it.
“No.”
“No?” I parrot, feeling oddly discombobulated by this naked stranger and his cold demeanor.
Taking a page out of my book, he makes a show of dragging out the syllables when he repeats himself.
Does this guy have a limited vocabulary?
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Growing agitated by his rudeness, I clamp my back teeth together and grind my molars. Anything to keep from telling my neighbor that he’s acting like an asshole.
He shifts, changing his grip on the door. The movement causes the muscles in his arms and his abs to flex without permission. I don’t even have the willpower to force myself to glance away.
Christ in heaven, he has those veins that strain against such perfectly tanned skin and—
He suddenly reaches out, and for a second, I think he’s going to take the plate, but instead, he pushes it back toward me.
“I mean, no. I don’t want it.” Without another word, he slams the door in my face.
A startled gasp flies past my lips at the resounding echo of the door shutting, and I stand there, staring at the wood, like a complete fool, until I can get my feet to move properly. I cross his lawn back toward my house and glance over my shoulder.
I want to give my neighbor the benefit of the doubt, but as far as first encounters go, I think he’s an absolute dick.
I spend way too much time at HomeGoods and another long span at the local hardware store, looking at flooring options. Even when I stumble upon a similar color to what I have in mind, I flash back to my neighbor’s floors. The light rustic floorboards are exactly what I’m looking for.
If things had gone differently when I took the cake over there earlier, I might’ve had the guts to see past his good looks and ask about his floors, but that is most definitely not how it went down. I keep replaying the encounter, going over everything in my mind. I second-guess myself, wondering if I did anything to piss him off, but nothing stands out to me. I could’ve caught him at a crummy time, and I guess, technically, I did. He was getting out of the shower, after all.
Maybe it was my ogling? I didn’t mean to purposely eye-fuck him. I just wasn’t expecting my neighbor to resemble a fucking male model from Men’s Health or GQ. But I get the feeling that wasn’t the issue either.
For the life of me, I can’t get his dickish attitude out of my mind, and most of all, his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever