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Chapter Four

Dominic

I stare at my neighbor, certain I didn’t hear him correctly. Or maybe I did but I can’t put the pieces together of what sort of proposition he could have for me.

“A proposition?” I question, shifting on my feet. I’m tempted to let my towel fall just to scare the fucker away.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” he snaps.

“Don’t snap at me. You’re standing in my fucking doorway.”

He grits his teeth, his bright green eyes going dark. I think he’s going to argue with me, yell at me or some shit. Please do. I’ll slam the door in his face. See how much he likes that. But he doesn’t do any of those things.

“You know what? Forget it,” he mutters, turning and moving down the stairs.

“K, bye!” I yell, closing my door and going back to my shower that was so rudely interrupted by the impatient prick from next door.

He’s annoying as hell, always has been, but usually he stays on his own side of the fence. Now I have to worry about him coming over here, banging on my door, and bothering me face-to-face? This is getting out of hand. The last thing I need is for him to catch me shooting a film. Not that I care what people think, but I don’t need to give his pretentious ass more fuel. Just leave me the fuck alone.

It’s bad enough our houses are so close together we can see inside the other if the curtains are open. I try to keep my curtains drawn as much as possible on that side, but I don’t like living in a goddamn dungeon. It’s bad enough this house doesn’t have a lot of windows to begin with.

When I’m done with my shower, I head downstairs to prepare dinner. I love food, I love eating, and I love cooking. Don’t even mind cleaning up after. The only part I don’t particularly enjoy is grocery shopping. But now that I can get them delivered right to my door, it isn’t so bad.

As I rinse and scrub my vegetables in the sink, I feel someone staring and look up. I lock eyes with my asshole neighbor, standing in his own kitchen, in front of his own sink, staring at me as if I’ve threatened to murder his overweight cat. Yeah, I’ve seen that thing a time or two and it needs to go on a damn diet. It’s impossible to miss something that’s bright orange and the size of a mini-fridge.

I hold his gaze, refusing to be the first one to turn away. This isn’t something we typically do. I catch sight of him now and again but ignore it. I feel him catch sight of me sometimes too, but it’s never for long. The stares don’t linger. Usually after we catch one another, he closes his curtains. Sometimes so harshly the rod falls off. I’ve witnessed it more than once and always get a good laugh out of it. I refuse to hide away in my house because of him. He can go fuck himself. If he doesn’t like what he sees, he can keep closing his curtains. Or better yet, he can move.

We hold on to each other like we’ll die if we don’t. Neither one of us has blinked. The water is still rushing from the faucet, the swishing sound loud in my ears. But I won’t move. Not until he does.

Finally, his eyes narrow and he grits his teeth, then he storms off. I laugh to myself, smiling proudly as I shut off my sink and drop the vegetables into a bowl. I grab my cutting board and a knife to start chopping. I get two slices in before my doorbell is going off again.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I spit out, taking the knife with me to the door.

I don’t plan on stabbing him, but I have no issue scaring him. Maybe if he thinks I’m crazy, he’ll leave me alone. I tear the door open, gripping the knife tighter.

“What?” I bark.

His eyes go to the knife and he frowns, looking up at me with a bored expression. “You going to stab me?” he asks. There isn’t a single thing in his tone that tells me he thinks I will.

“Maybe. What of it?” I shift, gripping the knife tighter.

“You are making this really difficult, you know,” he says, accusing me of something I’m not even doing .

“I don’t know what this is because you’re coming over here and not saying a damn thing.”

He closes his eyes, hands going to his hips. He takes a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I know that was difficult by the way the words leave his mouth. I’m proud of making him submit. “I do have something I’d like to talk to you about, if you have the time to do so.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’ll take five minutes.”

I raise a brow, about to repeat myself when he growls out, “Fine. When will you have five minutes to talk to me about something that I think will benefit you as much as it does me?”

Benefit me as much as it does him? What could that be about?

“I’m not moving,” I say.

“This isn’t about that,” he says, muttering, “funnily enough,” at the end.

I stare at him for a long moment, taking him in. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can admit he’s a handsome guy. Looked good far away, but up close, he’s even better. Too bad he’s annoying as shit. Still, as I see how stiff his posture is, how uncomfortable he is, yet how quickly he submitted, something inside me awakens and I have the urge to fuck with him.

A smile splits my face and his drops. He knows he’s in trouble.

“Be here at six. I’ll make us dinner. ”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No, we don’t need that much time.”

“Oh, but you said it was important. I take important things very seriously, neighbor. Whatever this is, it means something to you. So you can be here at six and enjoy dinner with me, or you can fuck right off to your house and never come back.”

The sound that rumbles in his chest has my dick hard.

Fucking with him is going to be the highlight of my fucking life. How haven’t I learned this sooner? I’ve been living here almost a year, and though I know I annoy him, the way he does me, I never thought to do it on purpose. I mean, what else do I have to do with my life? A little entertainment would be nice. Something outside of sex, that is. Besides, my curiosity has piqued. I want to know what he needs from me.

“Fine. But I’m allergic to shellfish and nuts.”

“Of course you are,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Six o’clock,” I say before slamming the door in his face. I snap the lock in place too, just to prove a point, and I laugh the entire way back to the kitchen.

Allergic to shellfish and nuts. What a fucking nerd. I mean, seriously, who is allergic to both of those things?

Thankfully I only have to change the type of chicken I was making. I’d planned on making peanut butter chicken, which is one of my favorites, but I swapped it to a lemon herb chicken instead. I still roast the vegetables and potatoes like I’d planned, so I suppose it isn’t too much of an inconvenience. And I can’t be mad about it since I did this to myself. It was my idea that he come over here for dinner.

The fact he was so annoyed yet so easily swayed tells me whatever it is he needs from me, he’s desperate for it.

As I set the table just right, making sure everything is in its right place, I realize this is the first time someone has come to my house for dinner. How pathetic is that? I’ve had a lot of people here for a lot of things, but never for dinner.

Stepping back and taking in what I’ve done, I smile, because it’s the perfect setup for a romantic date. Which is exactly what I was going for. Everything and anything I can do to make my neighbor uncomfortable is on my list. I’m going to enjoy watching him squirm, which seems to be something that is way too easy to do. Funny how awkward he is now when he has no problem flipping me off or scowling at me from the other side of the fence. Maybe there needs to be a minimum distance between us before his confidence wanes. Or maybe it’s all for show and he isn’t nearly as cocky or confident as he pretends to be.

It’s 6:03 and he still isn’t here. I stand by my stairs, leaning against the banister, arms crossed, staring at the door and wondering if he’s going to show or if he’s late just to be annoying. He said it was important, and I believe him. He came over here not once, but twice, over whatever it is he needs. Coming over now will be the third time—if he shows. Yep, he’s definitely desperate.

It’s 6:07 when the doorbell rings and I have half a mind to make him wait out there for seven minutes just to show him who’s in charge here. Because it sure as fuck isn’t him. But my curiosity wins out—again—and I open the door.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry. “CP got stuck behind the dryer.”

“CP?” I question, gesturing for him to come inside.

He steps in and says, “Captain Fluffy Paws. My cat.”

“You named that giant furball Captain Fluffy Paws?”

He turns to me with a frown. “No, the shelter named him that. I just kept it because why am I going to change his name?”

“Because that name is ridiculous,” I say, closing the door and walking toward the kitchen.

“Wow,” he comments when he sets eyes on the table. I turn to him with a grin.

“Nice, right? Went all out just for you.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

My smile grows. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

His eyes narrow as if he’s suspicious—as he should be.

“Would you like some wine?” I ask.

“No thanks. Can we just get to the point?”

I pull a bottle of wine from the wine fridge, then pull two glasses from the cabinet.

“Absolutely not. I said dinner, you agreed. Have a seat. ”

I gesture to the table, and even though he declined the wine, I pour him a glass anyway.

“I said no,” he says firmly.

“Well, it pairs well with the chicken, so just one glass.”

I head to the stove and pull open the oven before grabbing the oven mitts. I take out the baking dish I have everything in to keep warm and bring it to the table, setting it in the center before going back to close the oven, replace the mitts, and grab some serving spoons.

Sexy neighbor is staring at the food with his mouth open when I take a seat across from him.

“Something wrong?” I ask, reaching for his plate and putting food on it.

“You made this?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? What’s wrong with it? You suddenly allergic to carrots and lemon, too?”

“No, no. It looks… good.”

I grin, loving that he approves. Why I love it? I have no idea. Just one of my things, I guess.

Having no shame, I openly stare as he cuts into the chicken. He brings the bite toward his mouth, but pauses before putting it in.

“What?” he asks.

“Just want to see how you like it.”

He huffs and puts the chicken in his mouth. Confusion crosses his face before his eyes light up.

“You didn’t make this,” he says, pointing to the food .

“Oh, I did.”

“How? Where did you learn to make this?”

I shrug, digging into my own. “From watching shows and stuff.”

He finishes his food and gets more— and he drinks his glass of wine. When he’s done, I expect him to be happy and smiling, but he’s only glaring.

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

“This changes nothing.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“You aren’t going to butter me up with delicious food and expect me to be nice to you. Your music is too loud, and all the people coming and going are shady as hell. I don’t like you.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” I comment, reaching for my wine with a smirk.

“You’d kick me out.”

“Then tell me why you’re here,” I suggest.

He huffs again, shaking his head. When he looks at me, I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. And that, for some strange reason, excites me.

“I have an opportunity to get us each 100k.”

That has my heart flipping in my chest. I’m not hurting for money, not at all. But I enjoy splurging and spending money on nice things, and an extra 100k could get me some pretty nice things.

I lean forward. “Tell me more.”