I swallow hard and curse the heat that’s coming to my cheeks. Why the hell did I have to have that wine when I know it makes my face extra hot? “Of course I have sex,” I snap. “But neighbors don’t need to know about each other’s sex lives.”
“You’ve got that look again,” he says, his voice lower now, as he peers down at me and takes another step forward until there’s just a foot between us. “The way your cheeks are pink. Do you remember what I’d said about that?”
I did. That I’d look the same when I had an orgasm. “No and please don’t remind me.”
He licks his lips and nods. “All right.” He turns around and heads to the door. “I’m going out for the evening.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “I hope you enjoy your first night here. Say hello to the little one from me.”
Then he’s gone and I’m alone in my apartment for the first time.
If all of our interactions are going to be a mix of overt generosity and him being, well, him, I’m not sure what the next one is going to bring.
All I know is that it’s definitely going to keep me on my toes.
CHAPTER SIX
Nicola
“Mommy?” Ava asks me, puttering into the kitchen and dragging her Snuffy animal behind her as I’m unloading the dishwasher.
“Yes, angel?” I say, peering at one of the glasses against the morning light, checking for water spots.
“How come you don’t have to stick yourself with an ouchie?”
Ah, shit.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve moved into the new apartment and about three weeks of giving Ava her insulin shot. She doesn’t mind the finger prick from the glucose monitor as much because she thinks it’s like in Sleeping Beauty when Beauty gets pricked on the spindle – I think Ava thinks her Prince Phillip might show up. But the shot is something else. She doesn’t always cry but I can tell it hurts her and it doesn’t seem to matter where I put it. I guess it doesn’t help that she calls it her “ouchie.”
I put the glass on the table and crouch down to her level. I brush her hair back behind her ears. “I don’t stick myself with the ouchie because I’m all grown up. You need the medicine to make sure you’ll be grown up and big, just like your mother. But not every child gets this medicine. Only the special ones. You’re one of the special ones, angel.”
Ava pouts over that but then nods. “Okay.” Then she runs into the living room with Snuffy at her side. My heart expands inside me. Being a mother is such a curse sometimes, discovering that ability to love so much more than you thought possible and then being tied to that love forever, no matter how old they get, no matter how much you can’t protect them anymore.
I sigh and finish putting away the rest of the dishes. It’s Saturday morning and I know I’ve forgotten to get yesterday’s newspaper from the mailbox. I’ve been applying to every job I can find, at least all somewhat related to my field, but I’ve only gotten one interview. That was for a clothing store as a sales clerk and it was one week ago. I’m no longer holding my breath. Even though I know most of the ads are online these days, I’m taking no chances and checking the classifieds as well.
“Ava, mommy’s going to get the paper from downstairs, okay?” I tell her as I head for the door. “Stay where you are, I’ll be right back.”
She nods, engrossed with the cartoon on TV. I look down at what I’m wearing – pajama bottoms, slippers and a tank top but at least I’ve put a bra on. I know who my neighbor is and the last thing I want is for my nipples to have a staring contest with Bram.
I’d seen Bram come and go over the last two weeks and he’s checked in on me a few times. He has that perpetual smirk on all the time, like he’s just about to throw a zinger or some comment my way, but so far he hasn’t. I don’t know if he’s trying to be on his best behaviour or he’s just gotten bored with bugging me.
What I do know is that the guy likes to get laid. A lot. A ridiculous amount. I’m surprised his dick hasn’t broken off at this point. My bedroom is next to his and I can hear him when I’m in the living room, which makes things a little uncomfortable when Ava is up and about. So far she hasn’t seemed to notice but that might be because I immediately put music on or turn the TV up when I hear him. He’s pretty loud and the girl he’s with is even louder. That’s assuming there is just one girl he’s screwing and I’m not too sure about that. It’s definitely not Astrid. Last time he was with this cocoa-skinned model with a booty that had even me staring at it, hypnotized.
I also can tell the girls aren’t faking it, which means Bram is pretty damn good at what he does. Their cries in the heat of passion all sound surprised, like they can’t believe such pleasure could happen to them. I guess the mottos about him are true – one night in his bed and your legs are forever spread.
Meanwhile there’s me, who isn’t seeing anyone and the last time I got off was in the shower a few days ago with my BOB, my Battery Operated Boyfriend. He’s the closest thing to a sexual relationship I’ve got at the moment and I’m starting to like his dependability.
I get the paper from the mailbox in the lobby and then head back upstairs. While I’m approaching my apartment, I see the door to Bram’s open. My heart stills for a moment – I don’t know why – but then I see a girl with a dramatic bob exit. She’s wearing a black leather miniskirt that I can tell is faux leather, a crop top that looks like the glitter fairy vomited all over it and is carrying her Valentino knock-offs in her hands. She’s got day-old mascara under her eyes.
Good ol’ walk of shame.
She sees me and smiles sheepishly. “Hi.”
“Hello,” I say to her as I open my door. “I like your shoes.” I mean, that’s not entirely true, but I do like the real versions.
“Oh.” She eyes them, flustered. “Thanks.”
I watch as she walks quickly down the hall and disappears into the stairwell, as if she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.
Suddenly Bram’s door reopens and he pokes his head out, his dark hair tussled, the definition of bedhead. He’s looking down the empty hall and then he notices me and gives me a cocksure smile. “Is she gone?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “Like a bat out of hell.”
“Excellent album,” he says. Then adds, “Meatloaf. The singer.”
“I know who Meatloaf is,” I tell him, moving to go inside my own apartment.
“Hey,” he says quickly, and steps out from behind his door. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and his boxer briefs. They are grey. They are David Beckham’s. They are that close that I can read the label. And they seem a size too small for all the junk he’s packing in there.
“Oh my God,” I say, covering my eyes and turning away. “Can you please put on some pants?”
“Prude,” he says with a sniff. “There’s nothing obscene about underwear.”
Maybe not for the average man, but for you, yeah there is, I think. But don’t dare say that, lest I add to his already over-inflated ego. I can’t help but think what both Steph and Kayla had said about Linden being well-hung and I can deduce that it certainly runs in the family.
“I just wanted to ask you something,” he goes on and he sounds just serious enough that I turn around and look at him, keeping my eyes trained up there and nowhere else. I’m not even sure if I’m blinking. “Two things actually.”
“What?” I sound impatient. I just want to go back inside.
“I hope we weren’t too loud,” he says. “You know, I never asked the previous tenants if they could hear my, erm, antics in the bedroom. And every room. You know how it goes. But I can ask you.”
“What makes you think you can ask me that?”