Crave thy neighbor roomm.., p.1
Crave Thy Neighbor (Roommate Romps), page 1
Crave Thy Neighbor
Teagan Hunter
Copyright © 2021 by Teagan Hunter
All rights reserved. For your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you did not purchase this book, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for not pirating and respecting the countless hours the author has put into this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at teagan@teaganhunterwrites.com.
Editing by Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading by Judy’s Proofreading & Julia Griffis
Contents
1. Maya
2. Nolan
3. Maya
4. Nolan
5. Maya
6. Nolan
7. Maya
8. Nolan
9. Maya
10. Nolan
11. Maya
12. Nolan
13. Maya
14. Nolan
15. Maya
16. Nolan
17. Maya
18. Nolan
19. Maya
20. Nolan
Epilogue
LOATHE THY NEIGHBOR PREVIEW
Other Titles by Teagan Hunter
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To me,
You did it.
Be proud of yourself.
Now go eat some pizza.
1
Maya
I am completely screwed.
Well, not completely, because I can’t get screwed screwed to save my life.
Okay, fine. Not to save my life, just to save my vagina from developing cobwebs.
I’m getting way off track here…
I nibble on my thumbnail, a disgusting habit I really should give up, and stare at the email pulled up on my laptop screen.
* * *
TO: WEST_MAYA@MAILFLOW.COM
FROM: LEASINGLAUREN@WHITEOAKAPT.COM
SUBJECT: APPLICATION STATUS
* * *
Dear Ms. West,
We regret to inform you your application for the two-bedroom apartment at WHITE OAK APARTMENTS has been denied for:
* * *
NO AVAILABLE UNITS
* * *
We thank you for your interest in being part of the WHITE OAK APARTMENTS community. We wish you the best in your apartment search.
* * *
Lauren Stein
Leasing Manager
* * *
It’s not the first email like this I’ve received, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
In the last six weeks since I received notice from my landlord that the building is being sold and demolished, I’ve put applications in on anything I can find.
Unfortunately, since everyone else in my building is doing the same, and due to the fact that we live in a small Colorado town where the supply of affordable living is already scant, well…the pickings are slim.
It’s been one big game of hurry up and wait, and I’m almost out of time to wait.
My lease will officially be terminated at the end of the month. If I can’t find something soon, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with myself and my almost-thirteen-year-old son when we’re scraping by as it is.
I navigate back to my inbox and click on the email from my landlord.
* * *
TO: WEST_MAYA@MAILFLOW.COM
FROM: DAN@DANFORDAPARTMENTS.COM
SUBJECT: EXTENSION
* * *
Ms. West,
I wish I had a better reply for you, but my hands are tied. The deal has been finalized and there’s no possible way to extend it. The buyer was clear: all occupants must vacate the premises by the end of the month.
Please know this decision was not made lightly. Trust me, if I could have told him to screw off, I would have. The last thing this town needs is another outdoor sports equipment shop.
I’ve not made this public knowledge, but being a single mom yourself, I’m sure you’ll understand…Katlyn is sick, and unfortunately, the medical and medication bills are stacking up. Selling wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the best solution I can come up with for my daughter.
You’ve been a great tenant over the years, and I’d be happy to write you a letter of recommendation should you need one.
I’m sorry about this. Please let me know if I can do anything.
* * *
Best,
Dan Ford
Danford Apartments Owner
* * *
Like it did the first, second, and third time I read his email, my heart sinks.
Hell, it breaks for him.
Katlyn and my son, Sam, are the same age. I can’t imagine watching Sam going through anything that would cause him pain.
I’d sell the damn building too.
It’s hard to be angry at him, which sucks because I could use someone or something to be angry at right now.
“Crap, crap, crap,” I chant, bouncing my head off the back of the couch a few times.
I lay my head against the cushion, stretch my neck toward the sky, and blow out a long breath.
What am I going to do? I have nowhere to go. Either nobody has apartments available or, if they do, they are out of my price range or out of the school district. I’ve checked out a few houses, but most are on the outskirts of town and not in the best shape or are owned by people I do not want to be renting from. If all I had to worry about was myself, fine. I could manage it. But with Sam in tow, I can’t take on a potential problem like that.
I wish I could afford to buy us a house, but I don’t have money for a down payment.
My best friend, River, offered to let Sam and me move in with her and her boyfriend, Dean, until I could find a place, but three adults, a teenager, and two pets—one being a cat who is a major asshole—sharing a small, two-bedroom apartment? So not a good idea. We’d all kill each other within a day or two.
Since my parents are out of the question entirely, my only other choice is my ex-husband, Patrick.
If I needed to—like I had zero other options—I could go to him. He wasn’t the best husband, but he’d never reject me if I needed help. Except the last thing I want to do is go running back to him and show him I’ve failed on my own. Just picturing the satisfied grin on his face has my stomach aching.
Tears sting my eyes, and I do everything I can to fight them off. The last thing I need is for Sam to walk in here and see me crying. I’ve worked hard to be strong for him throughout the years, and I’m not going to change that now.
That’s right.
I’m strong.
Hell, I managed a teenage pregnancy all on my own when my parents wanted nothing to do with me. Finding a place to live with the deadline inching closer and closer? Piece of cake compared to that.
I lift my head, determination coursing through my body.
I can fix this. I’m not sure how, but I can.
“Yo, Mom, what time are you leaving?”
Speaking of my teenage pregnancy…
I snap the laptop closed before he can see what’s on the screen. I don’t need to bother Sam with this stuff. It’s my problem, not his.
I push up off the couch and move toward the kitchen, shoving the computer back into my bag where it hangs off the chair at the bar. Sam knows getting into my work bag is prohibited, so I know it’s at least safe from his prying eyes in there.
“Why? Curious how much longer you have on your GameStation?”
“Mom.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s a PlayStation, not a GameStation.”
“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll take your GameStation right back to the store.”
He starts to lift his eyes skyward again, then thinks better of it when I raise my brow at him.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “What time is Dad getting here?”
I glance at the clock on the stove. “He said he’d be here about six thirty.”
“Cool. Can I get ice cream after dinner?”
“You’ll have to ask your father.”
“He’ll say yes. He always does.”
Of course Patrick always says yes to ice cream. He’s the cool parent.
We share custody of Sam. Oftentimes he’ll spend a week at my place and then a week at his father’s.
And oftentimes he’ll come home with shiny new gadgets or telling me about all the cool stuff he did with his dad.
I try not to be jealous of all the things Patrick can provide, but it’s hard sometimes.
“Just make sure if you’re going to play your game, you’re doing it out here. I know how wrapped up in it you can get, and I don’t need your father knocking on the door for several minutes disturbing the neighbors.”
I’ve received that complaint before from the always-angry lady next door, and I don’t care to get it again. I have other things to be worried about.
“I will.”
“Good.” I press my hands against my stomach. “Okay, how do I look?”
I opted for a simple yet trendy outfit for the night out: an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved silky dark pink blouse plucked straight from a mannequin at the small boutique I work at, a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans, and black booties. It’s nothing that will turn heads, but it’s cute enough to get me through a couple of hours with my friends as we nurse a drink or two and complain about life.
“Beautiful.”
I grin at him because he’s not saying it to be a kiss-ass. He’s just that sweet. “That’s why you’re my favorite kid.”
“I’m your only kid.” He sighs like he’s exhausted by me.
“Thank god, too. I couldn’t handle another one of you.” I cross the room and wrap my arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He grumbles, trying to wiggle out of my embrace. “Love you. Be good for your dad. Text me when he picks you up, please.”
Patrick’s supposed to do that too, but he always forgets.
Sam never does.
“Love you too,” he mutters, and I tousle his hair as he tries to shove my hand away, but I don’t miss the grin forming at the corners of his mouth.
He might almost be thirteen and is convinced he’s a grown-up, but he’s a momma’s boy at heart. He always has been. We bonded during all the years I stayed at home with him.
I grab my purse off the hook by the door and slip it over my body, then give myself one more glance in the mirror.
I tousle my own hair and smooth down my shirt again.
Eh, good enough.
I’m not trying to impress anyone tonight. I just want to drink and have fun with River.
I need a break. Need to let loose.
I will not think about how I only have weeks to find a place to live.
Drinks. I need drinks.
I’ve known River White since we were eight years old. We’ve been best friends since the day she moved into the house next door and have been through every major life event together. We run a business together. See each other almost every day.
There is no doubt she knows me better than anyone else in this entire world.
So why she believes I want to go for drinks at a hole-in-the-wall, dingy sports bar is beyond me.
But here I am, pulling open the door to Hole in One and stepping into the crowded room. Almost all the tables are occupied, and I only spy a few empty spots at the bar.
I do a quick sweep, not seeing River anywhere, then head toward the bar, squeezing onto one of the few empty stools and flagging down the bartender. He nods, letting me know he’ll be with me in a moment, and returns his attention to the couple in front of him.
I pull my phone out of my purse and shoot off a message to River.
Me: Are you sure you told me the right place? There’s A LOT of sports crap on these walls…
River: Unfortunately, yes. Dean loves it for some godforsaken reason.
River: GIF of Judge Judy rolling her eyes
River: We’re running a little late, just so you know…
River: SORRY
Me: You’re totally having sex, aren’t you?
River: Well, not right now, no.
River: But we might have…
Me: GIF of Rachel from Friends saying I’m so happy and not at all jealous
River: You know you love me.
Me: Right now? You’re like my fourth favorite person.
River: Top 5, baby!
River: Be there soon. *kissy-face emoji*
I set my phone to vibrate and slide it back into my purse to resist any temptation to spend the whole evening on it being disappointed when I come up empty-handed.
The cab ride here was spent scrolling through apartments, and I only came up with one new listing in a place on the line of the school district. I bet if I made enough of a stink, I could keep Sam in his current school. I filled out the application and sent up a prayer.
It’s about all I can do right now—keep hoping something lands in my lap. Positive energy and all that mumbo jumbo.
The only thing I’m positive about right now is needing a drink.
Where the hell is the bartender?
I spot him at the other end of the bar, talking with a different customer now. He looks like he’s going to be a while. I let my eyes drift over the sports-focused establishment.
The walls are littered with memorabilia that means nothing to me. Sam loves sports and even played football this school year. They may interest my kid, but I still can’t seem to get into them—not that it stops me from going to every single game and being the loudest mom on the sidelines.
I shift my gaze, doing another sweep in case River has arrived.
Nothing.
But what I do notice has my shoulders shrinking, and that familiar feeling of sadness hits me in the gut.
There are couples snuggled up in every corner.
One guy leans into a beautiful blonde, brushing his lips across her cheek and to her ear. She giggles, leaning into him and clutching his thigh.
Two guys sit with their heads together at a booth in the back, their smiles full of promises of what’s to come.
I’m so damn destitute for romance of any kind, and jealousy and longing run through me.
I spent my formative years with the same man who got me pregnant at sixteen, Patrick, and we were together for eleven years. Though we’ve now been divorced for two, I haven’t dated anyone since him. Haven’t slept with anyone either. Hell, I haven’t kissed anyone since him.
Lonely is my middle name at this point.
It could be hormones and all the stress of this apartment fiasco, but I’ve been extra miserable about the state of my love life—or lack thereof—since my two best friends have found that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love in the last six months.
I watch River and Dean bicker and argue—then make up within two minutes. Watch Caroline and Cooper, who have been best friends for a decade, stare at each other with nothing but hearts in their eyes.
I want that.
I want to know what it’s like to be loved again. Want to feel what they’re feeling, that rush when someone looks at you like you’re their whole world. I miss being part of a couple. Miss all the cutesy shit and all the romantic gestures.
I want it again.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?”
A deep voice startles me, and I glance at the now occupied stool next to me.
A guy is sitting there, staring out at the crowd, scanning it.
The first thing I notice is how tall he is. I’m not lacking in the height department, but even sitting down I can tell this guy is at least six inches taller than I am.
I tip my head back, peering up at his profile.
His jaw is strong and sharp, dusted with hair like he forgot to shave. There’s a bump along his nose, like he’s broken it before, and I have the strangest urge to ask him what happened. Ridiculous since I don’t know him.
His inky black hair is tapered at the sides, longer on top and disheveled like he’s run his hands through it several times. His focus is on the crowd, and I wonder if he was talking to me at all.
Then, he nods at the throng of people and leans into me. It’s not enough that I’m uncomfortable, just enough so I can hear him…and smell him.
And damn does he smell good.
Like fresh mountain air with a hint of something minty.
“All the lovey-dovey shit,” he says out of the side of his mouth, shaking his head. “It’s a bit overrated if you ask me.”
“Yet nobody did.”
He pulls back, looking down at me for the first time.
My breath is caught in my throat when his eyes meet mine.
They’re a bright, light blue. Maybe the brightest I’ve ever seen in person.
