Champ.
The name is stitched in white thread on the apron. I found it at a vintage store called Past Over a few months ago. I picked it up when I was looking for sundresses. I knew the apron would come in handy at work, so I paid a couple of dollars for it and brought it straight here.
“Sit yourself,” I say curtly to my neighbor.
“Will do.” He motions to the two men with him to head to an empty table in the corner. “Three glasses of scotch. Neat. The best label you have.”
“Scotch,” I repeat. “One for each of you.”
“You got it,” he says in a deep voice that sends a charge straight through me. “Keep up the good work, Champ.”
When he brushes past me to take a seat at the table, I roll my eyes.
Working for one of the world’s most prominent men’s underwear brands wasn’t on my radar, but as soon as Gage returns, I’m going to apply for the marketing position at Wells.
Seeing my neighbor here is a sign.
It’s a sign that I need to find a job that will keep me as far out of his orbit as possible.
“Thanks for the drink, Saint!” A male voice calls out, startling me.
I turn just in time to see my neighbor pop his middle finger in the air. That’s directed at one of the men leaving the bar. He follows that up with a hearty, “fuck you, Decky.”
I’d expect to hear this exchange late on a Saturday night when a bunch of college-aged guys wander in, but these men are both dressed in well-tailored suits and are wearing shoes that cost a small fortune.
I should know.
I worked part-time for a few years at a high-end shoe store.
The third of their trio chuckles as he exits the bar behind Decky.
My neighbor is on his second glass of scotch, and although he’s a generous tipper, I’m ready for him to take off too.
I glance at the watch on my wrist.
“Champ!”
Rolling my eyes, I look over at my neighbor again. I raise my chin in a silent query.
He curls one of his index fingers to lure me over.
Great.
Since Jade left fifteen minutes ago, I’ve been tending to the other few customers in the bar while working on polishing my resume on my phone.
I thought it was as good as it could be, but since I want that job at Wells, I need to put my best foot forward.
I round the bar and approach the man who has barely taken his eyes off me since he arrived.
As soon as I’m near his table, he’s out of his chair and on his feet.
He towers above me, but that’s not saying a lot. I’m barely five foot one, and I’ve only gained three inches with these heels.
The brute in the suit in front of me is at least a foot taller than me.
“We’ve lived next door to each other for how long now?” he quizzes me.
Twenty-seven days is the correct answer, but I shrug. “A few weeks, I guess.”
It feels much longer.
My neighbor from hell is notorious for listening to music late at night. I asked Mrs. Sweeney if it kept her awake too, but she pointed at her hearing aid and giggled.
The guy also loves inviting people over. It’s not just women. Whenever a baseball game is on TV, he’s wearing a jersey.
How do I know that?
The peephole in my apartment door is a perfect method of surveillance.
I’ve seen him in the hall outside my apartment dressed in that jersey and jeans as he greets his loud-mouthed friends as they exit the elevator.
Then, I’m subjected to three hours of whistling, yelling, and cursing when the game doesn’t go the way they want.
The man standing in front of me may be blessed with gorgeous looks, but he’s lacking in common courtesy DNA.
“Now that I know your name, Champ, don’t you think it’s time you know mine?”
“I know your name,” I snap back. “It’s Saint, right?”
He lets out a throaty laugh that sends goose bumps trailing up my arms.
Why is his laugh so sexy?
“My asshole brother is the only person who still calls me that.” He rubs his beard-covered jaw. “It’s a nickname from when I was a kid.”
“You must have been a lot different when you were a kid, Saint. I can think of at least a dozen nicknames that suit you better.”
His gaze passes over me from head to toe. “Like what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
His left eyebrow perks. “I sure as hell do, Champ.”
Seriously? Are we having this discussion right now?
“For starters, I’d call you a horrible neighbor,” I say with exasperation edging my tone.
A smirk slides over his lips. “How am I a horrible neighbor?”
“I don’t have time for this.” I glance at my watch. “I need to get back to work.”
“Fine.” He tilts his head to the side. “Get me another drink.”