I can’t deny the urge to join him, climb him like a tree, ride him, or just bend over and let him fuck me into oblivion. But that’s all it would be. One night to kill the ache. Then never see him again. I can’t do that with my neighbor. There’s no avoiding him.
I won’t shit where I eat. I can’t sleep with someone this close to home.
He glances over at his back door and yells something.
Crap, there’s someone else over there.
Probably a wife or girlfriend.
My heart beats heavier in my chest as it sinks down into the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t care. He’s an ass. Rude, juvenile, and . . . And so remotely far out of the scope of my existence, it doesn’t matter.
Shaking my head again, I drop back to my knees and finish cleaning up my mess. Hugging myself in the kitchen, my hands stick against my robe. I glance down and notice the half-dried, green mess all over it.
“Yep, time for a shower.” There’s no way I can cook breakfast like this or sit in my chair, working.
Shower. Laundry. Food. Then maybe I can get some work done tonight. A splash from outside echoes around my kitchen, followed by deep laughing. I cringe, my eyes clenching shut.
Nope. I’m not going to look. I don’t need to torment myself like that. Resentment only leads to stress. Stress leads to bad stuff. Refusing to even look at my window, I hurry through my house toward the bathroom.
By the time I turnmy computer off, sunlight spills through my curtains, landing in a stream across my desk. Lifting my noise-canceling headphones off my ears, I breathe a sigh of relief. Silence. Blissful silence.
The splashing didn’t stop last night. Neither did his muffled, deep laughter. There was someone else over there, but I couldn’t make out a single other voice. Never finding it in me to glance back out my window, I eventually grabbed my headphones and turned up the nineties grunge tunes just to drown out the distraction.
It worked. Sort of. I still couldn’t focus enough to finish any comps for the three custom designs I have scheduled for this month. So, I worked on pre-mades. Two pre-made cover designs. Two designs that may be topless, muscular, blond guys at the beach. But, I sold one of them only minutes after uploading it to my website, so I’m still counting it as a win.
And, not thinking about the inspiration at all. Nope, not going there.
With a smile on my face, I carry my now favorite mug to the kitchen and chance a glance out the window.
No red truck.
My smile grows.
He’s gone. Probably to work or whatever normal people do during the day, but the important thing is, he’s gone. I huff out a sigh of relief and decide to go for a run. A little fresh air to clear my mind before I hit the bed. The sun’s out, but it’s still early enough, it should be fine. I quickly change, grab my hat and sunglasses, and dart out my door.
The cool breeze feels amazing, like a balm on my frazzled nerves. With every light step, my tension cracks away.
I’m fine. My life is fine.
Birds chirp overhead. Waves crash against the sandy shore. Wind chimes from a house along the promenade sing with the melody, blowing in the gentle, morning wind. I pick up my pace, leaving my regrets behind.
I have enough. I am enough.
Stretching my arms over my head when I reach the southern edge of the small coastal town, I finally slow down and breathe.
It’s peaceful, beautiful. No surfers or early morning busy bodies out on the trail this far south. Just sand, trees, and clouds. Wind, birds, and a lone sea lion harping in the water. I take it all in for a few minutes, then spot a small mussel shell a few feet off the path. Taking a few steps in the squishy sand, I lean down and pick the small purple and black shell up, memories from my childhood with my nana swirl in the opalescent inside of the fragile piece in my palm.
I blink the tears away, glad I can still treasure this simple connection. Holding onto the shell, I head back to the path and resume my jog home. As each house passes by, more people crowd the sidewalk. I smile at a few of them, content with the tiny interactions.
It’s enough. I have enough.
“Good morning,” a deep voice calls out from the driveway of my neighbor’s house.
I skid to a stop, cringing as I turn.
He waves, all smiles, holding an oversized box cutter in his other hand with a drywall board on two saw horses in front of his garage door.
“Um . . . Hi?” I force a grimace, my heart racing. How is he here? I glance around, his truck nowhere in sight.