Page 5 of Puck Your Neighbor

Rolling over, I place one of my many pillows over my head, but since my brain knows the noise is still happening, I can't block it out. I could go up there and ask them to be quiet, but I'd rather not have to go through the rigmarole of explaining that I'm mute and not deaf. Then they'd want to know why, since being mute is less common than deafness, and I'd rather not have to dance around that story because it's not a comfortable one to tell. But people don't seem to know how to mind their own business when they're curious.

Tossing the pillow off, I sigh. Perhaps if I go out to my little balcony and smoke some weed, it will make me tired enough to not give a shit how much noise they're making. Getting up from bed, I go over to the dresser and grab two of my pre-rolls and my cyan blue lighter. The plastic crinkles softly as I pull the pre-rolls from their container.

I don't smoke while I'm painting. I've tried, but I feel like it interferes with the creative process, and it's not an everyday thing anymore. It used to be, to the point I had to make a break from it because I was using it to numb myself out.

I don't like to drink, and this helps me fall asleep on nights I'm struggling to block things out, even if this time it's not my brain, but my neighbors. Speaking of them, I make a stop in my bathroom to spray my pheromone suppressant spray all over me. The fine mist settles on my skin with a faint, almost metallic scent. It will hide my scent for up to two hours. I doubt I'll have to interact with them, but if I do, I don't want them to have a clue I'm an Omega.

A billionaire created the spray years ago so his Omega daughters could shop in public without being accosted by knotless Alpha-holes who just want to get their knots wet and nothing more. I have no desire to go through the awkwardness of dealing with other people. I did a lifetime of that as a kid and teenager. Let them believe I'm a Beta. I just won't leave my house for anything once my heat gets here, and they'll never know an Omega lives below them.

I pull a soft, black turtleneck sweater over my head, the fabric a comforting shield against the cool night air. It's an old habit, a need to keep my neck covered, to hide the faint silvery scars that trace the delicate skin there.

Slipping outside, I hop the cement wall, the rough texture scraping against my palms. I turn so that my legs hang off the other side, facing the parking lot and the line of trees across it that lead to a ditch. Most of them have lost their leaves by now, but when they're in full color-changing mode, they show a variety of oranges and yellows down the line. It almost makes this area scenic, but I still wouldn't call it home. It's been the only solid one I've known since eighteen though, I can't complain.

Rolling the joint between my fingers, I get an even light on it and take a large pull, allowing the warmth of the smoke to fill my lungs. I take a second inhale to pull in more before blowing it out my nose.

I close my eyes, savoring the citrus flavor this one has. With any luck, I'll want to pass out in the next fifteen minutes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know where it is."

The door that leads into the building opens on its squeaking hinges, and it makes me jump. My heart leaps into my throat as I see a blond man, with hair pulled back in a ponytail, walking out.Oh, shit.It's one of the Alphas that moved in.

He's the one I couldn't get a good look at earlier. He has broad shoulders like the other two. His facial features remind me of a young Brad Pitt; boyish, and yet there's a smolder that could make any woman want his attention.Not this woman.I try to shrink back into the shadows, hoping he doesn't notice me perched on the wall, but it's too late.

His gaze flits in my direction as he jogs to the truck and grabs a box off the bed.He saw me. He saw me.My pulse quickens. I blow out smoke from the corner of my mouth, trying to look nonchalant, but inside, I'm freaking out. I hate this; I hate that I'm so scared of Alphas.

A throat clearing meets my ears, and I can't help but glance his direction, making brief eye contact. He smiles and shifts the box in his arm. "Hey, didn't mean to startle you. I'm sure you know already, but I'm one of your upstairs neighbors. I'm Leonardo Capello, but everyone calls me Leo."

Fuck. Now he's going to expect me to introduce myself, but my board is inside, and so is my phone, so I can't even use my text-to-speech app. If I sign, will he get that I can't speak and run away? He'll probably think I'm deaf, like most people do.

Putting the joint between my lips, I sign at him, "Nice to meet you."

His eyes widen for a moment, and I wait for him to offer me an awkward smile and walk back into the building. Instead, he comes over and puts the box on the corner of the concrete wall. My stomach flips with nervousness as he approaches, but I school my features into a neutral expression.

His hands fly as he signs, "I know ASL. My name is—"

The surprise of him knowing what I'm saying without having to write it out makes me cut him off before he can go through the process of signing his name. "I can hear. I can't speak, but it's nice you know ASL. My name is Anya." I leave out my last name.

He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound that seems to reverberate through the cool night air. "I see. My younger sister can't hear, so I learned ASL for her."

I pull the joint from my lips and blow the smoke out through my nose and away from him.

Leo glances around and then grins at me, a playful glint in his eyes. "Could I get a drag?"

I arch a brow and pick up my other joint, offering it to him. It's been a long time since I smoked with someone, and it's nice not to have to write everything out to have a conversation.

He steps closer to take the joint, and that's when his scent hits me full force. It's like a Christmas tree; that familiar, fresh scent wraps around me. But woven through that is a thread of something warm and spicy, like cinnamon and cloves. It's an appealing combination that makes my senses sharpen, and my inner Omega, usually dormant, stirs to life. I freeze for a split second, surprised by the unexpected calmness that washes over me. Usually, the presence of an Alpha sends me into a tailspin, but with Leo, it's different. Alarmingly different.

He takes the offered joint from between my fingers. Most Alphas smell like sweat and sourness to me, but I've never met one I've wanted to pull closer and bury my face in their neck.

He's not reacting to me, but then I remember the spray I used just in case. I guess it was good foresight on my part. The last thing I need is him reacting, too, and us losing all sense of control as my Omega takes over. I literally just met the guy, and beyond thinking it's nice that he knows ASL, I don't know a single thing about him. That just sounds dangerous to trust after all the true crime I've watched. Being scent-matched doesn't mean you're safe from crazy people.

Lighting the joint, he takes a drag from it and turns his gaze back to me and then up to his apartment on the second floor. "Boy, I didn't think we were being that loud, but I guess we're used to living in a house and not sharing walls or a floor with someone. I'm sorry. I'll have them turn it down. You could've come banged on our door, and we would've turned it down."

I take another drag before I stamp out the joint, letting the body high this weed gives me roll through my torso. It relaxes relax me, that's for sure. "I didn't feel like holding up a sign asking you all to turn it down. So, I decided to smoke instead and pass out."

He shrugs a shoulder. "I get it. Just know there's someone upstairs that can translate for you now if you don't feel like writing everything out." His eyes widen, and he reaches into his pocket. "I'll do you one better, actually. Let's swap numbers, and you can just text whenever we're being assholes. Then you don't have to come upstairs at all."

I shake my head. "I didn't bring my phone out with me, or I would let it do the talking for me."

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