Page 8 of Sweet Shots

“Don’t snap at me. You’re standing in my fucking doorway.”

He grits his teeth, his bright green eyes going dark. I think he’s going to argue with me, yell at me or some shit. Please do. I’ll slam the door in his face. See how much he likes that. But he doesn’t do any of those things.

“You know what? Forget it,” he mutters, turning and moving down the stairs.

“K, bye!” I yell, closing my door and going back to my shower that was so rudely interrupted by the impatient prick from nextdoor.

He’s annoying as hell, always has been, but usually he stays on his own side of the fence. Now I have to worry about him coming over here, banging on my door, and bothering me face-to-face? This is getting out of hand. The last thing I need is for him to catch me shooting a film. Not that I care what people think, but I don’t need to give his pretentious ass more fuel. Just leave me the fuck alone.

It’s bad enough our houses are so close together we can see inside the other if the curtains are open. I try to keep my curtains drawn as much as possible onthatside, but I don’t like living in a goddamn dungeon. It’s bad enough this house doesn’t have a lot of windows to begin with.

When I’m done with my shower, I head downstairs to prepare dinner. I love food, I love eating, and I love cooking. Don’t even mind cleaning up after. The only part I don’t particularly enjoy is grocery shopping. But now that I can get them delivered right to my door, it isn’t so bad.

As I rinse and scrub my vegetables in the sink, I feel someone staring and look up. I lock eyes with my asshole neighbor, standing in his own kitchen, in front of his own sink, staring at me as if I’ve threatened to murder his overweight cat. Yeah, I’ve seen that thing a time or two and it needs to go on a damn diet. It’s impossible to miss something that’s bright orange and the size of a mini-fridge.

I hold his gaze, refusing to be the first one to turn away. This isn’t something we typically do. I catch sight of him now and again but ignore it. I feel him catch sight of me sometimes too,but it’s never for long. The stares don’t linger. Usually after we catch one another, he closes his curtains. Sometimes so harshly the rod falls off. I’ve witnessed it more than once and always get a good laugh out of it. I refuse to hide away in my house because of him. He can go fuck himself. If he doesn’t like what he sees, he can keep closing his curtains. Or better yet, he can move.

We hold on to each other like we’ll die if we don’t. Neither one of us has blinked. The water is still rushing from the faucet, the swishing sound loud in my ears. But I won’t move. Not until he does.

Finally, his eyes narrow and he grits his teeth, then he storms off. I laugh to myself, smiling proudly as I shut off my sink and drop the vegetables into a bowl. I grab my cutting board and a knife to start chopping. I get two slices in before my doorbell is going off again.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I spit out, taking the knife with me to the door.

I don’t plan on stabbing him, but I have no issue scaring him. Maybe if he thinks I’m crazy, he’ll leave me alone. I tear the door open, gripping the knife tighter.

“What?” I bark.

His eyes go to the knife and he frowns, looking up at me with a bored expression. “You going to stab me?” he asks. There isn’t a single thing in his tone that tells me he thinks I will.

“Maybe. What of it?” I shift, gripping the knife tighter.

“You are making this really difficult, you know,” he says, accusing me of something I’m not even doing.

“I don’t know whatthisis because you’re coming over here and not saying a damn thing.”

He closes his eyes, hands going to his hips. He takes a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I know that was difficult by the way the words leave his mouth. I’m proud of making him submit. “I do have something I’d like to talk to you about, if you have the time to do so.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’ll take five minutes.”

I raise a brow, about to repeat myself when he growls out, “Fine. When will you have five minutes to talk to me about something that I think will benefit you as much as it does me?”

Benefit me as much as it does him? What could that be about?

“I’m not moving,” I say.

“This isn’t about that,” he says, muttering, “funnily enough,” at the end.

I stare at him for a long moment, taking him in. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can admit he’s a handsome guy. Looked good far away, but up close, he’s even better. Too bad he’s annoying as shit. Still, as I see how stiff his posture is, how uncomfortable he is, yet how quickly he submitted, something inside me awakens and I have the urge to fuck with him.

A smile splits my face and his drops. He knows he’s in trouble.

“Be here at six. I’ll make us dinner.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No, we don’t need that much time.”

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