~Lucy~

I pace around my room like a lunatic, waiting for Mr. Next Door to come back from the gym.

I’ve peeked through my peephole at least a hundred times but nothing.

Is he still working out? What is he trying to do, sculpt a Greek god body just to walk around shirtless and smug?

Why is he even gone this long?

I can’t wait for him to return. The moment I hear his key in the door, I’m pulling out my violin. And this time? Oh, I’m going full-on torture mode.

I’ll make it more annoying than ever, screechy, off-key and loud. I'll make sure he cries his ears out.

And when he comes banging on my door I won’t even answer. Let him suffer. I'll make sure I annoy him until he moves out. Doesn't he have a big attitude? I'll make him pay for it.

Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

Walking around like some big shot with his stupid jawline and those stupid arms and that dumb “I’m too good for violin music” attitude. Blasting loud music like it’s okay, but my violin is the problem?

Please. My cat Kinny, may he rest in peace, loved my violin playing. My grandmother used to say I had the hands of an angel. So who the hell does this gym-addicted music snob think he is? I wasn't even able to workout yesterday because of him and today he decides to spend the whole evening at the gym?

He’s not getting a wink of sleep tonight. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

Suddenly, my phone rings, snapping me out of my spiral. I smile when I see the name, my best friend, Freya.

“Hey, Frey. I miss you.”

“I miss you more, Lulu! What’s up with you? Have you been able to paint anything today?”

I let out a dramatic sigh. “Nothing yet. I’m still blocked.”

“Aww, bestie. Don’t push it, okay? Just take your time. It’ll come back.”

“It’s so hard, Frey,” I groan, pulling my hair into a messy fist.

“I know,” she says gently. “But don’t stress it too much. Don’t burn yourself out.”

I sigh again, flopping back onto my bed. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good! What are you up to right now?”

“Oh, just waiting for Mr. Next Door to return from the gym so I can torture his ears tonight.”

She laughs, full and loud. “Lulu! Leave that man alone! Why not just be friendly for once? You need a man in your life. Imagine your neighbor! Built-in cuddle buddy.”

“Frey, what the hell? Are you seriously trying to hook me up with that grumpy-ass man?”

“You said yourself he’s hot! Didn’t you call him ‘body of an athlete’ and everything?” she squeals. “Ugh, I need to see him.”

“I did say that, but guess what? His attitude slapped me in the face.”

“Oh, come on. Soften up a little. Your vagina needs some cream.”

“FREYA!”

“I’m serious! Think about it. You could use Mr. Next Door as inspiration for that half-finished canvas.”

“How?!” I groan, rolling my eyes so hard they almost get stuck.

“He’s hot. He could make you horny. And horny might bring your spark back.”

“Frey, shut up. He’s an asshole. I don’t want him.”

“Maybe he’s only mean because he’s horny too.”

“There’s no way he’s single. But if he is? With that attitude? No wonder.”

“Lulu, listen, that man could wake your pussy from the dead. Use him and stop being a headache to him. You two just need some spicy romance in your life, especially you, it's been two years, Lu.”

I roll my eyes. “Get off my phone.”

She cackles. “I gotta go anyway. Saving lives and curing diseases, you know.”

“Yes, yes, go be a superhero, Doctor Freya, and leave your emotionally unstable bestie alone.”

I chew on my bottom lip, thinking about what Freya just said. It’s… a good idea, I’ll admit. But Mr. Next Door? He’s so grumpy, so infuriating, I cannot, for the life of me, imagine myself in any kind of relationship with that man.

“No.” I shake my head, shoving the thought away.

Besides, I don’t even get horny anymore. That part of me died the day my stupid ex crushed it. So thanks, but no thanks.

My phone buzzes again.

“Ugh, what now?” I mutter, grabbing it. It’s an email from my aunt. A wedding invitation, my cousin is getting married.

“There’s absolutely no way I’m going to that wedding,” I scoff out loud.

Jim will be there. Of course he will. All my former classmates too, they are friends with my cousin since we were all in the same class. That whole wedding is basically a glorified high school reunion, one giant reminder of everything I’d rather forget.

Sure, I’m doing well. I’m recognized for my erotic art. I could show up and rub that in their faces the same way they’ll try to flaunt their picture-perfect lives in mine.

But do I really want to go through that? That exhausting game of “look at how far I’ve come” while pretending not to care about what anyone else thinks?

No. Hell no. That’s a hard pass. I'll need to come up with some excuse, I'm not going.

*

I had waited almost three hours. Bored out of my mind and unable to fight the urge any longer, I finally throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs. Just to see, you know, casually, if Mr. Grumpy is still there.

Sure enough, there he is; brooding, sweaty and shirtless.

He’s slamming a weighted medicine ball to the ground, over and over, like he’s trying to murder the floor. His muscles flex and ripple with every throw. Veins bulge down his arms, and there's this low grunt he makes each time he lifts the ball above his head.

And when he switches to doing thrusts with a barbell across his shoulders… holy hell. Why does that movement look so… obscene? Each controlled thrust forward is too smooth, too rhythmic. It’s giving bedroom energy, and I hate that I notice it. Even worse, I feel a tingle deep in my core.

Nope. Absolutely not. I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it.

But before I can look away, he glances over his shoulder, and our eyes meet.

Shit.

It feels like he's been watching me. There’s something about the way he looks at me, like he can see me, even when his back is turned. Like he knows I’m there, breathing, thinking, watching him too.

My stomach flips and heat rushes up my neck. He caught me staring. I'm so embarrassed.

I spin around so fast I nearly crash into a treadmill.

Just great. Now I can never come to this gym again. I grit my teeth, regretting ever coming down here. I don't even want to imagine what he thinks of me right now.

~Lucy~

Next day

Following my best friend’s advice, I decide to try something new. Instead of waiting for that spark to hit me like lightning before I return to my usual erotic style, I’m going to paint something completely different. Something I’m not used to… but something I can still do.

An exotic bird.

It sounds random, I know. But it’s colorful and elegant. It has nothing to do with sex, at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Even as I imagine it, I catch my brain trying to turn the curve of its feathers into something sensual. It's ridiculous. How does someone even accidentally sexualize a bird?

Still, today I must paint. No more blank canvases mocking me from across the room. No more waiting.

I refuse to let another day become a repeat of yesterday.

So I throw on something simple, tie my hair up, and head out to the mall just to grab some fresh paint and brushes. I already have tons at home, and plenty more at the gallery, but something about going out… It feels like a reset. Like breathing new air for the first time in months.

It’s silly, but I feel good. Hopeful. Maybe today will finally be a good day.

I take out the bags filled with my painting materials and lock my car, ready to make it back to my room, when a sudden figure appears beside me and makes me jump.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, clutching my chest. “You scared the shit out of me, Lorry.”

His mouth curls into a slow smile. “I’m sorry, dear. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

His eyes trail down the length of my body, lingering far too long, and then, ugh, he bites his bottom lip like he thinks he’s in some romance movie. “You’re such a gorgeous woman,” he murmurs.

My stomach twists. Of all the shitty things that could happen today, this creep showing up had to be one of them.

What the hell is he doing here?

Lorry is a freak. A real-life walking red flag. I’ve had a weird feeling about him since the first time he showed up at one of my exhibits, asking way too many personal questions. But I never gave him my address, never mentioned where I lived, so how the hell did he find the estate I moved to?

Oh! he’s been stalking me.

I drop my bags and take a step back, eyes narrowing. “What do you want? Have you been stalking me or what?”

Lorry’s face twists into something pitiful. “I… I’m sorry, it’s not like that. I just… I can’t get you out of my mind.” He chuckles nervously, then looks me dead in the eye. “I want to hold you like the way your characters hold each other in those erotic paintings. I want to feel you. Let me be the one you use to bring your work to life.”

My skin crawls. I blink twice, stunned. “What the actual fuck? Are you kidding me?”

He steps forward suddenly, grabbing my shoulders with sweaty hands. “I’m serious, Lucy. I want to be your man. I can treat you right.”

I jerk away from him, heart pounding. “Let me go!”

But he grabs me again, stronger this time, holding me tightly like he owns me. “I swear, I’ll call security!” I cry, trying to yank myself free.

“Lucy, come on,” he breathes, face inches from mine. “Let’s go to my place. You need a man. You paint about it all the time, let me make those dreams real.”

“Shut up! Let me go!” I scream, pushing at his chest.

His fingers dig into my arms. “Stop struggling, Lucy. Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

“Help!” I yell, raw fear covering me. “Somebody help me!” Tears blur my vision. He’s stronger than me. Is he trying to kidnap me? Assault me?

“Keep it cool, Lucy,” he hisses, pressing his body against mine, holding me like it’s some twisted romance.

“Hey!” a deep voice suddenly snaps through the air. Lorry freezes. His hands drop away from me instantly. We both turn, and there he is, Mr. Next Door.

His face is stone hard as he storms over, eyes blazing with rage. Without a word, he swings his fist and slams it into Lorry’s jaw. Lorry stumbles backward with a grunt, but before he can recover, Mr. Next Door punches him again, this time, a blow to the gut. Lorry folds over with a wheeze.

Mr. Next Door grabs his collar, yanking him upright, eyes piercing. “What the fuck were you trying to do?” he growls. “Grabbing a woman like that?”

“I… I wasn’t— I didn’t mean to,” Lorry stutters, voice shaking. His lip trembles, and tears slip down his face. “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

“Scram!” Mr. Next Door shoves him hard in the chest, making him stumble again. “If I ever see you near her again, I’ll fucking kill you!”

Damn! He's so hot when he's furious.

“I’m sorry, sir!” Lorry cries, practically tripping over his own feet as he tries to run away.

“I said scram!” Mr. Next Door booms.

Lorry flees in fear, his panic so strong he slams his head against the wall in his rush. He whimpers and keeps running.

Mr. Next Door turns to me once Lorry disappears into the distance. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t ask you to help me,” I snap, frowning. “I had it under control. I didn’t need you.”

“Is that so?” he grunts, stepping closer. “So I should’ve just let that creep drag you away?”

“Yeah, I mean… I would’ve fought him off.”

“You were crying for help.”

“I was trying to scare him,” I roll my eyes, folding my arms.

“Really?” His mouth curves in a slow, dangerous smile as he grabs my waist, dragging me closer until our bodies nearly touch. His scent is rich, intoxicating, something between spice and danger, flooding my senses.

Fuck.

And the way his eyes bore into mine, like he’s staring into my soul; it’s scary, but I’m captivated. I can’t look away. I hate him. I hate how attractive he is even when he’s infuriating. But I hate even more that I don’t want to break the stare.

“Why are you so stubborn, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice thick like honey. “Always pretending you don’t care about me?”

The way he's gripping my waist… I hate how much I want to melt into him.

“Let me go,” I say, weakly pushing at his chest, even though I don’t mean it.

He doesn’t budge. “Didn’t you say you can save yourself? Then save yourself from me now.”

He leans closer, his voice a dark whisper against my ear. “Lucy… if I wanted to, I’d bend you over right here, right now. But I don’t have to force you. You’d give yourself to me, willingly. I’d crawl into that stubborn little head of yours, and I’d make you dream about me. Crave me. Beg me to fuck every ounce of that bratty attitude out of you.”

My breath catches. God. Why am I wet? Why is my mind begging me to beg him?

Snap. Out. Of. It.

“Ohhh,” I scoff, blinking away the heat clouding my head. “So you want to see the color of my panties? Is that it, Mr. Next Door? Want a taste?”

“You’re the one who wants a taste of me, Lucy,” he says, pressing his body harder against mine. My clit throbs with the contact. “I saw how you looked at me at the gym yesterday. Say it, Lucy. Say you want me. But I won’t make it easy. You’ll beg me to ruin you.”

“I don’t want you!” I shove him back, my chest rising. “Fuck you!” I flip him off. “I would never want a grump like you. You’re a fucking asshole!”

I bend to grab my bags, but he snatches them before I can. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Whatever you think,” he says over his shoulder.

My jaw drops. “What?!”

Before I can cuss him out, he storms off with my bags, and like a damn idiot, I trail behind him, stunned, fuming, and turned on.

Who the fuck does this man think he is?

~Lucy~

I don't want to admit it, but Mr. Grump might actually be a gentleman…well… a gentleman with an asshole attitude.

He carried my bags upstairs, and for a second, I thought—no, I expected him to push me into my room and bend me over like he threatened to in the parking lot. My body was ready, practically begging.

But Nope.

That arrogant jerk just drops the bags in front of my door, gives me one last unreadable look, and walks into his own apartment like nothing happened, not a word, not even a smirk. Like I don't exist.

And now I'm standing here, thighs clenched, wondering why I'm this turned on over someone I literally hate. Why the hell did I want him to do it?

Why am I still thinking about the filthy things he said; how he’d crawl into my head and ruin me?

Why do his words keep echoing in my mind like some damn audio loop?

God, this man is a headache, a grumpy, infuriating, smug and he’s making me a mess.

I chew on my bottom lip and bounce on my bed in frustration. “Ughhhhh!” I scream into a pillow. “I fucking hate this feeling!”

I need help. I need Freya.

I lunge for my phone and facetime her. She picks up on the second ring, smiling into the camera.

“Oh thank God,” I groan. “You're not busy.”

Her eyes widen. “Lulu? What's wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

“I'm unwell,” I say flatly. “mentally, emotionally, hormonally, I'm not okay!” Her brows pinch together. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“It’s Mr. Next Door! It’s all his fault! That man… in fact, I hate him more than anything right now!”

“What did he do?” Her voice sharpens. “Did he hurt you?” She’s already grabbing her keys. “I’m coming to your house right now—”

“No!” I shake my head quickly. “That idiot threatened to fuck me till I beg him for more! Who the fuck does he think he is?!”

Her expression drops, and then she bursts out laughing. “Lucy!” she wheezes. “Oh my God! You need to breathe and tell me everything that happened between you two!”

I exhale loudly and sit on my bed, dragging a hand down my face. “So…” I spill the whole thing — the gym stares, the creepy guy in the parking lot, the way Mr. Grump punched him and then almost melted me with those filthy words.

And she’s giggling the whole time. Giggling like I just told her I had a romcom meet-cute and not an emotional breakdown in the middle of my horny spiral.

“Dude!” I throw a pillow at the phone. “This guy is literally trying to break my brain and you’re laughing!”

“It sounds like you want him to break more than that,” she says, still laughing. “Bro! I told you that man would give life to your pussy!”

“FREYA!”

“Give that man a chance! He clearly wants you just as much as you want him!”

“No way!” I protest. “He literally thinks I need him. That I want him.”

“Girl… you do.” She squints at me. “You’re horny for that man and it’s okay to admit it.”

I groan and flop back on my bed.

Freya squeals, clapping. “Ughhh! I can’t wait to meet the man who’s finally dragging my beautiful beast of a bestie out of her little shell!”

“I don’t want him,” I growl.

“You literally just said he made you wet and messed with your head.”

“Doesn’t mean I want him!”

“Lucy…” She leans in close to the camera. “Stop fighting it. That man is your karma, your chaos, and your cure. You two were made for each other.”

“FREYA!”

What?” Freya laughs, eyes still wide. “I’m not gonna lie to you, babe.

Before I can respond, someone shouts in the background on her end.

“Freya! Check the gossip blog!” the voice yells. “Your best friend Lucy is rumored to be dating the famous hockey star—”

My heart stops.

“Wait, what?” I sit upright. “What did they say?”

Freya’s brows furrow, and she scrambles to check her phone. “Hold on, hold on, I’m switching to audio, gimme a sec!”

The video cuts, and I’m left pacing while her voice stays in my ear. “Oh my God, Lucy! Your pictures with Mr. Next Door! They're trending! They're all over social media!”

I freeze. “What pictures?”

“The parking lot!” she gasps. “The way he grabbed you, the way he was in your face, the bags, your dripping hair, all of it! Someone caught the whole thing. It’s on Gossip Grind, ShadeRoom, everywhere! Three million views in two hours, Lucy!”

I nearly drop my phone. “Wait. WHAT?! We’re not even dating! What the fuck is going on?”

“Oh my God, Lucy,” she shrieks. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me your neighbor is Rhett Lawson?!”

“Who the hell is Rhett Lawson?!”

“A famous hockey star. He's in the NHL, like one of the best of all time!” Freya cackles.

My eyes widen.

“People are calling the whole thing a lover’s spat. Oh my God—THREE MILLION VIEWS IN TWO HOURS! And the title?” She clears her throat dramatically. “‘Hockey Star Rhett Lawson Spotted Getting Hot and Heavy with Erotic Painter Lucy Lane!’”

I stop dead in my tracks. “What?! They mentioned I’m an erotic painter?!”

“Yes!” she shrieks. “And someone commented, ‘Can’t wait to see a naked painting of Rhett with nothing but a hockey stick and a smirk.’”

“WHAT THE FUCK.”

“I’m not done,” Freya gasps. “There’s a second post going viral—a clip of Rhett holding that weird guy who tried to grab you away in the parking lot. The blogs are saying it’s your ex trying to fight for you, but Rhett wasn’t having it. Girl, people are swooning over how jealous and protective he looked!”

I stare at the wall, dumbfounded. “Wait… he looks jealous?!”

“Jealous and hot as hell,” she says. “He literally slammed that dude like he was defending a Stanley Cup. People are obsessed. They’re calling it ‘the alpha snatch-back’.”

“What the hell!” I whisper.

“Oh, and someone posted a meme of Rhett gripping that guy’s collar with the caption: ‘When your girl’s ex shows up but you’ve already been drawn naked on her canvas twice.’”

I scream into a pillow. “I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!”

“Kill him? Babe, you're going to marry him. You're already in a ship named Rhettsy.”

Is that how quickly things blow up on social media?” I ask, stunned.

Before Freya can respond, there’s a sharp knock at my door. My heart practically stops.

“You expecting anyone?” Freya teases with a sly grin. She knows. I know. We both know.

“I’m not speaking to him,” I say quickly, backing away like the door might bite me.

“Girl, are you crazy? You better go check before social media says you eloped.”

I tiptoe toward the door and quietly peek through the peephole.

It’s him.

My stupid heart does a stupid jump. He looks like sin in a black shirt, his hands in his pockets, jaw sharp like a blade. Ugh, I hate this man.

“Lucy,” his deep voice comes through the door, calm and unbothered, “I can hear you breathing.”

Freya loses it on the other end. “OHHHHHH MY GOD!”

I panic. “I’ll call you right back!” I whisper-scream, ending the call before she explodes.

I take a second to gather myself, inhale deeply, throw on a casual I-don’t-care-about-you expression, and swing open the door. Only for a tall, stunning blonde woman in heels and a fitted suit to push past me like I’m the doorman.

“Excuse me?” I blink in confusion, my head snapping toward Mr. Next Door.

She flashes me a perfect smile and extends her manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Laura Smith, Rhett’s PR agent.”

I just stare at her hand stunned, before quickly taking it.

“Wait, what?” I glance at Rhett, who looks… calm. As if dragging me into social media drama, melting my panties with his threats, and now showing up with a blonde PR Barbie is totally normal.

“What the hell is going on?” I mutter.

Laura beams. “We need to talk about the trending posts. As of this morning, you're Rhett’s girlfriend, and the erotic artist fans can’t get enough of.”