Bad Boy Good Man Read online

  Which I had. But was actually good at my job, and one of the perks was that Dawn and I worked on the same block, so we could usually meet for lunch.

  “Who cares what he thinks?” she asked, reaching across the table to snag a piece of chicken from my salad.

  “I sense that was a rhetorical question, but I’m going to answer, anyway. I care because nobody wants a hot guy to think they’re frumpy.” I disagreed with the statement the moment I heard it leave my mouth. Taking a deep breath, I added, “And, I know how shitty that sounds, because it’s buying into this ‘be hot to be valuable’ mindset that holds women back, but damn, Dawn. You didn’t see his shoulders—”

  “Or his chest, or his calves, or the outline of his dick through his towel.” She rolled her eyes.

  I smiled and shook my head. “I said nothing about any outlining in my story.”

  “I may have mentally embellished.” She took a sip of her water. “But, look, this isn’t the guy you want. You’re always saying you’re not into players, and this guy is either a player or a prostitute. And, you’re too possessive to get down with that.”

  “Either way, he’s clearly good at his job.” I sighed. “I’m probably just cranky because I’m horny.”

  “Now that’s something he could help you with. Although you’re right; there could be some monetary compensation required there.”

  I laughed off Dawn’s suggestion, but it bugged me the rest of the day. Not what she’d said, but the way I found myself mentally responding to it. I’d had a moment in which soliciting my neighbor for sex had seemed perfectly plausible.

  Since it was a Tuesday evening, it seemed like the perfect time to get the hell out of my apartment, just in case the bi-weekly sex fest was in full, hopefully muffled, swing. I grabbed my small hamper and dragged it down to the laundry room. Avoidance and productivity, all in one.

  The thought of sitting down, listening to the tumble of the dryers, and reading some good YA on my Kindle improved my mood greatly. I backed through the swinging door and dropped my hamper, bending to lift off the lid.

  “Long time, no see.”

  It was Antony. My super hot, sexual dynamo neighbor was standing behind me as I bent over in my gray sweatpants.

  The very little dignity I had left helped me stand up calmly, turn to him, and make eye contact. “I didn’t expect to see you down here.”

  His dark brows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I be down here?”

  “It’s Tuesday.” I wasn’t going to draw him a diagram.

  Understanding dawned on his face in the form of a slow, sexy smile. “Right. But a man has to do his laundry, some time.”

  “So, no date tonight?” I asked, adjusting my v-neck t-shirt so less of my cleavage was on blatant display. I should have worn a bra, but usually, it was just me and my fear of basement goblins down here.

  “Your sensibilities are safe for the evening.” He gestured to the two dryers. “I’m almost done. Do you want me to come up and get you when they’re free?”

  “Nah, don’t sweat it. I haven’t even washed mine, yet.” I lifted the lid of one of the washers and hummed to myself as put in my clothes and quarters. If I kept myself hyper-focused on my laundry, I wouldn’t have to worry about stealing glances at him.

  I closed the lid, pulled up one of the metal folding chairs and sat down, reaching into the hamper for my Kindle. It was probably rude of me to sit down and start reading and ignoring him, but we didn’t have much to talk about, beyond his nocturnal activities.

  “So,” he said, just as I opened the cover. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an actuary,” I said, trying for the detached tone I used to ward off men on the subway. But, unlike when I had to endure those rude strangers who demanded my attention, I kind of liked that Antony was starting a conversation.

  No, you don’t. Stop thinking that.

  “That’s a risk-management type of thing, right?”

  “Yeah. People actually don’t often know that.” At least, not people who didn’t work in the industry. “Do you work in insurance?”

  “Me?” He snorted, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “No.”

  What the fuck? Sure, I wasn’t as cool as him, and maybe I didn’t have a perfectly sculpted body or look like I could be a model, but how the hell did he know any of that? Besides the looking like a model thing. But I wasn’t hard on the eyes.

  Why was I defending myself from something he hadn’t even said?

  He had sounded awfully dismissive. So, I pushed back a little. “Let me guess what you do.”

  Pulling up the other folding chair, he turned it backward and straddled it. His jeans were faded at the knees, and he wore black boots. His ribbed, black A-shirt clung to his torso, accentuating the immovable hardness of his body beneath.

  “Model?” It burst from my mouth before I could stop myself.

  He grinned. “Thank you. But nope.”

  His smile was perfect. I was not the first person to have guessed that he was a model. I tried again. “Mechanic.”

  He shook his head.

  “Bouncer?”

  He made a face.

  I wracked my brain. What kind of jobs were out there for pretty faces like his? “Bartender?”

  “I’m a Times Square Elmo,” he said with such sincerity, he actually convinced me for a moment.

  “You are not!” I laughed.

  “I’m just surprised you didn’t guess that next.” A brief flash of annoyance crossed his face. “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Oh.” Great, now who was a douche? “I just assumed—”

  “You assumed I was living some New York bad boy life?” He cracked another smile. “I only do that on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “I’m not sure I get that. But I feel like if we’re new friends here, I should warn you that your ‘schedule’ makes it seem like you might be a prostitute.” My face grew hot. I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear, remembering too late that it was in a ponytail.

  He shrugged his impressively wide shoulders. His muscles flexed from that one, short motion.

  I felt my nipples harden against my thin t-shirt and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Life is complicated.” He seemed sad about that, but he brightened up. “So, you’re pretty new to the building, huh?”

  “Well, I moved in back in May.” I ticked the weeks off on my fingers. “Two, two and half months? I can’t believe I never saw you before.”

  He gripped the chair’s back and sat up straighter. “You never saw me before?”

  “Never. I know, it’s weird, right? We’re next door neighbors.” I shook my head at my own foolishness.

  He still looked confused. “That’s wild. I’ve seen you all over.”

  No, I’ve seen you all over. Thank god, my brain-to-mouth filter was working tonight. I didn’t need to remind him that I’d seen him naked-ish. “Really? I think I would have remembered you.”

  He lifted his shoulders again. “You must not be very observant. I noticed you literally the day you moved in.”

  “You noticed me?” Could I have sounded any dorkier when I said that? Yes, it ridiculously pleased me that this hot guy had been aware of my presence before I’d been aware of his.

  Wait, that wasn’t exactly true. I had been plenty aware of his presence. Like when I’d been listening to the ecstatic moans he’d caused.

  The dryer buzzed, and he got up to check it. I took advantage of the moment to compose myself and say, “Well, I did notice you. I just didn’t know what you looked like.”

  He leaned over to take his clothes out of the dryer. Mother of mercy, his butt was fantastic.

  “Well, now you do. And, apparently, I look like a gigolo.” His voice echoed out of the metal drum as he gathered his clothes.

  “I think it’s just ‘escort’ now,” I corrected him with mock seriousness. “That was a dick move of me, making assumptions based on how you look.”
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br />   He hefted his laundry basket up, holding it in front of him. “That’s okay. I did the same thing. I’ve been trying for weeks to figure out what you did.”

  I turned to watch him as he walked to the door. “Yeah? What did you think I did?”

  He pushed the door open with his back and shot me a crooked smile. “I was hoping you were a cam girl.”

  My jaw dropped. I heard him laughing all the way to the stairs.

  * * * *

  For the next two weeks, Antony kept good on his promise to keep the noise down, and when we passed each other in the halls, we said hi and asked how each other was doing. The women kept coming and going—and coming, I assumed—but I didn’t have to listen to them, and the danger of carpal tunnel from chronic masturbation had passed.

  Antony and I were good neighbors, but not good friends, so I was surprised when he knocked on my door one Saturday morning. I peered through the peephole and had to open the door to trust what I was seeing with my own eyes. There was Antony, the guy I usually saw in jeans or sweats, who didn’t appear to own any shirts with sleeves on them, wearing a smart, dark gray suit and blue tie. His black hair was combed into a perfectly respectable style—he usually looked like he’d just run his fingers through it—although one stubborn lock still flopped over his forehead. He looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those Having The Italian Billionaire’s Baby books.

  I was wearing cupcake print flannel sleep pants and a cotton cami I’d just spilled cereal down the front of.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I thought I heard the TV.” He gestured in the vague direction beyond my door.

  I almost said, “No,” because it was the truth and I’d been up for at least two hours, but it was probably better to let him think I’d just stumbled out of bed. “It’s no big, I just got up.”

  “Okay, well. Sorry about the imposition here, but I’ve got to go to work to make up some stuff from this week, and I have a package being delivered between…” He held a UPS sticky note in his hand. “Noon and two. There’s no way I’m going to be back in time. If you’re going to be around, do you mind picking it up for me? I don’t think anyone would take it—”

  “I’m doing literally nothing, today. I’ll snag it.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.” He flashed me his totally devastating smile.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Being around him without a bra on could send the absolute wrong message, like “I’m sexually attracted to you,” and “This is how hard up I am for it, that I would consider banging you when I know you probably have a play book that would put Barney Stinson’s to shame.”

  “I’ll stop by tonight and pick it up,” he went on, as I nodded and reached to close the door. The faster I got him out of there, the better.

  At least, I had early warning that he would be coming by. It would give me time to not look like a fairy tale witch when he came back.

  Though I’d intended to spend the day watching Netflix and binge eating a pre-made pie, I found myself distracted from Breaking Bad to fantasize about guys in suits. Lawyer-ish guys. With dark hair and big, square hands that I hadn’t noticed before.

  I called Sarah. “Tell me I’m a bad a person,” I said over her hello.

  “You’re a bad person. What’s up? I’m kind of in the middle of something.” In the background, a man’s voice called out something I couldn’t make out.

  “Someone has a gentleman caller,” I teased in an exaggerated southern belle accent. Then, I snapped back to my reason for calling. “I have the hots for my neighbor. Help.”

  “Wait, sex robot neighbor?” Sarah lowered her voice. I heard the kitchen door scrape closed, recognizing the sound from when I’d lived there. It didn’t squeak as much as it used to.

  “Yeah, him. Is it bad that I wanted to jump him when he came over here with a suit on?” He’d been hot before, but guys in suits… They just did it for me. “Is that classist of me? I promise I thought he was hot before, when he was just casual.”

  “Oh really? Did you think he was hot before? Because I didn’t get it when you told me like a hundred other times.” She sighed her annoyance. “Look, I would love to help you with this, but there are only two possible outcomes. My Friday night thing just turned into an all-day-Saturday, so I really need to hang up this phone right now and go ride some dick.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said, reaching up to sink my fingers into the hair at the back of my head. “But wait! What are the two possible outcomes?”

  “Either you fuck him, or you don’t. That’s it. I’m going now.”

  “Okay, love you, have fun,” I rushed to say before she hung up.

  I heard heavy footsteps in the hall and checked the clock in the kitchen. It was one forty-five. Probably package time.

  I opened the door and stepped out. There was the box, on the welcome mat outside Antony’s door. A woman with plum red hair pulled up in a twist was bending down to pick it up. Her gold hoop earrings were big enough to brush the shoulders of her brown pleather coat. She was skinny as a rail—whatever that meant; I’d never understood what kind of rail that referred to—and on the short side. She balanced the package on her arm while she fumbled in her bag.

  I wasn’t sure what I should do in this situation. Was she stealing the package? Was she one of the Tuesday or Thursday nighters? I hadn’t seen her before.

  I had to say something.

  “Hey there!” I chirped brightly. “I was supposed to pick up that package for Antony.”

  She turned to me, her brow rumpled, lips duck-faced in mild disdain as she looked me over. “Oh yeah? Don’t worry about it.” She took a huge, glittery key chain out of her bag and slipped a key into the lock.

  The heavy footsteps I’d heard before thundered around the corner. It was a little kid, a boy who, by my uneducated guesstimate, was probably four years old. “Tony!” the woman barked. “Get in here. We gotta change your clothes before we go see Daddy.”

  Oh. My. God. The player had a wife.

  Chapter Three

  There was a knock on my door at eight o’clock. When he hadn’t shown up earlier, I’d assumed Antony had just gotten his package and figured that his wife had brought it inside. That had been a huge relief; I didn’t want to see him.

  What people did in their private lives was their business. I didn’t make it a habit to harshly judge anybody when I didn’t know their circumstances. But the…philanderer had flirted with me. Nobody told someone they hoped they were a cam girl without meaning it as a compliment.

  Since I hadn’t expected to see him, I hadn’t changed out of my PJs. And, I really didn’t care. I wasn’t about to help some greasy pervert cheat on his wife, especially when he had a young son. I opened the door, blowing some limp strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail out of my face. “Yeah?”

  He looked taken aback by my hostile tone. Good. He needed to know where I stood on the subject of adultery. “Um, I just came by for my package?”

  My stupid nipples had no idea I was disgusted by him. I crossed my arms again. “It’s in your apartment. Your wife picked it up.”

  “Did she?” He didn’t have the grace to look ashamed. Ugh, how gross. “That’s weird.”

  “Why? Did she deviate from the schedule? You’re lucky she didn’t catch you back here having a nooner with some woman that isn’t her.” I started to close the door, and he planted his big hand against the metal.

  He didn’t try to force the door open any wider; that would have alarmed me. He just halted its progress and said, “No, it’s weird because I don’t have a wife. So, either some crazy imposter came by claiming to be my wife and then stole my package, or my wife is a time traveller from the future whom I haven’t met, yet. Or, and this is probably what actually happened, my sister came by to pick up her son’s laundry.”

  “Your…” I shook my head. “You’re Antony, and your ‘nephew’,” I made finger quotes, “is named Tony.”

  “And, his mother�
�s name is Antonia, and we’re both named for our father, Antonio Frances DeLuca.” He paused. “You really thought I was cheating on my wife?”

  Oh man. Uncomfortable in the extreme. “Y-yes.”

  “Because of the…” He gestured toward his apartment.

  “Yeah. In hindsight, that looks kind of—”

  “Rude and judgmental?” There was absolutely no sense of humor present in his words. “You know what? You’re not as quiet as you think you are when you’re masturbating. And, it’s not just Tuesdays and Thursdays. Be a courteous neighbor and keep it down. And stay out of my business.”

  I choked on my gasp, and it came out as a backwards shriek.

  “Have a good night.” He turned away from me in disgust, and I stared after him in shock.

  He had to be guessing, right? There was no way I made noise. I’d lived with roommates for years, and they’d never said anything.

  I grabbed my phone. I didn’t know if Sarah’s much needed sex date was on-going, so I called Dawn.

  “On a scale of none to my neighbor’s Tuesday nights, how much noise did I make while I was masturbating?” I demanded.

  “Well, I’m glad I didn’t put you on speaker phone.” Dawn laughed. “Are you being serious right now, or are you reading me a funny Tweet?”

  “No, I’m dead serious. Could you guys hear me?” I cast a nervous glance at the insidious shared wall. Could he hear me talking right now?

  “I don’t know. Maybe once or twice. Your bed squeaked a lot, was that it? I thought you were just tossing and turning.” I could almost hear Dawn’s shrug. “What is going on with you?”

  “I really messed up. I thought sex neighbor was married, and I kind of called him an adulterer—”