Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“As nice as the offer is, RJ, you’re newlyweds. I get that you have a baby and that you’ve been living together for a year already, but Lainey mentioned that you’re looking to give Kody a brother or sister, and I would really rather not be in your living space while you’re working on that.”
“It’s not like we’re going to get it on at the dining room table.”
“Not the point, and thanks for the totally unwanted visual. Besides, the penthouse is close to my work. Unless something has changed and I need to find somewhere else to stay?” The thought makes me suddenly panicky.
Despite my loathing of his neighbor and his ridiculous underwear, I’d rather deal with that than apartment hunting. And it would mean having to confront Joey about the rent I paid up front. I’ll take care of that eventually, but I wouldn’t mind a couple of weeks of mental preparation before I have to deal.
“Nothing has changed. The apartment is yours for the season.”
“Okay, that’s great. Can I pay you rent or something?”
“Absolutely not. It’s part of my contract, and it would be sitting empty otherwise, so you can stay rent-free.” He pulls up in front of my building, puts the car in park, and turns on the four-ways. “You want me to walk you up?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” I give him a side hug. “Thanks for dinner, and for the upscale accommodations.” I motion to the building as I get out.
“No problem, Stevie. And if you change your mind about needing my help with the asshole, let me know. I’d be happy to make him crap his pants for you.”
“I know, and I appreciate it.”
I use my card to enter the building and then again to get into the elevator, arms laden with bags of presents as I ascend to the penthouse floor. I love my brother, and I know he feels as though he has to step in and be like the dad we both lost a few years ago. Most of the time I need RJ my brother, not RJ the pseudodad, but I don’t know how to tell him that without hurting his feelings.
The elevator dings when I reach the penthouse floor, and the doors slide open as a woman steps out of Jerkwad’s apartment. Her black dress clings like a second skin and doesn’t cover much. Her long dark hair is tousled, and her cheeks are flushed. She looks like she’s been riding the orgasm train very recently. Of course my neighbor is that guy. I bet he’s a walking, talking, womanizing cliché with a flavor of the week.
“Oh! Can you hold that for me?” she calls as she sashays across the foyer.
I don’t know why I would need to hold the elevator for her, since there are so few people who use this one, but I smile, say “Sure,” and keep a hand on the door to prevent it from closing.
“Thanks!” I exit the elevator as she brushes by me, her lipstickless smile firmly in place as she gives me a once-over. “I hope you had as good a night as I did!” She winks as the doors slide closed.
I throw a mental middle finger at my neighbor’s door, irritated that despite his horrendous personality, he’s getting action, and from someone who looks like a model. I assuage myself by imagining that he has a really small penis, even though she looked way too happy for that to be even remotely true.
Over the week that follows, several different women rotate through Jerkwad’s penthouse. I also run into him twice more in the mornings. Well, run into probably isn’t the right phrase. It just so happens that when I’m leaving for work, he conveniently appears in his weird underwear. It seems a lot like he’s flaunting the fact that he has several different women who enjoy riding his joystick. At least that’s what I assume he’s doing. We don’t exchange more than leering glares, so I’m going purely on speculation.
By the time I’ve been living in the penthouse for two weeks, I think I’ve gotten a handle on his schedule. The same blonde woman has been at his place on consecutive Wednesdays, so she must be his midweek screw. One afternoon I’m standing by the door, flipping through the mail, when I hear a woman’s voice in the foyer. So I have a look through the peephole.
The jerk is nowhere in sight, but another woman, this one petite with a short brown bob, struts over to the elevator, phone in hand as she waits for the doors to open. It irks the shit out of me that this asshole screws whoever the hell he wants, whenever he wants, and none of these women seem to mind. Maybe he pays them. That would make sense. He seems like too much of a dickhead to have booty calls without compensating them somehow.