Big Man Next Door Read online

  We should have renovated it a long time ago, we just never got around to it. I can smell the old lady who used to own it, her perfume must have permeated the walls. It reeks of heavy flowers and moth balls.

  “So, it's my fault then? Is that what you're saying?” Curling my lip, I glare at him.

  Grey walks behind his desk and lifts up the plans for the addition we're adding to this house. “These. . .” Giving them a hard shake, he slams them back down. “Should have been done already. Maybe, just maybe, if you were on time once in a while instead of showing up whenever the hell you feel like it, we'd be on track. This isn't a fucking game, Ian, this is the real world. You can't live by your own rules and expect everyone else to follow.”

  “Are you really lecturing me right now?” Angling my head, I furrow my brows. “You can't blame me for this. You're the one who didn't order the correct footage of flooring, or the right sheet rock.”

  He shakes his head, giving me the same shit eating smirk he's done since we were kids. “You've always been good at pointing fingers, but never good at owning up to your own bullshit.”

  Folding my lips down, my jaw jets out. I'm not going to give him what he wants. I'm not going to fight him so he can throw shit in my face. Grabbing my gear, I turn to face him. “Are you done? Can I go to work now, oh great lord of wisdom?”

  “Fuck off, dude. You know what, just get the fuck out. Go.” He drops into his seat, keeping his head down and picking up the phone to make a call.

  Slamming the door on my way out, I toss my shit into the back of the truck. It's not easy working with my brother, but hard work is something I actually enjoy. It's what I know. I've been working hard since I was a kid, having to get a job early on to help my mother after our parents got divorced.

  Grey and I saw the pain in our mother's eyes when our dad walked out, and we both stepped up to help. She needed us, and we were there. I've been working my whole life.

  I think watching our entire life fall apart, and seeing the hurt and anguish our mother went through, is all we needed to know relationships aren't worth our time. Happily ever after doesn't exist in the real world. Pain is a truth I've seen firsthand. I lived through it.

  Sex on the other hand, well that's nature. A good fuck does the body good.

  I'd fuck that cute blonde across the hall in a heartbeat.

  Just thinking about her makes my cock hard and my blood pump. I'll fuck her until her legs go numb and she can't see straight. I'll make her scream my name and beg for more.

  That girl won't know what she got herself into if I'm in her bed.

  But once she has me, she'll know what it’s like to be with a real man.

  3

  Heather

  Spreading red lipstick across my lips, I run my fingers around the edges so it's crisp and clean. Smacking my lips together, I check myself over in the mirror.

  With purple eye shadow, and cat eyes, I give my curls one more scrunch. Looking myself up and down for the last time, I'm happy with how I look.

  I have a show tonight, my first one since moving here, and I had to jump through hoops to get it. It's not a big club; it's just a small bar with an open mic night. That's all right with me, it's the first step to reaching my dreams.

  Checking the time, I realize I still have over an hour before the club even opens. Sitting on the couch, I grab my guitar, deciding to practice one more time.

  Holding the pick, I start to strum. I'm pressing the strings, moving between the frets, ready to sing my lyrics. And then a siren blares from a cop car as it zooms down the street, throwing me off key.

  I wait for the siren to fade into nothing, then adjust my hands on the neck of the guitar. Starting over, I begin to play again, when my phone rings beside me.

  Dropping my arm to my side, I groan loudly. Grabbing my phone, I don't even look to see who it is. “Hello?” I ask, a hint of annoyance in my tone.

  “Hey, honey, how's Memphis?”

  “Hey, Mom,” I answer, laying the guitar on the couch and relaxing back. “It's good so far.”

  “That's good, honey.” My mom pauses, and I hear her let out a tender breath. “I'm not saying this because I don't want you to try this or anything, but it's strange with you not here.”

  “It's barely been a week, Mom.” Laughing, I can already sense where she's going with this. “I'm happy right now, I'm actually doing this. I'm not coming home.”

  “I know, and I get it. You're an adult, and yada yada, I've heard it all before. It's just that you're so smart, you could do anything. You would do great as a CPA.”

  A CPA. She wants me to become just like her. That's why I took accounting classes, because she made me feel like it was the right path. I get it, I really do. She wants me to take on the family business. Except that's not me. I'm don't belong behind a desk, working numbers, and pushing papers all day long.

  I make music. It's who I am.

  “Mom—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

  “I know, I know, it's a mother's dream, I guess.” She sighs, trying her best to make me feel guilty. “I love you, it's just this isn't what I saw for you as your future.”

  “Well, this isn't your future, it's my reality.”

  “Fine, do it your way. I just want you to remember if it doesn't work out, and I'm not saying that's what's going to happen, but if it doesn't you can always come home.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes to myself. Hanging up, I rest my head in my hands. Rubbing my temples, I already feel a headache coming on.

  No, don't let her get to you. This is your life, not hers.

  She's good at getting in my head. It's one of her great talents. Not this time, though. I'm determined. I'm doing this. And there's nothing she can do or say to convince me otherwise.

  I have to remind myself that I'm not living for my mother, or anyone else. I only live for me. And I deserve the opportunity to at least try. If I just ignore what I feel inside, then I'm already giving up. I won't quit before even taking one step forward.

  Grabbing my guitar, I leave, and drive to the club. I'm doing this. No one is going to stop me from reaching for my dream.

  My grandfather used to tell me to shoot for the stars, and not the road in front of me. He said I'm the one who creates my path, and I shouldn’t rely on anyone else to lay it out for me.

  I believe him, and that's why I'm standing outside the door of the club, my heart racing, my chest growing tight, my palms sweaty.

  And then out of nowhere, the jerk across the hall pops into my head. The hot jerk, with big baby blues, and hands that are so big, fingers that are so thick, my body tingles all over just thinking about them on me.

  No, he's an asshole. Forget him. You're in Nashville to sing.

  Exhaling a heavy breath, I head inside and find the manager. There are two people in front of me, so I tuck myself off to the side. Nervously, I tap the body of my guitar with the tips of my fingers.

  I can hardly stand still, I'm freaking out, and I'm trying to do my best not show it on the outside. I'm failing miserably. Sweat is beading up on my forehead, my stomach is knotting up, and there's a giant lump in my throat. My fingers are shaking, and no matter how much I try to stop them, they only tremble more violently.

  “So, you're Heather,” a man says as he leans against the wall. “I'm Dave. I own the place.”

  “Oh, hey. Yeah, I'm Heather. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

  Tucking his arms under each other, he gives me a smile as he rolls a toothpick between his teeth. “It ain't easy breaking out, but there are other ways I can help make that happen.” Flashing his brows, his eyes run up and down my body. “If you know what I mean.”

  Cringing, the performer right before me comes down off the stage. “I do, and no thank you. Looks like I'm up.” Quickly, I walk away from the slimy owner, and head up on stage.

  Grabbing the microphone, I pull the shitty stool closer and sit down. “Hey, how is everyone tonight?”


  Looking out into the crowd, I get a few soft hoots, but mostly crickets.

  Smiling, I lower the mic a little. “I'm Heather, and this first song is called “Carried.”” I strum the guitar lightly and adjust myself on the stool.

  My fingers move along the neck of the guitar, and I gently pluck the strings. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out. I do what I've always felt I was meant to do.

  I sing.

  “Every moment of my life I've been carried,

  I've been shown the path to take,

  Given the cup to drink from.

  Lost along the way. . .”

  I can feel the words as they pour out of me, smooth, loud, filled with everything I have. It's like I'm giving them a piece of my soul, sharing what I feel inside.

  Hammering down on the guitar, my voice pushes out as I hit the chorus. “I don't want your help! I don't want your future!”

  Suddenly there's a loud screeching noise and the microphone just shuts off. The speakers pick up some feedback, and the crowd falls silent. Everyone is staring at me.

  I'm like a deer in headlights. Idly sitting there like a statue.

  Keep going! the little voice inside me yells, kicking me in the ass.

  So, I keep singing. Pushing my voice out louder and harder. I get off the stool and walk to the edge of the stage. Closing my eyes, I give everything I have.

  But no one seems to care.

  People are starting to get up and leave. Others are so invested in their conversations they don't even bother to glance up.

  Am I that bad?

  Tears start to bubble up over my eyes, wondering if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have just stayed home and worked with my mother. . .

  My mind starts to run wild, wondering if I should have listened to her. I could have done anything, anything else in the world, so why did I choose this?

  Standing on stage, the room begins to erupt with cheers and applause as people stand from their seats. A smile starts to slip up my face, and my cheeks flush.

  They loved—

  I'm bumped from behind, then on both sides. Glancing around, a group of half-naked dancers are taking their places. A stagehand runs up and grabs the mic, and techno music begins to play.

  I'm still standing here, frozen and embarrassed, and not sure what to do. This isn't how it's supposed to go.

  One of the girls bumps me with her hip, and snaps. “Time’s up, you can go.”

  Backing away, my fingers are clutching the neck of my guitar, and I'm ready to burst into tears.

  I'm a failure. What the fuck was I thinking?

  The room is alive in seconds once the girls begin to dance, and I'm sitting here thinking that I'm an idiot for even trying.

  Leaning against the wall, I rest my head back and close my eyes.

  I pictured this night going so much differently in my head. I'm a fool for thinking I'd blow everyone away. I'm naive to have ever thought I had a chance at this whole music scene.

  I'm a failure.

  4

  Ian

  Pulling up to the club, I park and look up at the building. It's Friday, and since I finished the job we were working on, my brother was nice enough to invite me out for a drink. Funny how quickly his mood can change when shit goes right.

  I can hear the music as I climb out of my car. People are milling around on the sidewalk, laughing and talking. From the corner of my eye, my brother gives me a wave.

  Walking to his side, he smiles. “Hey man, glad you decided to come.”

  “Yeah, well, what kind of brother would I be if I let work get between us.”

  He grabs my shoulder, giving me a shake. “You'd be a dick.” Chuckling, he hands the doorman some money, paying the cover fee. “Tonight is on me.”

  “And it fucking should be after you were such an asshole this week.”

  “Fuck you. If I don't keep us on top of this shit, we'll both be out of a damn job.”

  We head straight to the bar, both of us ordering a beer and taking a seat. Sipping the beer, I watch the band on stage.

  The club is packed, the room is wall to wall filled with people. Everyone is pressed together in the center of the dance floor as they bounce and move to the music.

  I'm actually really glad to be here. It'll help get my mind off the girl across the hall. I can't stop thinking about her, and it's driving me fucking crazy. I spent all week doing my best to avoid her.

  Just seeing her makes my heart hammer and my dick hard. I have no control over it at all. No matter how much I try to stop it, no matter how many times I close my eyes and think of the school lunch lady from when I was a kid, this damn girl shoves her way into my thoughts.

  A couple of days ago she was grabbing her mail, and I just happened to see her before she saw me. Backing up the stairs, I couldn't stop myself from watching her for a minute.

  She was wearing this little tank-top that showed the perfect amount of cleavage, and these tight little jeans that hugged her ass. Her hair was down, the gorgeous curls framing her face as she flipped through the letters in her hand.

  Two seconds later I was in my apartment, jerking off. My cock was so hard it hurt. I was tempted to capture her as she came back inside and claim her as mine. Even thinking about her now, my blood pumps hard and every nerve in my body is firing off with need.

  “Hey, you with me?” Grey asks, leaning closer to my face.

  “Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired.”

  Fuck, I'm doing it again. I can't get her out of my head!

  “Well wake the fuck up. The night is early, and we don't have a fucking thing to do tomorrow. No work, no deadlines this weekend, nothing. Sooo—drink the fuck up asshole.” Lifting his beer to mine, he taps the rims together. “You know what you need? You need to get laid.” Looking out into the crowd, he points with his beer. “I'm sure there's a girl here who will lower her standards for a night and fuck you.”

  “Screw you,” I say with a smile. Taking a long swig, I let my eyes scan the crowd.

  He's right. A one night stand might take care of this itch I have. Maybe that's why the blonde from my building is on my mind so much. I just need to get laid.

  The band finishes their set, and the speakers come on overhead playing random radio tunes as they break down their equipment. Grey orders us each another beer and relaxes back against the bar. He's talking about the next project coming up, but I'm not listening.

  The lights dim, signaling the next act, and I catch a glimpse of someone I recognize. But I'm not sure, it could just be my fucked up head.

  My eyes are trained on the stage as the spotlight comes on, lighting up the girl standing in the center. Squinting, it feels like I've been hit in the chest. It's the girl from across the hall, and she looks fucking terrified. Her eyes are huge, her breathing is fast, forcing her tits out as she inhales shallow breaths.

  Reaching out, she pulls the stool on stage closer and sits. Adjusting the guitar, she begins to play. I never pictured her as a musician, but she's good. She's really fucking good.

  The second she opens her mouth, that's it. I can't take my eyes off of her. Her voice is beautiful, sultry, with that sexy little southern twang.

  God damn.

  I'm in awe, her voice hits me in the chest, and the sensation burns through the rest of my body. I'm warm all over. Her eyes close, and she's pushing the words out from the depths of her soul. She's in the moment, ignoring her nerves and finding a home on the stage.

  And then it all changes.

  A loud screeching from the speakers causes people in the room to cover their ears. The confidence I see in her disappears instantly, and there's nothing but fear in her eyes.

  She's still, staring out into the crowd, a subtle tremble moves across her bottom lip. She inhales a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she uses the silence, embracing it as she keeps singing and playing, refusing to let the broken mic stop her from having this moment.

  Except, I'm the only one that notice
s. No one else is paying any attention to her. They're all acting as if she isn't even there.

  Anger bubbles inside, tempting me to stand on the bar and scream at the crowd.

  Can't they see the talent on the stage?

  Why am I the only one who seems to notice her at all?

  Within seconds, she's surrounded by half naked girls, getting pushed off the stage. I can see the tears in her eyes, and the pain on her face.

  Keeping my eyes on her, she leans back against the wall, and it looks like she's trying not to cry. A man steps up beside her, and boxes her in, placing both his hands on the wall. She looks left and right, and shakes her head no.

  I have no idea what he's saying to her, but I can read her face. She doesn't like him there, and she doesn't like what he's saying. She tries to duck under one of his arms, but he swiftly drops it lower, keeping her in his cage.

  Veering her stare, her lip curls as she says something. The man's smile thins, and he starts to run a single finger across her shoulder.

  She doesn't look happy. And when she speaks next, I can read her lips easily. 'Fuck you.'

  His hand begins to move lower and lower, until he's almost touching her chest. That's all I can take. He's done. He obviously doesn't care about what she says, and he isn't going to back off.

  Standing up straight, I stretch my neck, rolling it on my shoulders. Taking a firm step in her direction, my teeth grind against each other as my fists clench at my sides.

  “Where the hell you going, Ian? What's wrong?” my brother asks, confused. He jumps from his seat, and follows me closely through the crowd.

  I don't answer him, I'm too focused on her and the guy who has his dirty paws all over her.

  The man doesn't even notice me as I come up behind him. Grabbing him by the neck, I yank him back and push him away.

  “Can't take a hint asshole?”

  Gritting his teeth, he snarls, “Mind your fucking business. I own the place, and I can do what I want.” Balling his fists at his sides, he lunges forward to intimidate me, but quickly stops.