Neighbor

By Bria Leigh

I wasn't expecting it—a text from someone I'd never met.
Corey Foster is my number neighbor, and we have nothing in common. After weeks of texting, we become friends, confiding our deep dark secrets and building a bond I never thought could be possible.
I got scared, so I ghosted him.
Then Foster shows up. And he is looking for answers. I had to tell him why I dodged him.
Foster is a lot more forgiving than I would have been, and we grow even closer. But this isn't over text, and our feelings are growing. Our chemistry in person is hotter than over the phone.
The problem is Foster has issues. And I don't think I can trust him. But I want him. I'm prepared to go to battle for him. Love is a wild ride.
But I may not have the right armor for this fight.I wasn't expecting it—a text from someone I'd never met.
Foster Matthews was my number neighbor, and we have nothing in common. After weeks of texting, we become friends, confiding our deep dark secrets and building a bond I never thought could be possible.
I got scared, so I ghosted him.
Then, Foster shows up. And he is looking for answers. I had to tell him why I dodged him.
Foster is a lot more forgiving than I would have been, and we grow even closer. But this isn't over text, and our feelings are growing. Our chemistry in person is hotter than over the phone.
The problem is Foster has relationship issues. And I don't think I can trust him. But I want him. I'm prepared to go to battle for him. Love is a wild ride.
But I may not have the right armor for this fight.I wasn't expecting it—a text from someone I'd never met.
Foster Matthews was my number neighbor, and we have nothing in common. After weeks of texting, we become friends, confiding our deep dark secrets and building a bond I never thought could be possible.
I got scared, so I ghosted him.
Then, Foster shows up. And he is looking for answers. I had to tell him why I dodged him.
Foster is a lot more forgiving than I would have been, and we grow even closer. But this isn't over text, and our feelings are growing. Our chemistry in person is hotter than over the phone.
The problem is Foster has relationship issues. And I don't think I can trust him. But I want him. I'm prepared to go to battle for him. Love is a wild ride.
But I may not have the right armor for this fight.I wasn't expecting it—a text from someone I'd never met.
Foster Matthews was my number neighbor, and we have nothing in common. After weeks of texting, we become friends, confiding our deep dark secrets and building a bond I never thought could be possible.
I got scared, so I ghosted him.
Then, Foster shows up. And he is looking for answers. I had to tell him why I dodged him.
Foster is a lot more forgiving than I would have been, and we grow even closer. But this isn't over text, and our feelings are growing. Our chemistry in person is hotter than over the phone.
The problem is Foster has issues. And I don't think I can trust him. But I want him. I'm prepared to go to battle for him. Love is a wild ride.
But I may not have the right armor for this fight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rozez
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393854883

Bria Leigh

Bria Leigh writes the mush. The books full of romance and drama. The stories that tie up at the end in some kind of bow.

Book preview

Neighbor 

By Bria Leigh

Sage

God, this is so awkward.

I looked away from the two strangers shoving their tongues down each other’s throat.  But then I couldn’t help myself and I looked back. She was so much better looking than him. Maybe she was a prostitute. His hands slid up her black jacket. She wrapped a long leg around him, and the wind blew her hair. Her tongue dipped in and out of his mouth.

She devoured him with the voracity of a praying mantis. Everyone walking by stared. She either was being paid for such a public display of affection, or she really loved the guy. I wasn’t willing to make a bet either way. She didn’t even come up for air, she just kept macking on him for the entire world to see. He squeezed her ass and tugged her closer. And they stumbled backward toward the curb, I imagined them falling into traffic and getting hit by a semi—I had a terrible sense of humor.

The car honking broke apart their lip lock and ended my forced voyeurism, and I went back inside. The hotel doors parted, and I headed to the elevator.

Welcome back, Ms. Moore. The lady behind the desk said this every time I came back inside the hotel.

Thanks, I gave her a smile and hit the button on the elevator, knowing it would be a while before the old piece of shit got down to me.

We need to stop meeting like this, a short, old man said for about the fifth time.

I smiled, finding all the comments awkward every time we bumped into each other in the hotel. It wasn’t a huge place— we were going to see each other.

Yeah, we really do. I pushed my hair from my shoulder studying the light above the elevator. Begging it to end the uncomfortable exchange we were having.

That pizza was good last night.

I nodded. Yeah, not bad at all. Come on already you god damn elevator. I am not good at small talk. I was used to meeting all kinds of people. One time I met a group of women I swore all shared one husband. And another time I was hit on by every married man with a pulse—it was exhausting. But I did it because I loved my job and it was our family business. And even with my awful sense of humor I loved my family. We all enjoyed art and everything that went along with it. I loved expressing myself and the opportunities that came with being an artist. I could release my stress and make a little money.

The elevator doors opened and I jumped aboard and rode it all the way up to the eight floor. The old man let me off first, and I hurried only a few feet to my hotel room door. I shoved the key card in and waited for the light. And then slipped inside my room releasing a big sigh. Letting out all the stress of another expo. I tossed my bag and yanked the hanging badge off my neck and dropped down on the bed. It felt great to be off my feet.

My cell phone rang ending my moment of silence. I shut my eyes and rifled my phone out of my pants. What?

That’s how you talk to your brother?

Yes. That’s how I talk to my brother. What do you want, Marshall?

How did it go?

We just about sold out of brochures and flyers. A few people tried to buy the displays. I’d say it was a good day.

Fuck. Looks like my job is never done.

You’re not the only artist in the family. My work is in a lot of fucking hotels asswipe. I rolled over on the bed, picking at the flecks of paint still on my fingers. I’m going to take a nap. Big day tomorrow.

I say just hire movers.

I rolled my eyes. I am not hiring movers to pack up our great grandfather. What are they going to do stuff him in a crate and transfer him to the nursing home?

He’s so mean though, Marshall groaned. It might be nice to pack him up in a box.

You are the biggest asshole I ever met you know that? Gramps wasn’t the nicest man, but he was old. After living almost one hundred years you had a right to be a complete fuck face if you wanted to. Besides, in a couple of years we will be putting him in a box.

I thought he wanted to be cremated.

I rolled my eyes, forcing myself back into a sitting position. Marshall Wayne Moore, you better be there tomorrow. If you’re not there for Gramps I will be sure to let Mom and Dad know how you spent last year in Vegas. And I don’t think that will sit well on your bank account. I ended the call before Marshall could cuss me out for threatening his finances. He knew how our parents felt about leaving family hanging. He was older by two years and he never let a second go by where he let me forget.

I threw all my stuff in my suitcase and slipped out of my dress shirt and slacks and then went into the bathroom. Today would be a big day for our family. Gramps was moving into a nursing home. Dad would be a mess and Mom would puff out her chest and slam things around because she loved him so much and hated seeing him unhappy.

And I would be the middleman. I would keep Mom from punching Gramps when he pissed her off by mentioning every little thing she did since she was born. And I would grab Marshall by the back of the shirt if he tried to escape. And he would try.

Gramps lived for six years unassisted after Grams died. We knew it was time when he started wandering the neighborhood naked and forgetting our names. Or when he tried to microwave the mail instead of his tv dinner. Gramps was once a strapping man capable of taking care of everyone—when he was younger he was a judge. He could also build anything with his own two hands. It broke my heart to see someone so mighty reduced to ash because of a disease.

It just reminded me that it didn’t matter how you lived...we were all heading to the same place. Some of us just had a less bumpy landing getting to the grave.

***

I held on to the strap of my backpack and slipped down the narrow aisle of the plane for my seat. I avoided making eye contact with everyone. I just wanted to get to my seat and shove my earbuds in for the couples hours it would take to make it back home. I spotted my seat, it finally was in my sight. And it was the window seat. Luckily nobody was sitting yet so I easily made it to my spot. I pushed my backpack down between my legs, unzipped and grabbed my earbuds and iPad and found the movie I had ready to watch. I loved anything with Sandra Bullock—she was iconic. Beautiful and not afraid to speak her mind. And one hell of an actor.

I stared out of the window watching the men below walk around. Wondering if one of them was dismantling parts of the airplane before takeoff so we would all crash and burn. I turned the volume up and looked away. If I was going to die at least I was watching a good movie.

Someone plopped down next to me and elbowed me in the side getting themselves comfortable.

Sorry about that, the man said, smoothing out his dress shirt. He fumbled around for his seat belt and jabbed me in the process. Sorry. Shit.

I contained the sigh that wanted to escape and yanked his half of the seatbelt free.

Where you are coming from?

I tugged my ear bud free. Art expo. You?

Bought some property up here. Planning on building a vacation house. He nodded happy with that statement.

That’s great. Congrats. I pushed my ear bud back in my ear hoping that would be the end of our conversation.

He leaned in looking at my Sandra Bullock movie. Murder by numbers. That’s a classic.

Kill me now.

I gave a weak smile.

Don’t forget to shut your cell off before takeoff. Don’t want the plane crashing. He laughed. That’s what they want us to believe right?

I dug my phone out of my backpack nodding. Yeah, it’s weird. A text message caught my eye. I didn’t know the number. Instead of shutting the phone off I unlocked it.

Foster: I don’t usually buy into this shit. But what the hell, I’m drunk. Hello number neighbor. My name is Foster. My friends fall for this trend shit. I hope you’re cool. And I hope you find this entire text just as stupid as I do. Don’t be a douche please. I’d like to think my number neighbor is as cool as I am...and a chick.

The guy sitting next to me chuckled. My daughter was telling me about that the other day. Number neighbors. People come up with crazy ideas these days.

Sage: I would have to agree it’s stupid. My name is Sage and yes...I am a chick. Flight is about to take off...talk later? Oh, and I don’t think I am a douche.

I switched my phone to airplane mode and put it back in my bag. And then I looked at the man sitting next to me that so clearly had no issues with boundaries. I felt sorry for his daughter. I’m going to watch my movie now. Have a good flight. I touched my earbuds and shut my eyes leaning my head back.

The rest of the flight was pure bliss. He left me alone. I loved when people took a hint the first time.

Sage

I caught sight of my uber and hurried away from the gang of sisters on their trip to all fifty states for their birthdays.

Hello. I took my backpack off and handed it over to the middle-aged man with the Miners jersey on. Great team. My gramps is a big fan. It wasn’t often you found fans in Ohio.

Hell yeah. Where you are coming from? He shut the trunk and opened the back door for me.

New Orleans art expo. I climbed in and buckled up. I’m an artist. I sell my work to hotels, offices and restaurants mostly.

He climbed in and buckled up, adjusting his mirror. That’s rad. Way to kill it, kid.

I pushed my hair off my shoulders and settled in my seat. I was happy to be back home. Back where everything felt normal. I missed the food though that was my favorite part of traveling. Thanks. It runs in the family. Mom, dad, Marshall. My mother’s sister and even my father’s family all dabbled in painting. That’s how they met.

Mom joined an art club in school and Dad joined said art club so he could talk to her. Little did he know he was talented and would make it a lifelong career.

I turned my phone back on, and a couple of texts filtered through from Marshall. And one from number neighbor—Foster. I ignored Marshall’s and went straight to the mysterious guy on the other end of a phone number that was only one digit different from mine.

Foster: Safe travels, Sage. Cool name I’ll take off a few points and drop your douche level accordingly.

I rolled my eyes.

Sage: You sure worry a lot about a product you don’t even have to use.

Foster: It’s tacky right?

Sage: It can be. Maybe lead with something else next time. How old are you number neighbor?

Foster: Twenty-four. What about you?

Sage: Twenty-one. I’m impressed at this whole experience so far, I must say. They really knew what they were doing when they assigned these numbers.

Foster: Yeah, no shit. What were you on a plane for?

Sage: Work.

Foster: Are you a flight attendant?

I giggled at the thought. Me a flight attendant, that was ludicrous.

Sage: Nope. I’m an artist.

Foster: Right on. What kind of art?

Sage: Mostly scenic. I sell my blood sweat and tears to hotels and restaurant chains mostly. I keep the good stuff for Instagram.

Foster: Oh really?

I smirked. Sage: Yeah, I paint with my tits on the weekends.

Foster: Holy shit. I hope this is a joke but at the same time I hope it’s true.

This guy wasn’t so bad to talk to. I had traveled almost all the way across town to Gramps house and never once had a breakdown because of Foster. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Gramps knowing we were going to take his entire life and stuff it in some boxes and ship him off to a nursing home.

***

Gramps was sitting in his white rocking chair on the porch