You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?
Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version | Mark story | Mark author
Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!
Chapter 02:
Jim meets his tall handsome neighbor:
Three days before Jim and Jessica’s wedding, Jim was a mess in their new 10th-floor apartment, his moving boxes turning the living room into a war zone. Jessica’s silk throw pillows, sapphire and gold, spilled from crates, her crystal vases gleaming on a shelf beside Jim’s scrubs, folded into tight squares. The coffee table sagged under her wedding planner, sticky notes fluttering and ribbon samples scattered like petals. A tray of her perfumes sat nearby, bottles arranged by Jim’s trembling hands: floral left, musk right, per her orders. His world was the mop bucket, soapy water splashing as he scrubbed the hardwood, and a cloth for polishing her silverware, each spoon shining like a jewel.
His ER shift had been hell—12 hours of broken wrists and wailing kids, his scrubs clinging under a faded tee—but Jessica’s private practice was a breeze, home by five with her hair all glossy. Jim was still moving in, his boxes of textbooks and socks dwarfed by Jessica’s elegant touches. She’s my queen, he thought, picturing her green eyes, the way she’d tossed him her dry-cleaning ticket last week with a smirk: Don’t mess it up, Jim. She’d picked his wedding suit (navy, “it’s sharper”), their date nights, even how he sorted her mugs—her rules were his life, and he worshipped them. Gotta keep her happy, or she’ll ditch a scrub like me.
He was polishing a teaspoon, his fingers sore, when a creak from the living room turned into a jagged crack. The big picture window was jammed halfway, the glass wobbling like it might shatter and tank their deposit. Jessica’s disappointed glare flashed in his mind, her voice cutting: Really, Jim? “Crap, crap!” he muttered, dropping the spoon and rushing over. He yanked at the window, his hands slipping, but it groaned louder, the glass trembling. He grabbed a fork from the counter, prying at the sash like a fool, but it bent, and he tripped over a box of his old journals, crashing to the floor. She’s gonna hate me, he thought, sweat soaking his shirt, his heart hammering.
Jim scrambled up, panting. He needed a tool—a wrench, anything—and his toolbox was buried under Jessica’s coats. The only other apartment on the floor was 10B, some neighbor he’d never met. Desperate, he sprinted down the hall, sneakers squeaking, and jabbed the doorbell, bouncing like a kid. “Please, someone,” he muttered, wiping his brow.
The door opened, revealing a guy who looked like he’d walked out of a movie. Tall, six-foot-two, with muscles bulging under a fitted gray tee, his dark hair tousled just right. His grin was warm, like you were already pals. “Hey, you okay, man?” he said, his voice smooth. “I’m Brian by the way, 10B.”
Jim’s words spilled out. “Hey! I’m Jim, 10A, just moving in, our window’s stuck, it’s gonna break, I need a wrench or something, please. Any chance you have some?” He gasped, face flushed, hands flailing.
Brian chuckled, calm as hell. “Relax, Jim, I got you.” He grabbed a toolbox, pulling out a wrench. “It's your lucky day! I’m a engineer, deal with this stuff all the time. Let’s see it.” They hustled back, Jim babbling about the deposit, and Brian knelt by the window, his eyes narrowing like he was cracking a code. “Frame’s got too much tension, misaligned pins,” he said, adjusting the wrench with precision. The window slid open with a soft click, the glass steady, no cracks. “Done,” he said, standing. “Fixed one like this at a plant last year. Finicky mechanics.” His grin was easy, and Jim’s jaw dropped, his bent fork dangling.
“You’re a genius,” Jim said, his voice pure gratitude. “Jessica would’ve killed me if we lost the deposit. Thank you, man.”
Brian shrugged, his tee clinging to his shoulders. “No sweat. Neighbors gotta help. Moving in, huh? Place looks sharp.” He nodded at Jessica’s vases, the planner.
“Yeah, Jessica’s got the style,” Jim said, his voice mushy. “She’s a doctor, like me, but she’s… incredible. Smart, gorgeous, runs the show, you know? Just got off a brutal ER shift, trying to keep up.” He gestured at the perfumes, the scrubs, like they were her crown.
Click here to read the rest of this story (490 more lines)
Options: Plain text or
PDF (
fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing
ESmail: Click here to send a private message to aninhahahnz (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)
Profile for aninhahahnz, incl. 1 stories
Email: aninhahanz@hotmail.com
Add this author to your favorite author list
Add this story to your favorite story list