Page 4 of Suck My Puck

Every conversation we had, they made it a point to tell me how much better off I’d be if I’d just broken things off with him when he moved to Toronto instead of following my heart. It led to non-stop arguing. My aunt took pity on me and agreed to let me stay here so I didn’t have to deal with the constant disapproval from my parents.

To their credit, they’re right. If I could go back in time and break up with Matt, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. All I can do is try to move on…and swear off dating another hockey player ever again. I won’t watch or attend another hockey game again, either.

Hockey guys like Matt are selfish and cruel and don’t care about anyone other than themselves. They’ll do whatever it takes to have their cake and eat it, too. They don’t give a shit who they hurt along the way.

As I stomp down the hallway through the living room and to the front door, I shove aside thoughts of my ex. I don’t want to devote any more space in my brain to that jerk.

I fling open the door, stomp to my neighbor’s apartment, and pound my fist against the door.

“Hey, jackass! Would you mind turning your music down?”

I stand there and wait a few seconds, but nothing.

I pound again. “Turn off your music!”

Still no answer.

I tug both hands through my hair, my head throbbing due to being jolted awake from a deep sleep. I let out a groan.

“Uh, can I help you?”

I spin around and see a huge blonde guy frowning at me in confusion with a giant gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Is this your apartment?” I bark.

“Yeah…”

I glare at him. “Can you turn your fucking music down?”

His soft blue eyes widen as he leans back, clearly jolted by what I’ve said.

“Um, yeah, okay. Sorry,” he mutters.

I move to the side so he can unlock his door. He fumbles with his keys before unlocking it and stepping inside. A few seconds later, the music stops.

“Thanks, asshole,” I holler into his open doorway before I stomp back to my place.

I’m not even halfway to my door when I hear him mutter the words, “Jesus. What the hell is her problem?” as he goes to close his door.

I should ignore this guy. But I can’t. He’s the one who’s in the wrong, who woke me up by blasting his shitty music. I’m not just going to stand there while he mutters crap about me behind my back.

I spin around and march back over to his half-open door. He’s shocked to see me, judging by the way his brow is at his hairline.

“My problem is that you think it’s okay to blast music in the morning like an inconsiderate dickhead.”

He frowns. “Look, it was a rough morning for me. I didn’t mean to leave my music on. I already apologized. No need for you to be a jerk.”

“Oh, you mean that half-hearted ‘sorry’ you muttered in a pissed-off tone?”

He tugs on the baseball cap he’s wearingbackward on his annoyingly handsome face. Thick, wavy blond hair sticks out from the sides, framing his killer cheekbones.

This dickhead is unfairly hot. If he had walked into the bar I work at, I’d do a double take for sure. He’s got the handsome, chiseled face of a male model, and he’s obviously ripped based on the way his thigh muscles poke through the joggers he’s wearing. And the way his sculpted shoulders are visible even through the thick fabric of his hoodie.

But he’s not just some stranger in a bar. He’s my dickhead neighbor who thinks it’s okay to leave his music blaring while he pumps iron at the gym.

“We share a wall. So if you could remember not to blast your heavy metal garbage in the mornings, that would be divine. Some of us value our sleep schedule.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk, making him even more handsome. Goddamn it. I hate him even more.

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