Page 51 of All Twerk, No Play

Cruz

“Anoisecomplaint?Yousure?” I confirmed when Rodriguez called my work phone on Saturday night about a sound in his vents.

“For over an hour. It’s … damn, man, it’s painful.”

Although I was off-duty, I sprinted upstairs to the fifth floor, telling myself that he must be mistaken. For two months, I’d hoped to hear her sing again.

I guess my prayers should have been more specific.

The synthesizers hit like a gut punch when Rodriguez opened the door, and Victoria's voice joined in with lyrics about giving up after heartbreak. Disgusted shivers broke out along my skin as I choked out, “Is that fucking ABBA?”

And yet, even with all her high notes rolling sharp as she slurred along to 'The Winner Takes It All' … my cock swelled at her raspy voice. My brain told it to chill out, trying desperately not to make an association that could pop a boner for ‘Dancing Queen.’

Rodriguez winced at the vents as she missed a high note by a mile. "Are you sure you can handle it? Maybe I should just call the cops."

I gripped his shoulder in solidarity. “Don't. I'll take care of this ABBA-mergency.”

"I don't know, Cruz. She's hot, and you think you can win everybody over with that dumb grin," he said, and I flashed it at him, "but maybe the bite isn't worth the venom, you know?"

"Tell you what, if she's still singing in half an hour, call the cops."

He wished me luck to the cadence of awful lyrics—seriously, who rhymes ‘gods throw dice’ and ‘minds like ice’?—and I knocked on her door uncertainly. “Ms. Blackstone?”

No reaction, aside from an overdramatic retelling of the judges deciding and the singer abiding. Seriously, these lyrics were garbage.

I knocked louder, hollering her name.

“I’m coming, hold your horses,” she slurred before swinging the door open, leaning so heavily on the doorknob I wondered if it held her up.

Her silk blouse was untucked from her trousers and her hair was falling out of her bun. Bloodshot silver eyes glared through smudged mascara.

I lifted my hands. “I’m here about a noise complaint.”

Her nostrils flared. “I can’t sing in my own apartment?”

She stumbled back into her kitchen, muttering about how if she lived in a McMansion nobody would fucking mind. I stepped in, closing the door to make sure the cat didn’t escape. Her kitchen counter held her up as she squinted at the phone in her hand, jabbing a manicured finger at the screen, increasingly agitated with each missed swipe.

I thought her phone would crack under her tight grip, so I reached over to press the stop button. Blissful silence—and maybe a muffled thanks hollered through the vents from Rodriguez.

“Satisfied, you fun killer?” Victoria snarled, hands on her hips.

I started towards the door as she reached for a tumbler next to an almost empty liquor bottle. “Everything ok,Cobrita?”

“Don’t fuckingCobritame,” she snapped, the liquid sloshing out of her glass. “Go find somebody your age who can deal with your cute nicknames and irresistible smile, and forget about me. Everybody else has.”

Oof, there was a lot to unpack there … including ‘irresistible smile.’

“Ok, Victoria,” I said, noticing her hazy gaze on my biceps before she distracted herself with a drink. “I’ll leave.” Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Once I know you’re ok.” And they tensed right back up. “Is there somebody I can call for you? I think I have Alex’s—”

“The last thing I need is him and his fucking fiancée shoving their happiness in my face.”

Oh. Well that explained a lot.

But she wasn’t done. “Next thing you know, they’ll have a house full of kids and even adopt a golden fucking retriever to make their perfect fucking happy ending.” She leveled a finger at me, and I caught a whiff of her whiskey breath. “No, she’d adopt the mangiest mutt at the shelter, that fucking saint.”

She reached again for the bottle, giving a generous pour. I reached around to snag it out of her hand. "Looks fancy, whatcha drinking?"

"Pappy Van Winkle," she answered, stopping her pour to look fondly at the label. "I wanted a classic Manhattan but they overtightened the vermouth and I didn't have any bitters."

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