Page 2 of The Arrangement

“I just wanted to say you gave me a run for my money during that last final.” I smiled, my heart so full and light I could have floated away right then and there.

Sebastian looked down at me. Even though I was over 5’7, he dwarfed me, making me feel unusually small—something that didn’t happen often.

He took my hand stiffly, looking unimpressed. “Yeah, you too, um…Grace.” I pulled my hand away quickly, opening my mouth just to shut it immediately.

Whatever, he was just a stupid boy anyway. And I was going to be a writer in a big city where I’d never see his stupid face ever again.

Chapter 1

Georgia

Ihatedmy next-door neighbor. As I put my book down and glanced at my phone, I inwardly seethed at seeing it was well past ten p.m. at this point. My thin wood door did nothing to smother the sounds of rhythmic groans and gasps from across the narrow hall. Having lived in this particular apartment complex for over three years—not to mention my time in my youth—I had been happy with my next-door neighbor, Mr. Cooper who, until he moved in with his daughter about four months ago, had been the ideal tenant. Thenhemoved in.

I still remember the day the moving truck had posted up outside the ivy-covered, red brick building, inarguably blocking my car from leaving the tiny parking lot that was attached to the old building. After nearly running into me in the shared hallway with moving boxes, I decidedly, at that exact point, didn't like him.It was when he came barreling into the tiny hall that I realized just who my neighbor was: Sebastian fucking Quinn. The same guy whom I’d had the unfortunate pleasure of attending high school with. My awkward schoolyard crush had been obliterated when he hadn’t even remembered my name at graduation. Did he recognize me? I had no idea because I immediately walked to work, knowing I would have to actually interact with the asshole if I wanted his ridiculous truck tomove. Younger Georgia Clark might not have been great with confrontation, but older, more mature Georgia Clark was perhaps a bit worse.

That feeling only intensified as the days progressed, and it became glaringly apparent that he was the exact opposite of Mr. Cooper. Of course, being that Mr. Cooper was a 70-something-year-old English man and Sebastian Quinn was decidedly not an elderly man. He was annoyingly tall, loud, and apparently just as popular with women in his adulthood as he had been in Perrington, at least if the last thirty minutes of non-stop moaning was any indication. I slammed my book closed and startled my poor cat who jumped off of my lap with obvious disdain; I turned off the lights and all but stomped into my bedroom. I did, however, kick the bedroom door shut for good measure, just hoping that maybe he could hear it and perhaps get the hint. I wasn't one for confrontation, but passive aggressiveness I could do with ease.

The apartment building was only a collection of six units spanning over three floors. Most of the people had lived there for years—it was a very old building, and many had even lived here most of their lives. I was the latter, as my grandmother Mary, who had raised me, had recently been moved into an assisted living facility when it became clear I wasn't qualified to take care of her anymore. This was a fact that still didn't sit right with me, no matter how long I sat at her bedside or how many thousands of dollars I paid to cover what insurance didn't. Like my grandmother always said, growing old was an expensive, lucrative business.

I nearly sighed with relief when I heard the unmistakable click of Unit 2’s door. The building was old; the walls were thin. And everyone heard everything. Doors shutting, people yelling, or cats meowing. Or moaning. Or bed frames slamming against walls. Everything. I knew way more about my neighbors’ nocturnal guests than any good neighbor should.

A ball of black and white fur, commonly known as Hannah, leaped from the floor to lay beside my head. The overweight feline had a pillow designated just for her, and her evidence of habitation covered the white pillowcase no matter how many times I lint rolled it. Andnow that Hannah had settled herself on my pillow and quiet had fallen across the unit, I was finally able to close my eyes.

And then slowly, I opened them. My phone rested on my bedside table, along with my ever-growing collection of water bottles and old coffee mugs. A warmth settled in my stomach as I reached for it, the soft glow illuminating the space around me, and I hastily switched to incognito mode. I looked at Hannah before putting a pillow wall between us for propriety's sake.

"Don't judge me." I hissed at the pudge-faced cat and rolled over to type the familiar website into my browser.

www.themaskedwolfe.com

"New Video Update"scrolled across the page in bold letters.

Gnawing on my lip, I clicked the video, knowing it was only a couple-minute preview of the full video. Despite being a "fan" of Wolfe's for over a year, I had never subscribed. Sure, I had seen a livestream or two when he streamed, but I wasn't sure how I’d feel knowing an adult film site was being charged to my credit card every month.

Turning the volume down so that only I could hear it, the phone screen illuminated with a masked face of Wolfe, the over-6'3 sex worker with gold skin who, while not overly muscular, definitely wasn't skipping out at the gym. I felt my heart skip a bit when he got down on his knees, grey sweatpants straining at the bulge between his thighs. He knew what he was doing. His videos practically screamed 'female gaze.' Wolfe's large hands palmed his covered length, his head falling back to offer a view of his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed in tandem with his swallowing. There was no noise, nothing except for the rough sound of his deep breathing, courtesy of the well-placed mic I knew was sitting right out of the camera angle. As his thumbs looped into the waistband of his pants, my fingers felt their way over my peaked nipples and made their way to my underwear. As soon as Wolfe had his hands down his pants, I found my wet center. Taking a ragged breath in as he freed his cock from the confines of the grey sweatpants, I began to massage my swollen clit. He wasn't even doing anything that outrageous, just deep golden eyes staring down at the camerabehind a black mask—the only part of his face that was visible. Well, that and the rest of his tan body. My eyes traced the trail of black hair that began at his belly button and trailed down to his member, which he was currently stroking. It wasn't taking long; I already felt that pull at the base of my navel, my fingers circling faster and faster, keeping in rhythm with his strokes, his deep guttural pants coming from underneath the black mask.

"Are you touching yourself too?"Came a rough voice like it was being scraped across gravel. That was all it took, and I found myself biting into my pillow, my fingers buried deep within myself as I rode the waves of my orgasm.

Fuck.

The grunting sound of Wolfe continued from my now-abandoned phone as I panted into my pillowcase. It took me only a moment to hurriedly turn off the video and lay back feeling relieved but also ridiculous. Part of me felt weird objectifying this random stranger even though he put the video on the internet for the purpose of being objectified. But I still felt like a voyeur. I had been single for a very long time, and I couldn't remember the last time I had had sex with something that didn't have batteries. Not that it bothered me much, as I wasn't exactly looking. I had a busy job at the bookstore down the street and was currently working on my novel. Again. The book I had been working on for over two years.

"Were you a good girl?"I squeaked and grabbed the phone I thought I had turned off and immediately closed the page, feeling my cheeks burn.

But there was no one in my room to judge. This nocturnal activity was just between me and my internet browsing history.

Wolfe was my little secret.

The autumnal chillsettled over the city like a shroud. The grey skies overhead signaled the oncoming rain as I tossed on my worn black denim jacket over my sweater, pushing on a beanie to combat thefrizziness of my hair, dying for moisture in the chilly early October weather. Hannah wove around my legs, her long white fur sticking to the dark jean material as I nearly tripped over the animal.

"I'll be back this evening, love," I murmured and stroked the cat's soft coat before grabbing my tote bag, which was my book bag, grocery bag, and purse all in one.

Locking the old door behind me, I—of course—turned right as Sebastian opened his adjacent door. My skin blazed indignantly as I thought of the amorous noises that had escaped his apartment the previous night.

"Clark," he grumbled my surname as a way of greeting, running a hand through tousled black hair. I made a sound in return, “Busy night?” I snapped, maybe with a bit more venom that I had originally intended.

He wrinkled his brow when he looked at me before relaxing into a lazy smile, “Might say that.” Quinn crossed his arms, looking me over. “Got some cat hair on your pants there, Clark.”

I all but growled as I looked down. “Well, thanks for that astute observation,” I snapped, dropping my keys into my bag. “Here’s one of mine: if you could keep it down to a normal decimal, most of us are in bed at 10:00 p.m.” And without waiting for a response, I quickly made my way out of the complex.

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