Page 47 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

“And what do they have to say about it?”

“Not much.”

“So, what, they just think you’re that good at running a well-oiled machine from the shop and not killing yourself at night?”

“No. They know I work from home sometimes.”

“Do they know how often?”

I sigh. “What difference does it make to you how much time I spend working?”

“Because it wears you out and makes you overworked and you start acting extra assy.”

I lift my brows. “Did you just call me an ass?”

“Assy, but yes.”

My lips twitch, amused. “Well then.”

He doesn’t look sorry, and I like that he doesn’t look sorry. That he sticks to his guns. That he’s not afraid to call me on my shit when I’m being a brat, which is probably often.

“Just calling it like I see it.” He lifts his shoulders. “I’ve known you for a year now and, in that time, you’ve grown more and more irritable. Maybe it’s time for a vacation.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you ever stop to think that the reason is you?”

“No. I’m a fucking angel.”

“If you mean in the sense that Lucifer was once an angel, you have that right.”

He snorts, diving back into his bag of belongings. “Hilarious coming from you, Little Miss Call the Landlord because my music is too loud instead of just, I don’t know, knocking on my door like a normal neighbor would.”

“What? I’ve never called Lucy on you.”

He peeks at me over his shoulder, his eyes in narrowed slits. “Puh-lease. Don’t try to act all innocent now.”

“I’m serious, Dean. I have never called Lucy on you. I’ve wanted toa lotbut never could bring myself to do it. Other than banging on your wall, that afternoon of the fire was the first time I acted on your obnoxiousness.”

He stares at me, thick brows lifted.

They slowly drop back down as the realization that I’m not lying hits him.

Does he think I’m that petty? That I’d snitch to our building manager over his music being too loud?

Have I wanted to complain to Lucy about his loud music and generally insufferable behavior? Hell yes. Every damn day.

But it wasn’t me.

“Then who did?”

“Not sure, but I’d love to meet them and shake their hand. Your music taste sucks.”

“You can’t say that if you don’t like music.” Shaking his head, he pushes to his feet again, stretches his arms back over his head, and strips his shirt off in one swift movement.

My jaw drops just as easily as his clothes slid off.

He’s standing not ten feet away from me without a shirt on andoh my sweet baby Jesus.

If I thought his body was impressive when it was covered, I was wrong. Dean’s back is nothing but corded muscles, the lines defined and sexy.

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