Chapter 2
How in the hell had he run out of food? Trevor wondered as he looked in the freezer again, hoping there was something hiding behind the ice cube trays to eat.
There wasn't.
Well, there was a box of baking soda that his Aunt Megan had shoved in there a few months ago when he bought the place, but he wasn't willing to risk having his stomach pumped, again. With a frustrated groan he closed the freezer door and looked out the kitchen window.
He really didn't feel like going out in this shit, but he was starving and he didn't have any choice. Of course he could order food, except for the fact that he was still on the banned list for most of the delivery places.
Bastards.
As tired as he was he knew he had to move his ass if he was going to make it to the grocery store before it closed. He headed upstairs, stripping off his sweat soaked tee shirt, work boots, and jeans as he went, noting that it looked like every piece of clothing he owned was scattered around his apartment.
Time to do the laundry, he mused as he walked into the bathroom. After he relieved himself and flushed the toilet he could have sworn he heard a squeal. Shrugging it off, he turned the shower on and cursed up a storm at the low water pressure. He'd have to fix that, but right now he was just glad that the water was nice and hot, helping to relieve the ache in his sore muscles.
Another loud squeak had his eyebrows arching. It wasn't like his normally quiet tenant to blast the television, but as long it didn't interrupt his sleep he'd let it go. After a quick shower he pulled on a semi clean pair of jeans and grabbed his mesh laundry bag and started collecting clothes off doors, counters, the back of the toilet and headed downstairs.
"What the f*ck?" he mumbled when he saw the mud all over his newly tiled hallway floor. Had he done that? His eyes darted to the ugly ass welcome mat his tenant had placed near the front door and felt his lips pull up into a shit eating grin. A few more weeks and he'd have the damn thing completely covered.
He made his way towards the basement door, wondering why the hell she'd bought the damn thing. The inbred looking dogs with buggy eyes gave him the f*cking creeps. A few weeks ago he threw the damn thing in the trash and replaced it with a Yankees floor mat only to have his aunt toss his floor mat away and return that hideous f*cking thing. It didn't matter that he owned the house. His aunt thought the mat was "cute" and it was staying or she would never cook for him again.
He was really starting to get sick of women trying to control him through food. Not that he was going to bitch and risk losing out on his aunt's chicken pot pie, he wasn't a f*cking moron after all, but it would be nice if women would stop using his weakness against him. The Bradford appetite was a disability, damn it and should be treated as such.
It seemed that every girlfriend he'd ever had from Jenny in the fifth grade to whatever the hell her name was last year all tried to control him with food once they discovered that it was his weakness. Although, he could forgive Jenny for bribing him with candy bars to beat the shit out of her brothers, they were a*sholes after all, but the rest of them truly pissed him off.
Not that he could fault them for wanting to marry him, he couldn't. He was a Bradford after all, but he didn't appreciate their f*cking games. How many times had a woman hinted at marriage while she held a casserole under his nose or woke him up with breakfast in bed, musing how nice it would be to do that for him every day? Then when he didn't drop down on one knee and propose they'd withhold all those tasty treats they'd promised him. When a woman started the marriage bullshit he sat them down and explained that they didn't quite live up to his standards, which for some reason always earned him a slap and a denial for more delicious tasty treats.
When he got married, and he would one day, it would be to his perfect woman, the woman who met each and every one of his requirements. So far no woman had come close.
His perfect woman would be the best cook. She'd be able to whip him up a cake at a moment's notice and would never deny him any of her delicious treats no matter how badly he pissed her off, and he probably would, every day. She'd also be tall, hot, and have a body that left him panting for more.
She'd also have to be financially well off. Not that he minded supporting his wife, he wouldn't. He just didn't want a woman too dependent or needy. He wasn't interested in being anyone's sugar daddy. He wanted a wife that could function completely without him and wouldn't give a damn when he made last minute plans to go to New Hampshire for some fishing or decided to stay out late with the guys. She'd have to come from a big family so she wouldn't rely on him too much and so she'd have someone to bitch to at the end of the day and leave him the hell alone.
His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he needed to move his ass. He made his way to the laundry room and dropped his bag by the machine and ran his fingers through his damp hair to push it out of his eyes. That reminded him that he needed a haircut. If he didn't get held over tomorrow night, which wasn't looking very likely since they were trying to bust their asses to complete the Madison project, he'd swing by Henry's and get his customary cut.
After dropping his quarters in the machine he removed the basket left on top of the washer, not really giving it much thought, and went to pick up his bag of clothes only to realize that he was out of laundry soap and would have to pick some up tonight. He really didn't feel like staying up half the night doing laundry since he had to be up by six in the morning and have his ass at work by seven.
With a shrug he grabbed the laundry soap out of the basket, figuring that she'd never miss it and quickly poured the soap into the washing machine.
"Oops," he sighed when he realized that was the last of it. With a careless shrug he tossed the now empty container back on the basket, making a mental note to pick up another bottle for her at the grocery store.
He quickly dumped his clothes into the washing machine, not bothering to let it suds up since he was so damn hungry and made his way back upstairs just as his neighbor was stepping out of her apartment with a handful of clothes.
"How's it going?" he said, heading for his door and not really in the mood to speak with her. Not that he was a snob, he wasn't. He just didn't like to deal with tenants. That's why he had his aunt deal with all their bullshit. He owned four apartment houses and only made an appearance when something needed to be fixed or he found out one of them was giving his aunt shit.
When he bought this place he'd planned on leaving the second unit empty until he found some time to remodel it, but after his aunt suggested that one of his pain in the ass cousins should move in, he'd decided damn quickly to rent it out. He'd given his aunt a list of strict rules and this woman was the only one who'd been willing to agree to them.
From what he heard a lot of the people that looked at the place bitched and whined over his list, but he didn't give a f*ck. This was his house and he wasn't about to put up with any bullshit. If they wanted to have their friends over at all hours of the night, have parties, or blast their music then they could keep f*cking walking, because he wasn't having it. After working a twelve hour day all he wanted to do was come home to a nice quiet house and relax.
Thankfully this woman followed his rules so he never had to bother her or kick her ass out. He had to admit that the extra income was nice. Granted it only covered half his grocery bill, but hey, every little penny counted.
"Hi," she mumbled quickly as she walked past him. He paused to look over his shoulder and frowned. She was short, chubby, pale, and plain, but she was without a doubt the best tenant he'd ever had. Maybe he should make that the requirement for all his tenants, he thought with a chuckle.
He was just about to open his apartment door when a knock at the front door caught his attention. Grumbling, he walked over to the door, hoping his tenant wouldn't be making a habit of having people over after eight, and opened the door. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he spotted the familiar pizza logo on the guy's shirt.
"Is this 23 Bedford Street?" the kid asked.
Trevor nodded dumbly as his eyes took in the oversized pizza box Black Jack's was famous for and the small cardboard box on top of it. He sniffed, allowing his Bradford senses to do its thing and in seconds knew that he had a "Monster" and a large chicken tenders inches from his grasp.
His fingers twitched with the need to yank the food out of the guy's hands and make a run for it.
"That'll be $26.50. I'm sorry it took so.....wait a minute," the guy said, frowning. "You're not a Bradford, are you?" he asked, quickly taking in Trevor's dark hair, good looks, and large muscular build.
"No, no of course I'm not," Trevor said quickly, fully prepared to tackle the bastard if tried to leave with his food. Granted, that may have been one of the reasons why he was placed on the banned list at Black Jacks, but they really should have known better than to show up at his door at eleven at night with someone else's order. Besides he'd only scared the hell out of the guy, there was no real harm done, at least that's what the Judge decided.
He wasn't exactly sure what the rest of the men in his family did to earn a place on the banned list, but he could guess.
The man took a small step back and Trevor prepared to lunge. He gestured with his chin towards the mailbox. "It says Bradford on the mailbox."
"That's my neighbor," he said, forcing himself to remain calm as he pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulled out two twenties and handed them to the guy who was still looking unsure about the whole thing. "Keep the change."
That seemed to make up the man's mind. He handed Trevor the food and a two litter bottle of Coke and smiled. "Thank you, sir. You have a nice night."
"I will now," Trevor mumbled as his mouth watered. He closed the door and turned around only to find his little tenant standing in front of him, glaring at the food in his hands.
"Is that my order?" she demanded as she pushed a strand of her wet mahogany hair behind her ear, narrowing her baby blue eyes on his face.
"Um, no?" he cleared his throat, realizing that sounded more like a question. "This is my order."
"Oh." She frowned. "Sorry," she mumbled, heading back to her apartment. He wasn't too surprised that she didn't bitch about him stealing the washer from her. She never bitched, making her his favorite kind of tenant.
He walked into his apartment and shut the door, eager to dig into his food. He set the food down on the coffee table and turned on the game, which was thankfully still in the second inning, and headed to the kitchen for a glass and a handful of napkins.
Just as he was about to sit down and help himself to the first slice someone knocked on his door. Having a pretty good idea who it was, he ignored it and sat down. The knocking continued for another minute before it thankfully stopped. He picked up a thick slice of that beautiful pizza and almost wept. It had been too damn long since he'd had a slice of the most perfect pizza ever made.
He was just about to take a bite when the slice of pizza was ripped out of his hands. It took him a minute to realize what the hell had just happened and by the time he did his eyes were narrowing dangerously on his frumpy little neighbor as she tossed the slice of pizza back in the box and closed it. Then she placed the box of chicken tenders on top and picked them both up and headed for the door only to pause and return for the bottle of soda.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
"Getting my order. I called. Not only did you not order this, but apparently you're on some sort of banned list," she said, heading for the door.
Trevor was up and over the couch in seconds, blocking her way. "That's my food!" he snapped.
"No, it's not!"
"Yes, it is!"
"I ordered it!"
"So what? I paid for it. Put it back and get the hell out of my apartment!"
Her eyes narrowed on him as she squared her shoulders. "Look, I've put up with a lot of crap from you over the past two months, but stealing my Black Jack's pizza after I had the worst day of my life is the last straw. So I really don't give a damn if you go crying to your aunt and whine about this and get me evicted. I'm taking my pizza home and I'm going to enjoy it."
A lot of what she said and how she said it pissed him off, but he forced himself to focus as he reached out and snatched the pizza from her hands, earning a surprised gasp and a rather cute little growl as he moved away from her. She of course stalked after him, he would too. It was Black Jack's pizza after all.
"What the hell have I put you through? I've been a f*cking perfect neighbor," he pointed out, sidestepping her as she tried to snatch away his chicken tenders.
She snorted at that. "Puhlease."
"I have!"
"Really?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her faded blue tee shirt and rather large chest.
"Yes, really!" he snapped back, forcing his eyes away from her chest. Shit. If he was checking out a woman like her it really had been too long since the last time he got laid.
For some reason she took that as her cue to share. "You park in my spot so that I'm forced to park on the street. I've gotten four parking tickets thanks to you," she said, making him frown. "You steal my paper every morning. You run the water when I'm taking a shower, leaving me to freeze my ass off and with no water pressure! You blast your television all night. You're loud and so are your friends. Every time I go to use the washing machine you steal it or worse, you take my clothes out of the drier before they're dry and throw them on top of my dirty clothes."
When he opened his mouth to argue she continued, cutting him off. "And every night you watch porn!" she said accusingly, and he swore he felt his cheeks burn. F*ck. This was embarrassing. Well, at least she didn't say-
"And you're loud. Really loud," she stressed, further pissing him off.
"Look, no one stopped you from telling me all this shit before. You wouldn't have gotten any of those tickets if you had just opened your f*cking mouth and asked me to move my truck. Same deal goes for the water. How the hell was I supposed to know you were having a problem with your water if you didn't tell me?" he demanded, not mentioning any of the other things since they just made him look bad.
"Why in the hell would I tell you about the water?" she demanded, trying to steal his pizza.
"Because I'm the landlord!" he snapped, yanking the pizza away from her sneaky little hands.
"No, you're not," she snorted, trying to steal his pizza again.
"Call up my aunt if you think I'm lying. I own this house," he said, stepping away, but not fast enough. The damn woman stole his chicken fingers.
She considered him for a long moment while he tried to figure out how to steal back his precious chicken tenders. "Why would you have your aunt pretend she's the landlord?"
"Because I hate dealing with tenants," he said, switching the pizza to one hand and swiping out with the other to grab the small box away from her. She simply moved it back and out of his reach.
"Well," she said, sighing, "then I guess you're the one I should inform that I'm probably going to have to move out in a month."
"Fine," he bit out, glaring at the box in her hands. If she tried to leave with his chicken tenders so help him he would-
"Okay, so give me back my pizza," she said, holding her hands out expectantly.
"No. You give me back my chicken tenders."
"No."
Something in him snapped. He wasn't sure if it was from hunger, the embarrassment from knowing that she could hear him at night, or just the bullshit in general, but he said something he regretted before the last syllable left his mouth.
"It's not like you need it."