ILove To Hate You

Dangerous

Anastasia

I turned around and leaned against the door for a second like I needed to reboot my brain. Did that really just happen? Was I just hit on by a tight-shirt-wearing cop at 7 a.m. in the morning?

This neighborhood was definitely weird already.

I walked back into the living room and plopped on the couch, letting out a dramatic groan. My head tilted back as I stared at the ceiling like it owed me rent. It didn’t. But still.

My phone buzzed.

Naomi 💄

“You alive b***h?”

She always texted like I was five seconds from dying.

Me:

“Barely. Damon saved my freezing ass last night. And guess what? I moved in next door 🙃”

Three seconds later—

Naomi 💄

“YOU WHATTTTTTTT”

“Like… next door?? As in… literal next door???”

“Girl, blink twice if you need me to drive over there with holy water.”

I sighed and dropped the phone on my chest. She wasn’t wrong to be dramatic. Being neighbors with Damon Santiago was either the start of a rom-com or a psychological thriller. Possibly both.

A knock came from the door.

I groaned again. “If this is another cop with great biceps, I’m suing.”

I opened the door.

No biceps. Just Damon, holding two coffee cups in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, already walking in like it was his damn house. His hair was messy in that effortless, I-woke-up-perfect kind of way. His t-shirt clung to his chest like it was designed for torture.

“Didn’t ask you to come over,” I said, watching as he brushed past me and dropped the coffee and bag on my kitchen counter.

“You never ask. That’s kind of your thing,” he muttered, cracking open the bag and pulling out a croissant. “You hungry or just grumpy?”

“I’m grumpy because you’re here.”

“You’re welcome, Beverly,” he said casually, taking a sip of his coffee like he hadn’t just insulted me with a smile.

I rolled my eyes so hard I might’ve seen my ancestors.

“I don’t remember asking for coffee,” I said, even as I reached for it. It was the good kind too. Expensive. Not the sad, watery kind I make at home.

“You didn’t ask. You just looked like someone who’d forget to eat until 3 p.m. and then wonder why you passed out,” he said, leaning against my counter like he lived here.

Was it bad that he wasn’t wrong?

I sipped.

Okay. Damn him. It was perfect.

I tried not to look at him, but he was doing that thing again existing. In my space. With his jawline and his arms and his stupid calm voice that somehow got under my skin like a splinter.

“You know, just because I live next door now doesn’t mean you have to hover,” I said, setting the cup down.

He looked up at me, eyes cool and unreadable. “Hovering? You think this is hovering?”

“You’re in my apartment before 9 a.m., Damon.”

“Yeah. And?” he said, like that was normal.

I narrowed my eyes. “Do you do this to all your neighbors?”

He let out a short laugh. “Trust me, Beverly. You’re the only neighbor who manages to make breakfast feel like a tactical mission.”

My stomach growled, betraying me like the traitor it was. Damon raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding the other croissant toward me.

I took it. Begrudgingly. And bit in.

Silence stretched between us. Not awkward, just… loaded. Like we were both trying to figure out where the line was, and if either of us wanted to cross it.

“You slept okay?” he asked suddenly, voice softer.

I blinked. “Yeah. I mean, other than tripping over a box and thinking I broke my butt. Pretty decent.”

“Good,” he said simply. “If anyone gives you trouble around here, you tell me.”

There it was again. That weird protective thing he did. Like he was pissed at the world but still ready to throw hands for me.

I swallowed. “You always this territorial, or is it just me?”

His jaw tensed slightly. He didn’t answer right away. Then

“Just you.”

My breath caught for a half-second too long, and I hated that it did.

I stood up quickly. “Alright, this is too much for before 9 a.m. I’m still in a robe. You can leave now.”

He chuckled under his breath but grabbed his cup and walked to the door.

Right before stepping out, he turned and added, “Don’t forget to eat lunch. Or I’m coming back with something.”

“Don’t threaten me,” I said with a glare.

He winked. “Wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”

And then he was gone.

I slammed the door and leaned against it again.

God. Living next to Damon Santiago was going to kill me.

Or worse make me fall for him.

And that was way more dangerous.