The Men Next Door

Ch 4 - Luca

I woke up the morning after meeting Campbell with a wicked headache. Instead of drifting off into dreamland, I was up and at 'em doing fuck all for most of the night. Not by choice, really, but because my brain wouldn't shut up.

ADHD can go to hell.

When I finally mustered up enough energy to grab my phone off the nightstand, a text from Brooks was waiting on the screen.

Brooks: Come over when you get up. Let's talk.

I swear, this fucker sounded like my dad at times.

Me: No, fuck you

Me: Omw in 30

He sent back a middle finger emoji, and I laughed to myself. I was grateful for our friendly banter.

We were an unlikely pair who probably never would've linked up if we hadn't moved in on the same day a few years ago. But now? I couldn't imagine life without the guy. Shout out to, fate, God, the universe, or whoever set that one up.

I rolled out of bed and threw on some sweatpants, then hobbled to the kitchen to get some water and an Advil. As much as I loved Brooks, I couldn't take one of his 'talks' until this headache went away.

Like I said, the fucker sounded like my dad at times.

Once I finally nixed the pain, I headed for apartment 5C. My eyes lingered on Bella's door on the way over, and I absent-mindedly wondered if she was inside unpacking or out exploring the city. I didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because Brooks' overly-stressed expression demanded my attention the second that I waltzed inside.

Shit, it's too early for his brooding.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "And I thought I was in rough shape this morning."

"I texted you at like, 7:00 —" he glanced down at his watch and his nostrils flared "— and it's already 10:45."

I held my hands up in surrender. "Woah, woah, big guy. First off, 10:45 is a perfectly acceptable time to wake up on a Sunday. Second, I only slept for like three hours. And third, what in the actual fuck has got you this worked up before noon?"

He sighed and walked over to the couch. "Campbell does."

"What about her?" I asked skeptically.

"Her, me, you, us, I don't know," Brooks explained in exasperation.

I still didn't understand and looked at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

"We're both attracted to her," he said dryly, like that was supposed to mean something to me.

I furrowed my brows. "No shit. So what's the problem here? We have a hot new neighbor. Sure as hell beats that Dewey dude who lived here before."

"The problem," he emphasized, "is that we're both into her. And it's already some sort of game in your head. 'May the better man win?'" he asked pointedly, quoting me from the day before.

"Okay, I hear you. I was just trying to get under your skin with that comment. I didn't mean anything by it." After a beat, I smirked and added, "Clearly it worked."

He stared at me with squinted eyes, pretending to be angry. The man was a lover, not a fighter, and I didn't think he had it in him to yell at me even if I fucked up the order of his meticulously organized desk.

"I just don't want her to get fucked over while we try to one-up each other," Brooks noted. "We're competitive as hell, and we're going to get jealous of each other. The smile literally fell off your face last night when she said she was glad I stuck around in the city."