-Jennie-
Every day, without fail, my hot neighbor tells me good morning.
And, every morning, I tell her to fuck off.
Today will be no different.
"Good morning, Jennie!"
The abrupt sound of her voice cuts through the morning air and slices away my good mood. Her voice brims with authority and I clench my jaw in irritation. Her voice and I share a love-hate relationship. It makes my panties wet, but I wish it belonged to someone who wasn't an asshole.
I rush down the stairs, my coffee mug clutched in my hand, and speed-walk towards my car. I pause on my way for what I give in to every morning, and my pride flips me off the second I cast a glance in her direction.
I can't restrain myself. Her voice demands attention, as if she were a queen, and shamelessly, I need to worship the view of her. She's standing in her daily spot on her porch. Gray sweatpants hang low on her waist, the drawstring loosely tied. My pride then rolls in its grave when my thighs clench together under my pencil skirt as my gaze falls to the skin disappearing beneath the waistband. Her dark-colored hair is a tousled mess, as if someone were pulling it all night—which wouldn't be a shocker to the world. There's been a regular cycle of women coming and going from her home.
She's Blue Beech's favorite. It's unfortunate the people who worship her don't know what a terrible person she is. This crazy-attractive person has done nothing but ruin my life and reputation.
My cheeks blush when she confirms she caught me checking her out with a mischievous smile.
"Fuck off!" I yell when I pass her.
She ignores my response and whistles loudly as if I'd catcalled her back. "Looking professional today, babe. I prefer today's skirt to yesterday's. It's tighter. Shorter. Sexier."
Arrogant prick.
I grip the door handle and stop before getting in. It's a dangerous game to play with her, but I can't stop myself. "I don't care what you prefer, jerk. I don't dress to please you."
Mental note: buy fifty of the skirts worn yesterday and burn this one.
I slide into my car while ignoring her laughter, slam the door shut, and situate my bag and coffee. I hold my hand up and flip the bird when I cruise past her. She only laughs.
Kim Jisoo, the person I've despised since sophomore year of high school, moved into the house next door three months, six days, and twenty hours ago. The jerk wore out her welcome within five seconds.
Correction: she was never welcome in my neighborhood.
If I had known the world's biggest jackass was shacking up next door, I'd have burned it to the ground. Being around her is the equivalent of menstrual cramps.
Her irritating morning game began our first day as neighbors. She scared the shit out of me the first few times, and I made a fool of myself—tripping, spilling my coffee on my white blouse, spraining my ankle once.
Initially, I ignored her, assuming it'd last a few days, but here we are—three months into me possibly being on my way to prison for neighbor homicide.
Jisoo does it for her sick entertainment.
The woman gets off on making me miserable.
I brake at a Stop sign and scrub my hands over my face while taking a deep breath. If there's any day I don't want to deal with her bullshit, it's today. I've been dreading this day, stabbed it on my desk calendar with a red pen as if it'd declared when I'd die.
