Chapter 3 ..

Lucia’s POV

I pace around my room like a lunatic, waiting for Mr. Next Door to come back from the gym.

I’ve peeked through my peephole at least a hundred times, but there’s still no sign of him.

Is he still working out? What’s he trying to sculpt a Greek god just to walk around shirtless and smug?

Why is he even gone this long?

I can’t wait for him to return. The moment I hear his key in the door, I’m pulling out my violin. And this time? Oh, I’m going full torture mode.

Screechy, off-key, loud. I’ll make sure he cries his ears out.

And when he comes banging on my door? I won’t even answer. Let him suffer. I’ll keep annoying him until he moves out. Doesn’t he have a big attitude? Well, I’ll make him pay for it.

Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

Walking around like some big shot with that stupid jawline, those stupid arms, and that dumb “I’m too good for violin music” attitude. Blasting loud music like it’s perfectly fine, but my violin is the problem?

Please. My cat Kinny, may he rest in peace, loved my playing. My grandmother used to say I had the hands of an angel. So who the hell does this gym-addicted music snob think he is? I wasn’t even able to work out yesterday because of him, and today he’s decided to spend the whole evening at the gym?

He’s not getting a wink of sleep tonight. Not on my watch.

Suddenly, my phone rings, snapping me out of my spiral. I smile when I see the name of my best friend, Freya.

“Hey, Frey. I miss you.”

“I miss you more, Lulu! What’s up with you? Have you been able to paint anything today?”

I let out a dramatic sigh. “Nothing yet. I’m still blocked.”

“Aww, bestie. Don’t push it, okay? Just take your time. It’ll come back.”

“It’s so hard, Frey.” I groan, pulling my hair into a messy fist.

“I know,” she says softly. “But don’t stress it too much. Don’t burn yourself out.”

I slump back onto my bed, exhausted. “How are you?”

“I’m good! What are you up to right now?”

“Oh, just waiting for Mr. Next Door to come back from the gym so I can torture his ears tonight.”

She laughs, full and loud. “Lulu! Leave that man alone! Why not just be friendly for once? You need a man in your life. Imagine your neighbor's built-in cuddle buddy.”

“Frey, what the hell? Are you seriously trying to hook me up with that grumpy-ass man?”

“You said he’s hot! Didn’t you call him ‘body of an athlete’ and everything?” she squeals. “Ugh, I need to see him.”

“I did say that, but guess what? His attitude slapped me in the face.”

“Oh, come on. Soften up a little. Your vagina needs some cream.”

“Frey”

“I’m serious! Think about it. You could use Mr. Next Door as inspiration for that half-finished canvas.”

“HOW?!” I groan, rolling my eyes so hard they almost get stuck.

“He’s hot. He could make you horny. And maybe that’ll bring your spark back.”

“Frey, shut up. He’s an asshole. I don’t want him.”

“Maybe he’s only mean because he’s horny too.”

“There’s no way he’s single. But if he is? With that attitude? No wonder.”

“Lulu, listen he could wake your pussy from the dead. Use him and stop being a headache for him. You need some spicy romance in your life. Especially you, it's been two years, Lu.”

I roll my eyes. “Get off my phone.”

She cackles. “I gotta go anyway. Saving lives and curing diseases, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go be a superhero, Doctor Freya, and leave your emotionally unstable bestie alone.”

I chew on my bottom lip, considering her words. It’s… not a bad idea. But Mr. Next Door? That grumpy, infuriating man? I can’t picture myself in any kind of relationship with him.

“No.” I shake my head, shoving the thought away.

Besides, I don’t even get horny anymore. That part of me died the day my stupid ex crushed it. So thanks, but no thanks.

My phone buzzes again.

“Ugh, what now?” I mutter, grabbing it. It’s an email from my aunt and an invitation to my cousin’s wedding.

There’s no way I’m going to that wedding, I seethe out loud.

Jim will be there. Of course he will. All my ex-classmates have been friends with my cousin since high school. That whole wedding is basically a high school reunion, one giant reminder of everything I’d rather forget.

Sure, I’m doing fine. I’m recognized for my erotic art. I could show up and rub it in their faces, just like they try to flaunt their picture-perfect lives in mine.

But do I really want to go through that? That exhausting game of “look how far I’ve come,” pretending I don’t care about what anyone else thinks?

No. Hell no. That’s a hard pass. I need an excuse I’m not going.

After nearly three hours of boredom, I finally throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs, just to see, casually, if Mr. Grumpy is still there.

Sure enough, there he is brooding, sweaty, shirtless.

He’s slamming a weighted medicine ball into the ground, over and over, like he’s trying to murder the floor. His muscles ripple with each throw. Veins bulge down his arms, and he makes this low grunt with every lift.

And when he switches to doing thrusts with a barbell across his shoulders… holy hell. That movement looks so… obscene. Each controlled thrust forward is too smooth, too rhythmic. It’s giving bedroom energy and I hate how much I notice it. Even worse? A tingle deep in my core.

Nope. Absolutely not. I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it.

But before I can look away, he glances over his shoulder, and our eyes meet.

Shit.

It feels like he’s been watching me. There’s something about the way he looks at me like he can see through me, even when his back is turned. Like he knows I’m here, watching him, thinking the same thing.

My stomach flips, heat rushing to my face. He caught me staring. I’m so embarrassed.

I spin around so fast I nearly crash into a treadmill.

Just great. Now I can never come to this gym again. I grit my teeth, regretting ever coming down here. I don’t even want to imagine what he thinks of me right now.