Bad Neighbor - Single Mom Fake Fiance Romance

Thirty blocks. I had counted them as they had gone by the bus window. Thirty blocks between the diner and the apartment building. With no money for the bus, I started to walk, planning to take it one block at a time.

It was getting progressively darker with each passing intersection. By the time we got back, it was pitch black, and the crickets were partaking in their nocturnal serenade. With each step on my worn-out feet, I hoped and prayed that this would be the last problem of the day and the last failure of the week. I wished for a miracle. This needed to end. I was exhausted, hungry and scared. Too much more and I would crumble.

My prayers fell on deaf ears.

The landlord was outside, dumping an armload of my stuff out onto the curb.

Chapter Three

Chase

Slightly tipsy but no less jovial, I made my way up the sidewalk from where the taxi let me off — the driver not quite understanding my directions. Ann and I had drunk until it was dark, as was our custom, and we decided to share a cab.

Ann lived much closer to the bar than I did. As I understood it, she owned her own house, where she lived with her son, stepdaughter, and husband. I really couldn’t understand the appeal — since Etta turned me off of commitments — but she seemed happy with the arrangement.

Shouts hit my ears before I had even crested the hill. Evictions were a common enough scene in this part of town, and I had a good idea of what was happening before I arrived. Sure enough, I was right, though I was a bit surprised by the exact circumstances.

There were piles of stuff on the sidewalk next to my building. It all looked haphazardly thrown as if it was trash and not some poor woman’s possessions. An old crib was slumping into the road. It would cause a mess of trouble in the morning.

“You said I had until the end of the month!” protested the attractive, young single mom who lived across the hall from me. She had been there with her daughter for about six months. We had never really spoken except passing in the hallway, but I had already gathered that her name was Ashlyn. She was in her early twenties, despite looking more like she was in her teens, and her kid was named Katie. I wasn’t particularly trying to pry. I could just be really observant with my neighbors —especially when the neighbor had a figure that could stop traffic.

“And it is the end of the month,” I heard the greasy landlord snap, in a classic dick move. “But I’m looking for a job!” Ashlyn protested. “Do you have one?” The landlord asked, looking like he knew full well that she didn’t. “Well, no but—” “You’re not looking hard enough, then,” the jerk said, dropping another load of what I assumed to be her stuff on the curb. “I’ll get you the money!” Ashlyn cried. “How? Turning tricks?” the landlord snarled. “Either way, you won’t get paid in time to pay off your back rent by Sunday, so why waste time? Better to get it done now, so it is over with, like pulling off a band-aid. I need paying renters in this unit, not some lazy bitch.”

It could have been how needlessly mean he was being — the ‘turning tricks’ comment was really uncalled for — or how desperate she was, or even his flagrant disrespect for the law. Deadlines were not really subject to revision on the grounds of personal convince. Either way, something happened inside my head, and I found myself marching with newfound clarity into the scene.

“Excuse me, is there a problem?” I asked, heading straight for the landlord. “Nothing that won’t be solved soon,” the landlord snapped and gestured with his head for me to leave them alone.

Despite his bullshit front, I saw the jerk take half a step back as most men did when they saw me coming toward them. Including bailiffs, cops, opposing council, even a few judges. It was easy to understand why. I was well over six feet tall, with the build of a retired, well-trained soldier and had a facial structure which gave me what even my dearest friends called ‘resting psycho face’ like I might just start stabbing someone at any time. An impression reinforced by the slim, white scar on my forehead above my left eyebrow. A souvenir from my time as a guest of the Taliban.

I didn’t think the landlord knew how he reacted, but it didn’t matter. I had seen it and already knew that I had an advantage. The bastard was scared.

“By dumping more on the curb?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure that is illegal, by the way.” “This worthless bitch didn’t pay her fuckin’ rent. So, I get to throw her ass out and free up the apartment for someone who will pay the fuckin’ rent,” the landlord said as though quoting scripture.