Number Neighbors Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE – HANNAH

  CHAPTER TWO – HANNAH

  CHAPTER THREE – HANNAH

  CHAPTER FOUR – HANNAH

  CHAPTER FIVE – ISAAC

  CHAPTER SIX – HANNAH

  CHAPTER SEVEN – HANNAH

  CHAPTER EIGHT – HANNAH

  CHAPTER NINE – HANNAH

  CHAPTER TEN – ISAAC

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – ISAAC

  CHAPTER TWELVE – HANNAH

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – HANNAH

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – HANNAH

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – HANNAH

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – ISAAC

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – HANNAH

  EPILOGUE – HANNAH

  THE END

  COMING SOON: HOT MESS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY EMMA HART

  NUMBER NEIGHBORS

  Copyright © Emma Hart, 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design by Emma Hart

  Editing by Ellie at My Brother’s Editor

  CHAPTER ONE – HANNAH

  I Don’t Even Like Cats

  If someone had told me that at the age of twenty-five I’d be a financially stable homeowner with an eight-week-old stray kitten living in a shoebox under my stairs, I, well.

  I would have only believed the part about the kitten.

  Probably. I mean, I wasn’t particularly a cat person. You know the type: the ones who get one cat then end up with ten in the next six months and lie on the sofa every night in a giant puddle of meowy floof.

  No, I wasn’t one of those people.

  I also wasn’t entirely one hundred percent financially stable, but I could pay my mortgage and eat relatively well. By relatively well, I mean I didn’t eat take out every single night.

  Just sometimes.

  Okay, four times a week, but I totally ordered salads, too.

  A noisy meow that sounded more like a demand than anything came from the general vicinity of my feet. Glancing down, I saw a tiny black ball of fluff, one that stood out starkly against my white kitchen floor tiles. Two blue eyes looked up at me, and another large meow was accompanied by the most pathetic showing of tiny fangs I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. Somewhat stupidly, honestly. This kitten was almost always hungry.

  Another meow.

  “Fine, okay, hang on.” I reached into the cupboard and pulled out a small pouch of kitten food. More meowing accompanied as I put half of it into a stainless-steel bowl and clipped the pouch up to keep the rest of it fresh. “I’m not going to put this down if you’re going to keep yelling at me, Lucifer.”

  Yes, I called the kitten Lucifer.

  No, that wasn’t its name.

  I had no idea what to call it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it—and no matter what Immy and Grandma Jen said, it wasn’t mine just because I’d fed it.

  I didn’t even know what gender the darn thing was.

  Boy, girl… Heck, it could be a llama for all I knew.

  Obviously, that was biologically impossible, but you understand where I’m coming from.

  “I don’t know why you’ve called that thing Lucifer.” Immy joined me in the kitchen and put down her empty glass. “I think it’s sweet.”

  “You would. You aren’t the one being meowed at ten times a day for food.”

  “I’m not so sure you’re supposed to feed kittens ten times a day. That’s kids.” Fran joined us, putting down her own empty wine glass.

  I peered over my shoulder at her. “You feed Maya ten times a day?”

  “Have you ever lived with a four-year-old? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are just the main meals. There are also approximately fifty requests for snacks… and that’s between breakfast and lunch.”

  Immy snorted. “We thought you got lost on the way to get wine.”

  “I did. I got derailed by Lucifer.” I crossed the kitchen and put the bowl on top of some newspaper. Lucifer darted across the kitchen and bumped between my ankles on the way to the food. “You’re welcome,” I said dryly before turning around and heading toward the fridge.

  Immy had beaten me to it. She refilled all three glasses, draining the bottle, and winked at me.

  I took the glass with pursed lips, but I was fighting a smile. Only just—I was still trying to cope with what these assholes had made me do earlier.

  Sending a dirty text to my number neighbor wasn’t exactly in my plan for a Friday night.

  Or any night, to be perfectly honest.

  Yet they’d made me do it. They’d even done it themselves, despite being engaged and in a relationship, respectively.

  Which meant I so had blackmail material.

  I never said I was a good friend or cousin, okay? Grandma Jen would be proud of me for that little thought train. It was the kind of crap she would pull.

  Maybe if I told her this she’d let up on trying to set me up with random guys.

  Hmm.

  Food for thought.

  “Okay,” Fran said, looking at her phone. “My number neighbor’s favorite position is sleeping because he’s eighty-two. His wife wants to know if there’s an easy way to do it lying down.”

  I choked back a laugh. “There are, but it depends how wide she can open her legs.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a conversation I should continue.”

  Immy shrugged. “I vote continue.”

  “Fine, but you’re the ones buying the bleach for our ears when this goes too far.” She tapped out the response on her phone and put it down. “Now check yours.”

  Immy grabbed her phone first. “Okay, mine laughed and said cowgirl so he doesn’t have to do any work, but he’s deleting it so his girlfriend doesn’t see it.” She paused. “Why am I having this conversation with a random stranger yet I don’t know my own boyfriend’s?”

  “Because then you give up the advantage,” Fran replied. “Hannah? Did yours reply?”

  Shrugging, I reached for my phone from my table. I took a drink and nodded when I saw the new message icon. I continued sipping as I unlocked my phone and opened the message.

  Then spat my wine everywhere.

  Fran and Immy both did a double-take, staring at me for a moment before Immy burst out laughing. “What the hell was that for?”

  I coughed away the bubbles that formed in my throat and glanced at the screen again. “They said, ‘Interesting. I like doggy. What’s yours?’”

  They shared a look before they both squealed like teenagers. “This is way more exciting than our responses!” Immy almost screamed, scaring the life out of Lucifer who’d just come trotting in after eating.

  It mewled and ran right back out of the living room, knocking a ball with a bell in and sending it jingling across the floor.

  “Okay, I’m not replying to that.” I sat up straight and held out the phone. “This could be a fifty-year-old man living in his mom’s basement for all I know. It could be an underage teenager!”

  They both paused.

  Clearly, I was the only one exercising a brain cell tonight.

  “Ask,” Fran said simply.

  “Oh, yeah, because nobody is going to lie,” I replied dryly. “You’re both ridiculous. I sent the first text; I’m not carrying on.”

  “Do it, or we will,” Immy threatened.

  “I’ll kick
you,” I shot back.

  “You have the lower body strength of a newborn donkey,” my cousin replied. “I’m not worried about that. Just reply and ask.”

  “I don’t wanna.” Okay, so that was whining.

  “Just do it,” Fran said, swilling her wine around her glass. “For all you know, there’s a hot as hell guy at the end of the line and you won’t have to deal with Jen’s dates anymore.”

  “I’m not going on her dates.” I huffed out a breath and hit ‘reply.’ “Fine. I’ll reply, but I’m not answering until I know I’m not halfway to seducing a randy teenager.”

  ME: Before I answer that, I’m obligated to ask who you are. Bear in mind, I’m a divorced mother of three.

  Immy choked on her wine when I read it out loud. “Divorced mother of three? Dear God, Han!”

  “What was I going to say? That I was a married mother of three?”

  “She has a point,” Fran offered. “That would be suspicious.”

  “And randomly texting a stranger to ask their favorite sex position isn’t?”

  “Another good point.”

  My phone blinked with a new message, and I read it out loud as I read it myself.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Interesting that you wanted my answer before you knew how old I was.

  “Another good point,” Fran repeated. “This one’s smart.”

  Unlike me—and my friends.

  I really needed new ones. Was there a store where you could trade them in like you could old video games? I’d take the money for these jerks.

  ME: My friends made me do it.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Ah, that old chestnut.

  ME: They really did. They’re jerks.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: So are mine. For the record, I’m a 27 year old single male.

  ME: Thank God.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: You should know I prefer animals to kids.

  ME: That’s fine. I’m really a 25 year old single woman with no kids. I was just saying that.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Interesting. So what is your favorite sex position?

  ME: …Same as yours.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Even more interesting. Should I ask where you live or should we keep the mystique?

  ME: Oh, we’re going to continue talking?

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: We don’t have to, but I presume you texted me for a reason.

  ME: Yes. My friends made me. I told you that.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Shame. It’s been a while since I had a good sexting session.

  ME: Do you sext often?

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: If I did, I probably wouldn’t be considering it with a complete stranger.

  That was a very excellent point.

  “What’s he saying?” Immy said, bouncing on the sofa.

  “He wants to sext.” I looked up and blinked at them both. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  Fran drained the rest of her wine and put her glass down. “Get on with it, woman!”

  “I have no idea who this person is!”

  “That’s the point.” She leaned forward and grinned. “You don’t have to worry about ever running into them at the grocery store. Unless you actively decide to meet this person, the chances of you meeting them are basically zero.”

  “She’s right,” Immy said, finishing her wine with a nod. “Have your sexting with the stranger and do yourself a favor.”

  “Do myself a favor?” I stood to follow them to the front door. “How would that be doing myself a favor?”

  Immy shrugged on her sweater. “Push the button, Hannah. Flick the bean. Tiddly your winks.”

  “Masturbate,” Fran said brightly as my cheeks burned. “If he wants to sext, at least get yourself something out of it.” She pulled the door open.

  “I’m not—I can’t… I am not masturbating to text messages with a stranger!” I cried, following them into the front yard.

  Mrs. Keighley, my next-door neighbor, was in her yard watering her flowers even though it was ten p.m. At my words, she froze, drenching one of her beloved rose bushes, then peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “I guess it depends if you know what the stranger looks like, Hannah.”

  Once again, my cheeks flamed.

  Were all the old people in this town damn horny?

  “Oh, my God,” I breathed, darting back inside. I slammed the door on everyone and leaned against it, exhaling heavily.

  There was no way I was going to sext with a stranger.

  That was ridiculous.

  Wasn’t it?

  I was pretty sure that was how people got abducted. Like, they reeled you in with their sexy talk and then stalked you and stole you from a Walmart parking lot.

  Note to self: don’t go to Walmart anymore.

  I walked back into the living room and frowned at Lucifer. It was curled up on the back of the sofa, half on the closed curtain, fast asleep. The kitten opened its eyes and sneezed, sending tiny beads of snot all over the back cushion.

  Lovely.

  I picked up my phone and toyed with it.

  I wasn’t against sexting. I’m sure people really loved it, but the thing was, I’d never done it.

  That’s right. I was one week away from my twenty-sixth birthday and I’d never, ever sent a dirty text message.

  I wasn’t even sure I knew how to.

  I crossed the room to Lucifer and smoothed its head, whispering a goodnight. Grabbing my wine glass, I shut off all the lights and shut the door, then went up to my bedroom.

  I gingerly perched on the edge of my bed. I could do this, right? I could sext. Like Fran said, I’d probably never see this guy again. It didn’t really matter that I didn’t know what he looked like.

  In fact, it was for the best.

  This way, I could imagine he was Liam Hemsworth or Nick Jonas or someone equally as panty-meltingly hot like that.

  All right.

  Nick Jonas it was.

  ME: I’ve never sexted before.

  His response was swift, coming seconds after I’d changed for bed.

  NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Your friends left, didn’t they?

  ME: Showed themselves out like the jerks they are.

  NN: *laughing emoji* we all have friends like that.

  NN: You’ve really never sexted before?

  ME: No. Is it that unusual?

  NN: I don’t know. I had a long distance relationship, so it kind of became normal for that.

  ME: Never had one of those. I guess I had no need to.

  NN: All right. Well, I’ll take your sexting virginity, if you’re willing.

  ME: I have nothing left to lose at this point. Well, except my sexting virginity.

  NN: All right. Let’s do this. I’ll start.

  Let’s do this indeed.

  NN: So your favorite sex position is doggy? Shoulders down or up?

  ME: This is woefully unexciting if this is sexting.

  NN: I’m trying to picture it in my mind so I can tell you.

  ME: You don’t know what I look like.

  NN: This is the only time I can justify imagining fucking Scarlett Johansson. Work with me, stranger.

  ME: K, fine. You’re Nick Jonas in my head anyway.

  NN: Right. Shoulders up or down?

  ME: Depends how hard you’re going to pull my hair.

  NN: …Up it is.

  ME: I like this.

  NN: What color IS your hair?

  ME: Dark brown.

  NN: That works. Ready for this?

  ME: I don’t think I have a choice.

  NN: Sure you do. But you should know that I’m already hard.

  Wow. Okay. Sexting did come with perks, even if it was a stranger.

  ME: This better be good. Go. Wow me.

  NN: I lean forward and kiss you, putting my fingers in your hair. One hand cups the back of your neck so you can’t pull away, and I tease your lips with my tongue.

  My thighs clenched together ever so slightly.

  NN: You squirm against me, kissing me back. As I kiss y
ou harder, I run my hands down your body and remove your dress, leaving it to fall at your feet. You’re wearing red underwear to match your lipstick, and I push you back toward the bed where you fall onto it.

  Okay. This wasn’t so bad. A little weird I was getting turned on by a stranger, but not so bad.

  NN: You open your legs as I take off my clothes so I’m in my underwear. I look down at you; I can see your pussy through the lace underwear. You’re already wet, and I grip your knees to keep your legs parted.

  Wow.

  Okay.

  I clenched my legs together harder.

  ME: Carry on.

  NN: I lean over you and kiss you, biting your lower lip. You moan into my mouth, and I unclip your bra, freeing your full tits from it. I take your nipple in my mouth, playing with it with my tongue.

  Did I join in now? Was that how this worked?

  Fuck it.

  I scooted back on the bed and reached my hand up under my shirt to my breast. My nipple was hard, and gently, I played with it, imagining it was his tongue.

  ME: I like that.

  NN: I know you do.

  NN: I kiss down your body until I reach your pussy. I slide your underwear to the side so I can fully see your wetness. My finger glides through it, slipping inside you and back out and up to your throbbing clit. It goes back down, and I put two inside you.

  Lord have mercy on my heathen soul.