Free Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) by J.L. Mac Page A

children’s books lying around my small desk and a headache.
    Instead of working I’d been pacing the floor waiting for him to knock it off. I tried putting on my headphones with my music to drown out his, but my creative mojo was most definitely snuffed out by growing agitation and the general melancholy that had blanketed everything that week.
    This has to work. He has to be nice if I’m nice, right?
    I stood in front of his door like an idiot mumbling to myself, unsure of what the plan was but desperate for a change. I’d tried noise complaints, but they had gone largely ignored.
    Be stern? Be kind? Be charming? Be a raging bitch?
    I heard shouting from inside his apartment and my fingers instinctively tightened around the box of cookies. The door jolted and swung open with me frozen in place.
    A small round, middle-aged woman in medical scrubs, whose eyes remained downcast as she scurried out the door, cleared her throat, paying no mind to me and yelled back into the apartment, doing her best to be heard over loud music. “Mr. Stone, Margaret already paid me for one month of home healthcare!” The music blaring from within switched off abruptly, gaining my attention.
    “Out!” a deep muffled voice barked from within the apartment making me startle.
    “Asshole. Too old for this shit,” the woman muttered as she made her way down the hall. I glanced after her and wondered what in the hell just happened.
    “And shut the damn door!” The same muffled voice boomed from within. I glanced down to the small carton of chocolate chip cookies and grimaced, realizing that I’d creased the box under my tense grip.
    I swallowed hard and cleared my throat loudly to make my presence known. “Um, hello?” The booming voice that I’d just heard remained silent. “I’m your neighbor. We’re friends on Facebook, I think,” I offered feebly, thinking that I sounded pathetic.
    No answer. Nothing .
    “I-I’ve never really introduced myself, though. I, uh, I live next door. Well, Matt and I. He’s my roommate. I brought some cookies.” I held out the creased carton to no one, feeling really uncomfortable with his silence, but determined to establish some sort of rapport.
    “No thank you. I’m on the gluten-free bandwagon. Shut the door.” He sounded…strange, more muffled than before like he had a mouth full of food or a scarf wrapped around his face. Either way, I had to lean forward and squint to make out what he was saying. Who knew why people squinted to hear better anyway? It made no sense.
    “Out!” he bellowed again, his disembodied voice remaining garbled by who knew what.
    I recoiled slightly, feeling as though a rabid dog had just snarled, showing off a mouth full of glistening teeth. “Oh. Um. Okay. Sorry. Goodnight, then. I mean, afternoon. Good afternoon. Sorry.” I took one step into his apartment chancing a glance at a photo of a brown haired man with an enchanting smile, his arm resting comfortably around an older woman and his other hand stuffed into his pocket. She looked happy, and I wondered if my neighbor, the chubby, balding, insurance salesman had a wife and son. If he did, why hadn’t I seen or heard evidence of them?
    They probably hate him. That’s why!
    How could the enchanting man in the photo possibly be a product of the neighbor who was a blatant prick?
    I pulled his door shut, feeling like an idiot for attempting niceties. My cheeks burned red-hot with embarrassment and anger. His music came back suddenly and loudly, forcing me to grit my teeth.
    Without further delay, I scurried back to my apartment and tossed the box of cookies on my counter feeling frustrated.
    What a jerk!
    “Shut the door,” I mocked in the deepest, most garbled asshole voice I could manage. There was nothing more disagreeable than a wounded ego for lunch, but a wounded ego was what I had.
    Asshole!
    “I baked cookies, prick!” I yelled at our adjoining wall. “ Homemade cookies!” I added, charging the