Summary
Eve is a stubborn girl whom doesn't trust anything with a penis. A feminist and one crazy young woman— with quirks and strange beliefs— she has attracted the handsome Julian, whom has just moved to an apartment in the humble rental community where she resides at, in Carson City.

What is to say that he will not catch her eye as well? After all, he has made it his duty to submit her unbreakable will— and he chooses to complicate her life hoping to teach her a grand lesson on how to not be prejudiced. Yet, Julian has much to learn himself— and a petty bet leaves them both fighting for their prides, and ultimate dominance over the other.

Blackmail, hate, passion, love, and drama mix in the bowl to create this romantic dramatic comedy— if such a genre is possible to accomplish.

NOTE

This story will be written in Eve and Julian's POV; each chapter is a different POV. Please, also realize that this is told from the first person point of view in an eloquent manner, rather than in an ideally grammatically correct form: They speak and think, like normal people; whatever normal may be.

Prologue

Carson City, Nevada; it was a city of wonder.

Yeah right.

It’s more like the city of the retired gamblers who still smoke five packs a day. You would think that with all the news out there about lung cancer, people would think twice before wasting money on the cigarettes, but I guess intellect is something that is also lacking in the city.

Take my trip to the new Wal-Mart— down on West College Parkway— for example. I asked one of the associates if they had the seven dollar Monopoly out in the back (they were all out on the shelf) and guess what he brought me.

Monopoly Deluxe with a price tag that tripled that of the regular old Monopoly on sale; the one I had asked for.

This little incident was just one of many that occurred to me on an almost daily basis. One could ask for water and they'll bring soda. One could ask for directions to a specific place (like City Hall), and they'll have you driving in circles to get to the wrong address.

To most of the residents of this tiny city, there was no such thing as a straight line, but rather everything had to be far more complicated than it appeared because otherwise it was either a scam, or unworthy.

The color of lungs to them was— by standard— black. Life’s biggest pleasure was smoking, and any healthy lungs were shunned from their closed minded society.

If one did not smoke, one was a freak.

Life wasn’t so bad after getting used to being very explicit in one’s requests and very patient when one had to repeat things more than twice.

The town had a few jewels here and there— not everything was so grim, or dumb, or infuriating.

One thing that I sure wasn’t missing were the rapists that popped out of nowhere— every week— in my hometown of Miami, Florida. In fact, Carson was pretty quiet; the crime rate was low. One could perhaps occasionally hear gun-shots in Reno, but in Carson City, the only thing one might hear would be the drunken laughter of some old hag, hitting on the “fella’s” at the local bar.

A good laugh could come from visiting the favorite casino of the retired or otherwise delusional citizens; the Carson Nugget. Sure the old folks didn’t have money for food and made lines for the Salvation Army food basket, but money did magically materialize in their pockets after crossing the threshold of the casino.

Maybe it was the dazzling lights, which would make their neurons work into remembrance of where the hell their money was hidden.

For the most part the people were tolerable; perhaps because the land was so limited and not a lot of stupid folks fit to be housed in Carson. The city was pretty short in length— although I’m first to admit that I wasn’t too bright when it came to math, miles, and radius.

You could start from North Carson and end up at the city end in probably twenty minutes depending on traffic.

I lived south of Reno, in the best apartment complex— that is— the one that still allowed people with low income to live in a moderately decent place.

See, if there was one good thing about Parkway Plaza that was that one could have a nice apartment, with renovated kitchen and bathroom, and still be able to afford food and other necessities. In other words, one could live decently, and still be considered dirt poor.

We had the luxury of air conditioning which many other houses and apartments in the area lacked— and the kitchen came with a standard refrigerator, another luxury that other places did not have.

Of course nobody swam in the grass because during the summer over one thousands “residents” competed for space in one of our three "deluxe" pools. Heaven also knows that if one wanted a good, clean soak— then one had to be the first lined up on opening day. After that, I wouldn't be sure of the sanitary conditions.

It was like a small word inside this apartment complex and if functioned much like mass society. The best people— with highest income— lived near and around the front entrance, by the leasing office. One could spot the occasional Mercedes parked in the car ports, or being washed by its proud owner. Those residents were the nice-looking, educated of the lot; and they faced West College Parkway— a heavily transited road.

While the Fair Housing laws indicated that there could be no discrimination and selective placement based on class, gender, or income— I had my distinct suspicions that the staff kept the best at the front because they need to be the good since it was the first thing a future residents saw when they come in to apply for an apartment.

The shoe gunk lived in the back on Broadleaf Lane. That was the street address my mail got sent to, so I'm part of that sticky shit on shoes. I'm in between the good and the bad, the area otherwise known as "the tennis court."

I wasn’t complaining really— I liked watching the shirtless guys play tennis during the scorching days.

I had been lucky in the past few months when it came to tolerable neighbors. It was better than the one I had in the last winter; a drug addict and meth cooker. The woman was young, lived below me, and all the damn fumes of her shit making escaped through the shared vents and flooded my apartment. Second hand drug consumption, did that even exist?

Thankfully after three months of whining and bitching we got her evicted. My lungs had rejoiced.

At present I wasn’t able to complain much about the people surrounding me. The neighbors across from me on the second floor are a young couple— both students and music lovers— and they don’t make much noise other than the occasional love moaning. Even that was rare to hear.

The neighbor below me— the one whom replaced the drug addict— she was a married woman with two kids. For the most part they were pretty quiet. The only annoyance came when the smell of her vanilla scented candles traveled up my vents to make me dizzy.

I absolutely hated vanilla scented anything.

Across from Madam Vanilla lived a disabled woman. She sometimes screamed in the middle of the night, but no one held it against her. And when she was feeling social she was actually quite fun to talk to.

I hadn’t planned to stay in Carson for more than a year, but I was going on two. I could even say that I had gotten used to life—with all its quirks—and actually enjoyed my stay.

I adapted quickly, I always did. Even if I complained, in truth this was the best time of my life; I paid my bills without anyone’s help, I was in college learning what I loved, and I had gotten away from an abusive living situation such as the one I had survived in Miami.

Life was going great— but then he came along.

I Hate You!

Chapter One:

Getting To Know Your Neighbor

My routine began quite like any other. My groan would echo through the room, joining my cell phone's charismatic alarm ripping through the silence—ah, a sign that my day had started.

I would reach under my pillow, silence my alarm and allow myself a moment of self-pity. I was not a morning person— I never would be— and I never failed to ask God why He had to make me wake up at such an unholy hour.

The semester in college was almost over and I sure was looking forward to staying in, especially when the temperature was a chilling fifteen degrees or lower. Thanksgiving was just around the corner too. It would be my second turkey day away from my party family.

To say that I did not miss them would be a lie, but there was a sense of peace that enveloped me in Carson, whereas in Miami I only felt like I was living in a perpetual anxiety attack.

I even had a dog— something I had always wanted, but never had. She was a tiny Chihuahua, with her black shiny coat she sometimes looked like a mini cat. I had named her Tsuki which meant ‘moon’ in Japanese.

I was slightly obsessed with Japan because it had been precisely a Japanese video-game which had inspired me to seek a career in Computer Animation. I had a goal; get an associate’s degree in Fine Arts to then pursue an Animation degree at my dream school in San Francisco. From there my long term goal was to get hired by a gaming company in Japan.

Perhaps those were unrealistic dreams to have, but they were mine and I’d fit for them. It was precisely those goals which always propelled me to get out of bed— though it was freezing cold— and get my ass to school.

Coming from a humid and tropical weather— as was norm in Miami— the weather here came as a harsh change for me. I was not used to anything that chilled lower than seventy-degrees. Snow was fun though, so I learned to make the best of it quickly.

Making my first snowman and falling in love with him had made me a die-hard snow fanatic. Plus, because I lived in an apartment complex, I didn’t have to shovel any snow.

I swung my legs out of bed and sat, rubbing my eyes gently with my fingertips. I cringed, as I felt my pressure pull out a few eyelashes; once again, I had forgotten to remove my mascara.

I sighed.

I let myself yawn before wrenching my bedroom door open and secluding myself in the bathroom. Damn, it was cold— who the hell had turned off the damned heater?

Mom.

The culprit could be no other than her. Mother had these weird episodes of hot flashes, and she would turn off the heater, put on the AC— and literally yank her clothing off; it was a pain in the ass.

I allowed myself to shiver as my blue, fuzzy robe hugged my body and I stilled for a minute, adjusting to its warmth. I went to search for mother dearest and to my surprise she wasn't anywhere in sight. Breakfast was not even made yet and she usually never left the preparation of food in my hands.

She always fussed about my eating and made sure that I swallowed every last bite of the food she made for me. To have her be gone for my least favorite meal— the one she had to threaten me into eating— was surely note-worthy.

I called for Tsuki and when I didn't hear her little padding paws on the carpet I frowned. Mom was never one to leave the house so early in the morning— with Tsuki— unless...

Cursing, I headed towards the window in the living room and peeked through the vertical blinds. Sure enough there was mom, dragging some furniture she probably found in the trash, towards our house.

This was a pretty nice chair that she found— I had to admit— but we weren't in need of anymore furniture!

With Tsuki in one arm and firm grip on the back-rest of the chair, she looked like Superwoman hauling the obviously heavy item through the snow covered lawn.

Whenever there was “good furniture” in a trash bin, trust my mother to bring it in. I swear it had to be some sort of talent or pact with the garbage workers that enabled her to always know where the damned things were.

The building opposite to ours had acquired a new tenant. He was one pretty boy and he smelled like money too. Why would such a man be living in the best dump in town? And why hadn’t he been given one of the apartments by West College Parkway? Surely with his good looks he’d attract a lot of wanna-be-residents.

It blew my mind.

Looking back at my mother, I realized that the situation got much worse. The pretty blond dashed out of his apartment and ran to my mom's aid— like some knight in shining armor, only he had nothing on. The idiot had jumped out in the freezing cold with no shirt on.

He was well sculpted, I admired.

I shook my head. My mother was wearing that helpless, defenseless, poor old-woman mask which would fool any unknowing person into thinking she didn't have any better in life. The horror of it all how she could be so manipulative and devious when she wanted something still frightened me to this very day.

Any ounce of dignity that I had went out the window when I saw him carry the chair for my mom.

He was carrying it up my stairs…

My mom was smiling at him as though he were an angel sent by God…

Then the knock of doom on my door made my blood pool at my toes. He was going to come inside— with trash— and he was going to know that the crazy woman behind him, carrying a tiny dog was somehow related to me.

I was probably blushing a zillion shades of red, my face sure felt warm.

The new, hot neighbor was helping my mom bring furniture from the trash bin. The fact would not stop circling my head in a taunting dance. It was borderline degrading.

This was the guy who sported designer clothes— even the casual ones— and drove the flaming red Porsche Boxster that made me drool each morning as I drove by it. It would surely make someone like him think people like us were pathetic.

My mom shouted something at him and I made a dash for my bedroom and shut the door as quietly as possible. Like hell would I face him in such an embarrassing situation.

I heard the door open and his deep, masculine voice flooded the living room. My heart skipped a beat; I was a sucker for deep, sexy voices. Damn hormones, damn them to hell.

I leaned closer to the door, pressing my ear to it in order to better hear. Not that I needed it, my hearing was as good as any dog's but somehow I couldn’t pull away.

"Put it there," my mother stated, in her deeply accented English.

The funny thing was that she knew how to communicate— understood more than she led on— but still acted all ignorant of the language and forced me to be her translator many times.

His voice was way too sensual for his own safety. It should not sound so coy during simple conversations.

“You know, if you want the other chairs I can bring them for you."

Oh great. Now he was going to help my mom bring the entire trash back home. I rolled my eyes and cursed beneath my breath. Men who wanted to be like knights in shining armor should all go to hell, seriously. Did he like old women or something?

"There was only one chair," Mom replied, with too much fake sadness in her voice.

He laughed.

"No. I mean, I own the set so I was the one who threw it out."

I felt like my heart had exploded in complete embarrassment. How could I ever even walk outside again? Sure we were poor and I didn't mind, but I hated it when my mom blew her trash hunter cover. Especially now— to some guy who owned shoes more expensive than my car.

I had heard a great deal about him from the women whom worked at the leasing office. They loved to gossip and well, I was sitting there. It was rude not to listen, right? Okay— so maybe listening was the rude thing, so sue me. I liked gossip.

Tiny little paws scratched at my door, and I knew it was Tsuki. I told her to go away in a harsh whisper, but she just would not relent.

“Tsuki dale.”

She only understood commands in Spanish.

“Is there another dog in the house?” I heard him ask.

Must be true what they said about blond men and intellect. Tsuki kept whining and I knew she wouldn’t give up.

"No that daughter room," Mom laughed. "She doesn't like to be woken in the morning and Tsuki make cry, cry."

"Ah. So she's lazy," he joked. "I can't blame her in this cold."

Mom laughed. "You crazy to go out without sweater."

In my mind he was crazy for more reasons than I could count but I wouldn't argue this fact to myself. I sighed heavily and just waited. He’d have to leave sooner or later, but of course as fate would have it that plan was about to be squash.

"If you don't want chairs, I'll take them."

Cheerfully even he said, “Great! It’s good that they’re getting recycled.”

If there was one thing about my mother, it was her ability to ask for the most bizarre things with a straight and innocently blank face. There she was literally taking the man's chair set and she didn't 

even care—or notice. If he wouldn't have offered she would have surely asked if he had seen the other chairs.

I slapped my hand against my forehead and asked the heavens to tighten the loose screws in my mother's head— just this once.

"Actually I got a new dining room set so I can give the table as well,” he offered.

"Oh that wonderful!"

My mom's English got worse when she was happy and sometimes she would end the rant in Spanish; like Ricky Ricardo. It was early Christmas for her now and she would not stop until she had everything.

I could hear the blond chuckle, and in that chuckle he hinted amusement. Who the hell was he to laugh at my mom's insanity? Only I had the right to do that! Oh, but I would show him.

"Let me get daughter to help."

"It's okay, ma'am. Don't want to disturb the sleeping princess."

He laughed.

Mom was too naive in English sarcasm to catch the pun, but I sure as hell wasn't. I pouted and went to my closet swinging the doors open. It was easy to snatch one pair of jeans—fitted—and two wool sweaters. I combed by hair in front of the mirror and made sure my bangs were presentable, less he make a fool of me. The last touch was a flavored lip-gloss, more for the protection of my lips than actual vanity. I didn’t want to attract any focus to my full lips by adding color or anything else—they were already scandalous enough in size.

I slid my socks on and sighed before twisting the doorknob of my bedroom and walking out with a smug look on my face. He was so much taller than what I had calculated—over six feet for sure.

His back was to me until my mother smiled, poked her head to the side and introduced me, waving her hands excitedly.

"That my daughter!" she said proudly.

He still had one chair raised by the hand.

"Got a Tarzan complex, Blondie?"

He whirled around and stared at me for a moment, looking me over. His glowing golden orbs, roamed every inch of me, and I wondered if he scrutinized everyone at first meeting this way. I glared at him—hard—he didn’t have the right to judge me.

He smirked.

"I didn’t know that the cell phone addicted girl who walks around here every day was the daughter of such a nice lady."

Did he just call me a cell phone addict?

I crossed my arms. "Excuse me?"

Just because I stay in touch with my friends did not mean that I was addicted or otherwise glued to my phone. The fact was proven since I didn’t even have it on me.

"I've seen you around," he smiled. "You’re always talking on your little phone."

What the fuck? Did he have nothing better to do than to stare out his window and watch people, or something?

"Yeah, she sleeps with it too." Mom added— much to my displeasure.

"That boyfriend must be a real talker."

He winked at me, never looking away—even when my mom spoke.

What an arrogant little—

Mom laughed and smacked his arm playfully, and said—in an almost coy manner, "She no have a boyfriend."

I looked at my mom, eyes narrowed and rebuking. She was— as always— was oblivious.

"I don't feel like complicating my life that way." I shrugged.

My last relationship had ended not long ago, and I did not feel like plunging into romance so quickly. I personally felt the need to be independent and not fulfilled as a human by being with a man. I was— without bitterness or denial—happy to be single.

"My name is Julian." he said, extending out his hand to me.

Reluctantly I took it, squeezed it with all my might and let it go. He seemed more amused by the second. Damn my weak grip— he hadn't even blinked. His face was supposed to be twisted in agony at the way in which I had held his, but no—still balancing the stupid chair, he looked quite pleased at my gesture.

He then turned to my mom and shook her hand too.

"My name is Cindy." Mom said, “I forgot to say before, sorry.”

Julian turned to me, pouring the charming smile on me. I don’t know if it was because I didn’t trust good looking men, or because men like him had a fame to be players—but I didn’t feel comfortable or flattered by his attention.

In fact I didn’t like it at all.

He prodded, "And your name?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Eve."

He nodded. “Short and cut— like you.”

I cringed. “I will have you know that I am five feet, seven inches tall—thank you very much.”

He laughed. “Well, at least you accepted the cute part.

I pouted.

"Okay, Miss—“

“Only Cindy,” she giggled. “I not that old.”

He smiled at her. “I'm going for the rest of the chairs. I'll be back in a minute."

Mom had shoved me after Speedy Blond.

"Eve, go with him."

I shook my head. He looked like a big boy— he could carry the shit himself. It would serve him right for offering in the first place.

Mom narrowed her eyes at me, "Go."

I grumbled my way out of the door, following Julian. It was a nice name, really— it was too bad that such an asshole had it. Otherwise, things could have been different.

He waited for me at the base of the stairs and leaned against the cold wall. He looked like a Calvin Klein supermodel with those dangerously low jeans. I could practically see the V of his…

"You don't have to help," he whispered.

It wasn’t that I minded hauling furniture around, even though he looked more than capable of accomplishing the task himself.

"Look,” I raised my hand to tug a fly away hair in place. “I just hate my mom's little odd quirk about picking up good trash."

I think we were both surprised by my confession.

"I don't mind. I'm getting new furniture anyways. I swear I'm healthy and that the chairs are clean."

He crossed his heart, and I blushed since he was still shirtless.

"Not like it matters. My mom will wash them anyways." I mumbled.

He chuckled as we headed out and there was a little sprinkling of snow starting to fall. I shivered, feeling the air creep through my jeans, chilling my legs to the bone. Julian sneezed and then he sneezed three more times. Damn, just what I needed: To hold in my mind the death of another hottie who didn't appear to be gay at all.

I sighed and dared to place my warm hands on his back, pushing him faster up the stairs that led to his apartment.

The door to his place was open, so he just pushed it aside and very gallantly let me pass first. I think the whole purpose of men holding doors open was made for them to be able to stare at the woman's ass without seeming offensive— but that was just my theory.

His apartment was the exact size of mine, with the same kind of distribution. The only difference was of course that he had his personal belongings in it; the furniture was dark leather, expensive, and the décor very modern. Some boxes were still scattered around, but for the most part he was organized and settled in.

I sneezed at the intake of dust and he just grinned at my sensitivity.

“I haven't had time to clean yet, princess,” he laughed. “Sorry about your nose.”

I glared at him again. In all honesty, I didn't think the man had ever cleaned shit in his life. His hand had been smooth and well manicured. He didn’t have any callousness or dryness; surely signs that he’d had an easy life.

I sighed and looked around.

The living room and dining area were adjoined so there wasn’t much to do but grab the set and begin taking it over.

It intrigued me that he had rented a two bedroom apartment. By the looks of it, he lived alone. Why did he need two bedrooms? Was he married? Did he have a kid?

Julian didn't seem to be older than twenty-five, and certainly not the kind of man to be married with hopes of children in the near future—but there were plenty of unexpected things in life.

"I'm going to put on a jacket." he said.

"Good idea, Blondie."

"Call me Julian."

I nodded my head absently, and waved my hand in dismissal. Sure, I was being fresh but I somehow couldn't bring myself to respect this guy. Even if my body was appreciating the beauty of his and even if he was probably the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in person, I wouldn't drool like others probably did.

I walked closer to the dining set; it was attractive and well cared for. I caressed the table. It looked just as good as the owner.

It wasn't until he came out sporting a leather jacket that I was really able to notice him— up close.

He sat on one of the chairs destined to my apartment and gave me a look that literally knocked me off of my balance.

His eyes— which I had thought were a common hazel before— were the most mesmerizing shade of gold that I had ever seen, and his dark lashes gave a boyish edge to his otherwise masculine features.

The way his hair kissed his face, like silken feathers in that pale tone of ash blond, made him look almost angelic. The long bangs swept over his eyes adding a sense of mysterious wonder to his persona. In the brief moments in which I had crossed paths with him, those long fingers had often brushed them aside, a slight pucker of annoyance marring his pretty face.

I could tell he wasn't a bleached blond; Julian was the real deal. Beneath the ivory layers there were darker shades of blond all mingling to create depth and character. It looked soft and well cared for—yet it wasn't immaculately combed or styled either.

His jaw was strong with a slight cleft in his chin that made my tongue tingle. His nose was perfect and straight and his lips full were very inviting.

I mentally slapped myself for allowing my thoughts to stray south— for even taking the time to look at him well or otherwise note how handsome he was.

He was smirking at me, I knew. Yet I did not look away, I held his gaze; I was not a fan girl and I wouldn't do the looking away game either. If I had checked him out, I’d live up to the consequences.

"I’m not included," he grinned.

"Shove yourself up your ass."

He laughed and leaned forward, resting right elbow on his knees.

"You're cute."

"So you’ve told me." I said distastefully.

"You don't want to be cute?" He chuckled, "Oh, you want to be a sex symbol. Be worshiped by all men. I get it.”

I arched my brow. Was this guy for real?

He shook his finger at me. "Sorry, you're two cup sizes below the requirement for that title."

I gaped at him and then looked down at my breasts. I had always been proud and happy with my small bosom and no man had ever dared to insult me because my boobs didn't resemble those of porn bimbos.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" I was livid.

He gave me a side-grin. "I like seeing you all fired up." He leaned closer to my face, "Now that is sexy."

I backed away smirking.

"Listen Blondie, sorry to burst your overgrown ego, but— I don't like you. You're a snob."

He narrowed his eyes at me. Apparently, I hit a nerve.

"Who are you to judge how I am in a few minutes?"

I pointed at his attire. "I know expensive when I see it."

He grinned. "I spend all my salary on possessions. So sue me."

"Salary?" I laughed. "And what do you do for a living?"

He smiled at me. "I work on computers. Nerds make big bucks."

I didn't quite believe him, but I let it slide. It wasn't my business and I had no idea how the conversation had gotten to where it had.

I grabbed one chair.

"Come on."

We began our work taking the chairs from his apartment to mine. The last piece was the table, which was a little more troublesome than I had imagined. At the end of it, my hands were sore and I was out of breath.

He helped my mom settle the new furniture in the dining space and took it upon himself to throw out the old set that we had. Not too hard of a task since it was a feather weight table and two plastic chairs.

I thought that he would go home after dumping my things, but he actually came up to ask if anything else was needed of him.

My mom thanked him over one hundred times and then snapped her fingers as if a brilliant idea had just hit her. I rolled my eyes knowing what was coming.

She turned to me and smiled. Here we go— Translator Eve to the rescue.

"Dile que se quede a tomar chocolate caliente y asi estrena la mesa con nosotras."

I sighed and turned to Julian with a bored expression. I hated this translating crap.

"She said to stay and have some hot cocoa with us so you can have the honor of being the first to sit in our new chairs."

Julian smiled and bowed his head at my mom. The gesture surprised me. I expected it to come from someone who was Asian; he sure did it in the Oriental manner.

My mom busied herself making hot cocoa while I arched my brow at his weird little bow. Mom offered her famous Pudin de Pan (Bread Pudding) and we all sat— finally. Julian seemed to be familiar with the dessert for he complimented her with knowledge on the recipe that even I didn't know.

Julian was strange; he held out the chairs for us, laughed like a prince, and spoke in a sickeningly perfect English. My mother understood every syllable that came out from his mouth, and it was only after half an hour of conversation that I realized he did have a slight twang—an extremely faint accent.

He spoke slowly, almost dragging every word but never boring with the speed. It really felt like he had done a lot of public speaking—he never used an ‘um’ or an ‘uh’—he simply danced the language smoothly out of his lips. It was like he savored everything that he said—it was fascinating.

My mom asked the question which I had been asking myself in my head.

“Where you from?”

"Canada," he smiled. "Which is why this temperature is nothing for me."

I hated to admit, but his conversation was interesting. The man knew how to talk that was for sure. He told us about his adventures in South America and how he liked certain foods from the different countries he had visited.

It was actually pleasant to listen to him, though I'd never admit it.

My mom was shooting out all the questions to which I wanted answers but wouldn't dare to ask. I didn't want to show him I was interested.

And I wasn’t—I was just naturally curious.

"I'm German, I was even born there," he admitted, taking a sip from the mug.

"My father is German, and my mother is a mix of German and Swedish, though she lived in London many years.”

He smiled as though he were remembering something pleasant.

“My father never allowed for us to forget our roots. He runs the family business which has existed for many generations, and so tradition is important to him— to us."

“Tradition good!” Mom nodded. “We keep tradition too.”

Family business echoed in my mind.

My intuition and gut told me that's where the money to pay for his fancy car came, but it really didn't matter. Money only interested me when I had to pay bills and so far in my twenty years of life we never had a problem paying them, at the end. There had been struggles, yes, but we always made it.

I smiled a little, imagining what my friends would say about the hot and possibly loaded neighbor.

The vast majority would push me into his arms just for his looks. Then half of those would lock me in a bedroom with him just for his money. But I was different when it came to what I found alluring in a man and I would not jump on him for any of those reasons that others would.

Julian was probably far too superficial to satisfy my taste for the deep and intellectual.

My mom picked up the mugs and plates secluding herself into the kitchen.

The visit was over and it was my duty— per tradition— to walk him out. And I did it even though the distance was ridiculous and he could have surely found his way alone.

Before I could protest, he had pulled me out of my apartment and shut the door behind me. The frigid air burned my cheeks and my lips were trembling. I had but a small sweater hugging my form.

"What the hell was that for?"

He gave me a disarming smile.

"There's something about you that I like." His face lost the humor, “I don't quite understand what.”

I laughed incredulously. "Maybe it’s the fact that I'm not drooling over you?"

The sexy smirk surfaced. "Is that something you're supposed to be doing?"

"Very funny." I countered, "I know your type. Not interested."

"What's my type?" he asked, holding me against the door.

Oh yeah I felt the chemistry alright. It was so obvious between us that I could see the sparks when he touched me.

This was the kind of guy that could make any girl lose her mind, her pants, and her dignity. You know, the one mom warns about— yeah.

Aside from his looks he had that arrogance that was appealing just because I wanted to show him I could beat it down with my hand. I wanted to challenge him— punish him and therein was the peril.

I cursed myself for letting it manipulate me. The thrill of a dare always took me.

"You're the type that's always used to getting what he wants."

I paused and narrowed my eyes, "When he wants— and how he wants. But I'm not the weaklings you've dealt with. You don't even know who I am and you're trying to bed me."

"Mighty confident are we?" He smiled, "Didn't I tell you that you're two cup sizes under the requirement for such intentions?"

"I bet you're also under the fantasized size of what a man's length and girth should be." I smirked, looking at his crotch, "Not a whole lot there to begin with."

He glared at me; that hurt his ego straight up.

"Do you want to make a bet, Eve?"

"What could you offer me that would interest me when you lose?"

He chuckled.

"You were right about one thing,” he paused to whisper the rest in my ear, "I get everything that I want. I'm willing to give you whatever you want if I lose."

"What's the bet about?"

My breathing was coming harsh as his weight crushed me against the door.

"You'll like me by the end of the year," he smiled and his lips brushed my earlobe.

I shivered because it was cold, I swear.

"You're on Blondie. You're gonna be one sore loser."

As if satisfied with my answer, he removed himself from me and began descending the stairs. He looked over his shoulder when he reached the bottom and smirked again, "We'll work on prizes later."

And that was the beginning of everything—especially the war with Julian the German blond.

We can work on prizes later…

What did I want? What was important enough to me that he could give me that I would need? Perhaps it was time to consult with my alter ego, Eva. She was still very much me, but at the same time it almost felt like someone else; Eva could be a real bitch.

Yes— I named her.

Well, in truth I named everything— even my butt cheeks have names, but those I’m not revealing.

Eva always had the most brilliant ideas when it came to male torture—well actually, any kind of evil plan.

And my Eva was telling me that if the blond was as rich as I thought, that his loss would definitely finance my tuition into the Academy—my dream school.

She told me that I could definitely do this and win. In fact, she told me that I had to win—at all costs.

My alter ego was a cruel bitch. She didn't care for feelings and all that mattered was winning. I really wanted to work at a Japanese gaming company as a designer— and I needed a good education to get there. I needed a full paid scholarship to one of the best schools and if beating this guy's crotch to dust was the way to earn it— I would so do it.

Little did I know the surprise that fate had in store for me. It's funny how destiny had a very twisted sense of humor. No psychic could have predicted what was to come—not even me.