Matt stops abruptly at the bottom of the steps. Thursday. Recycling gets picked up today. The blue recycling can sits at the bottom of the wooden staircase. Boxes, Monster cans, and Gatorade bottles poke out above the rim at all angles. He grabs the handle and half carries, half drags the can to the end of the shared driveway. He plops the can down on the curb. An empty Gatorade bottle tumbles out and rolls across the sidewalk. Lemon Lime. He scoops it up and stuffs the bottle into the overstuffed can.
“You should separate your bottles, cans, and boxes.” Traci, his downstairs neighbor. Or as Matt likes to call her, The Bitch Downstairs.
Traci stands on the shared walkway in her thin blue bathrobe. Mud brown hair in a messy bun on top of her head. Arms crossed tight, bitch face cranked to eleven.
Matt puts on his best fake smile. “We have single stream recycling, Traci. It all goes into the same truck. They sort it at the recycling center.” He fishes his truck keys out of his pocket.
Traci rolls her eyes.
Nailed it. “Have a nice day, neighbor.” He doesn’t wait for a response and bee lines for his truck.
Matt stabs the key into his old F-150. The engine cranks slowly before catching. Might be time for a new battery. Matt doesn’t remember when he last put a battery in this old bitch. He backs out of the driveway, Traci still standing on the walkway, staring him down. Arms still crossed. Fucking A. He gives her a wave as he chuckles to himself. She turns and stomps back to her apartment.
“Psycho bitch.” He drives off.
Matt found this place over a year ago. A two story single family home converted into two apartments. The rent was cheap enough for this area of Jersey. ‘Only an hour from New York City,’ the landlord kept crowing. Matt didn’t care, he worked a bit closer at Big Gary’s Machine Shop. A short fifteen minute commute from here. The neighborhood was quiet. Nice. Traci kept to herself at first. He had been moved in and settled for at least a week before he had seen her. About his age. Attractive enough, a bit skinny. Old Joe next door said she worked from home.
Two months ago, Big Gary cut a couple of chuckle heads loose. Matt picked up the extra workload. That meant some late nights. He would come home and leave the trash cans out until the morning. Too tired to give a shit. For whatever reason, that did not sit well with Traci.
Fucking garbage cans, of all things.
Matt bounds down the steps two at a time. Bagel in his mouth, coffee splashing out of his travel cup. Snoozing for ten minutes had been a bad idea. Friday. Garbage. He grabs the handle of the big gray can and wheels it to the curb. The blue recycle can still lying there on its side. Empty now. Fuck. Forgot it last night. Hoping Traci hasn’t noticed, Matt grabs the blue can. Too late.
Traci stands on the walkway. Head down, Matt tries to avoid eye contact. Old concrete sidewalk. Couple weeds poking out of the space between sidewalk slabs. Fuzzy pink slippers. Slim, toned legs. Fuck.
“You left the can out. Again,” Traci says.
Matt rips a chunk off his bagel. “I know. Some of us have jobs, Traci.” He swallows the piece of bagel.
“I have a job.” Hands to hips. Bitch face turns angry. Angrier? Bangry?
“I mean, some of us can’t work from home. And I’m late. Sorry, Traci. I promise it won’t happen again.” He brushes past her. She smells like sweet vanilla and jasmine. Matt drops the can next to his steps. He’s already late. The sooner he gets out of here, the better.
“It better not,” She snaps.
Matt ignores her as he climbs into his truck. Stabs the key into the ignition. The engine turns slow. Starts. He backs out onto the street.
“Bitch.”
That night, when he got home, he made sure to grab the garbage can and put it away. The weekend blew by. He hadn’t seen or heard from Traci since Friday morning. Not that he was complaining. On top of that, he had no garbage on Tuesday. Well, the can wasn’t full anyways. It could wait till Friday.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, Matt realizes he buys way too much shit from Amazon. The empty boxes stick out past the rim of the recycling can at awkward angles. He carefully carries the can to the curb.
“You should really break those boxes down.” Traci carries a large box with several other boxes neatly folded up inside it.
“Good morning, Traci.” Matt puts on a nice, big smile.
“You should really break those boxes down,” Traci repeats as she sets her boxes down on the curb.
Matt tries hard not to notice how her robe pulls tight around her small ass. Not too hard. “Okay.” Still smiling, he grabs a box off the top and tears it up. He stuffs the destroyed box into his can.
“Happy?” Matt locks eyes with her. Or he wants to. But her robe is open. The pale, smooth skin between her small breasts all the way to her flat stomach visible.
Traci huffs, pulls her robe closed. Busted.
“If that’s the best you can do.” She rolls her eyes.
“Give me a break, would ya,” Matt says as she brushes past him. She smells of sweet vanilla and jasmine.
“Don’t forget your can tonight,” she says as she walks back to her apartment.
“Okay, Traci.” Bitch. His eyes follow her.
Matt hops into his truck. Turns the key. The engine turns slow. Starts. What is her fucking problem?
Matt jerks awake, his phone trilling harshly. Fuck, overslept! He scrambles into his work clothes. Makes his morning coffee with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He smears cream cheese erratically on his bagel. Tosses the knife into the sink. Rushes out the door.
He bounds down the steps two at a time. The blue recycling can lays on the curb, where he had left it. Fuck. Matt runs the trash can out to the curb. He grabs the recycling can.
Traci is already marching down the walkway. Hair tied up in a messy bun. Thin blue robe pulled tight. Toned, slender legs. Fuzzy pink slippers. Fuck.
“You left the can out. Again,” Traci says.
Matt grunts an acknowledgment as he brushes past her. The same sweet vanilla and jasmine.
“You promised it wouldn’t happen again,” Traci says.
Matt throws the recycling can next to his steps, ignoring her. He climbs into his truck as she continues staring him down. He stabs the key into the ignition. Turns it.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“Fuck!” Matt smacks the steering wheel. Forgot about the fucking battery. The extra hours at work, and crazy ass Traci, he forgot about the battery. He better call Gary, tell him he’ll be late. Then call for a jump. Traci is standing on the walkway, smirking. Fuck.
Matt slowly climbs out of the truck.
“Maybe you’ll remember to put the can back now.” Traci is sneering.
This crazy fucking bitch. Matt slams his truck door shut. “What the fuck is your problem?” He takes a step towards her, puts a finger in her face. “Why don’t you get a fucking boyfriend and leave me the fuck alone. Crazy bitch.”
Traci steps into him. A full head shorter, she cranes her neck. Golden flecks sparkle in her wild brown eyes. “What the fuck did you call me?”
Oh, here we go. “I called you a crazy bitch. Cause, that’s how you’re acting.”
Her breath is minty fresh, nostrils flaring. “Oh? And a boyfriend is going to do what? Fuck the crazy out of me?” She presses her firm body against his. “What? You’re not man enough to do it?”
What?
Traci pulls his head down, their lips mash together.
What the fuck? Matt recoils. Crazy bitch.
“That’s what I thought.” Traci sneers.
Matt grips the back of her head, drags her back in. Kisses her.
Traci grinds her body against his. Her fingers thread through his hair, clutching at his shirt. Matt slides a hand down her back. Her body is firm and taut. He cups her small, tight ass and squeezes.
Traci lets out a soft moan, breaking the kiss.
“Come inside?” Traci asks.
Absolutely not. Do not put your dick in crazy. That’s what everybody says. And this bitch is crazy.
Matt doesn’t hesitate. “Fuck yes.”
Traci closes the door behind them, the deadbolt clicks. Matt crashes into her. Pressing her against the door with his body. Their lips meet. His fingers tangled in her hair. She tugs and pulls at his shirt. Matt helps her tear his shirt off. He casts it away. Traci shakes out of her robe.
Matt kicks off his shoes. Drops his pants. Traci grips his hard cock in her hand. She slowly strokes the length of his shaft while planting little kisses on his chest. She playfully bites on his nipple. He combs his fingers through her hair. Grabs a handful, spins her around. Holds her face to the door. Slides his hand between her legs. Traci lets out a moan. Matt slips two fingers into her pussy. She is hot and wet. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out. Traci grinds her hips into his hand, panting and whimpering.
Matt pulls his fingers out of her hot pussy, he smears the wetness around her folds. He guides the head of his cock to her wet lips. He can feel the heat coming off of her pussy. He lets out a low moan as his cock enters her. Matt strokes short and slow as he gets used to Traci’s tightness. He clamps his hand onto her hip and drives his cock deep inside her. Traci yelps. He pulls back. Plunges deep inside her again. He slams his cock into her faster with each stroke. Their skin slapping sharply.
Traci bucks and twitches. Her pussy pulsing around his cock. She gasps for breath. Her shoulders and face turn red. Her thighs clamp together, the added pressure on his cock is too much.
Matt pulls out, his cock bursts. A rope of cum shoots out. His body convulses. He shoots another rope. He lets Traci’s hair go, wraps his arm around her waist to keep her from falling. Pulls her into him. His cock throbs between them. He pants into her tangled hair. His cum and her wetness pool between their bodies. Not sure he can continue standing, he lowers them to the floor.
“Holy shit,” Matt huffs.
Matt wakes up to his cell phone ringing and Traci gently stroking his cock. Her fingers gently glide along his hard cock. Fuck. He forgot about work. What time is it? He looks around, trying to find where his pants landed. Over by the couch. He really needs to call work. Traci is looking up at him with those wild brown eyes.
“I should call work,” he says.
Traci kisses the head of his cock while keeping eye contact. Her breath is hot. “What are you going to tell them?” She plants soft, loud kisses down the length of his shaft.
Matt closes his eyes. Her lips are smooth and wet. His cock twitches in her hand.
“Can’t come in. Dealing with the bitch downstairs?” He smirks.
She runs her tongue up the shaft of his cock. “Crazy bitch downstairs,” she says, then takes his cock into her mouth.