Super Short


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Last week, I asked for words for this weeks Flash Fiction story, and I got five of them in the comments of my post: reprehensible, mirror, floppy, branch, glory. Thing is, life got in the way of plans and threw an unexpected trip to Singapore my way. I was away Tuesday to Thursday and was too busy enjoying myself to come up with something. And when I remembered, I wanted to make it easy for myself, so scrolled through the pictures I’ve saved on my phone that I’ve seen and thought Huh, I could write something about that. And I ended up using one of those.

So I’ll keep the words. I’ve got no trips planned for next week, and will have more time to think about them and come up with something.


I didn’t bring my computer to Singapore so I had to start writing the story the old fashioned way: with paper and pen. With a view over Singapore from the 53rd floor, it was easy to get distracted, but I managed to finish it eventually. I hope you enjoy.

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Spying on My Hot Neighbor

It was five minutes past eight and I stood at my usual post by my kitchen window, holding a cup of steaming tea with my eyes trained on my neighbor’s porch. Halfway hidden behind the curtains, I felt like the nosy elderly woman who used to live next to my parents when I was a kid. I’d always found her kind of creepy and wondered if she’d thought we couldn’t see her behind her sheer old-lady curtains.

And still. Here I was, doing the same thing. Spying on my neighbor.

In my defense, he was hot. Set-fire-to-my-briefs kind of hot.

I sipped my tea as I glanced at my watch. Eight-oh-seven. Any second now. I took a tiny step to the side, so the fabric wouldn’t block my view too much. Tilted my head. Held my breath.

The seconds slowed down to a crawl. Dragged out to infinity. My lungs started burning but I didn’t take a breath. I just stood there, as still as if I’d been cut out of a slab of marble.

Until his door was thrown open and he burst out onto his porch. My breath whooshed out of me and I felt lightheaded, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of a lack of oxygen or if it was the sight of him that made me woozy.

With a cup of something steaming in his hand—I bet it was coffee, he looked like a guy who’d drink the black death tar—and hair still damp from a shower, he gazed up in the sky, scrunching up his face at the summer sun shining brightly down on him. But his cute face wasn’t what caught my attention. It was his strong arms and his chest that only wore a dusting of light brown hair and nothing else. His abs. And the V of his hips that pointed to…

I swallowed. His shorts hung even lower today than yesterday and the day before that. How did they even stay up? Was he trying to drive me crazy?

As I watched him drink from his cup and scratch his chest, I squeezed my thighs together and moaned. My jeans were growing uncomfortably tight as blood rushed from my head to…my other head. I pulled the curtain more to the side, eager to drink in all of him.

He must have seen the movement because he looked up. Right at me. A cocky grin spread across his face, and he winked.

I scrambled backward, away from the window. Hot tea sloshed out of my mug and splattered on the top of my feet. “Ouch, dammit!” I slammed down the cup on the counter and wiped off my feet on the back of my calves as I stumbled out of the kitchen, barely avoiding tripping over myself. I didn’t stop until I was hidden in the relative darkness in the hallway.

My heart thundered in my chest and heat rushed to my face until it was so hot I feared it would melt. Shit, shit, shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The plan was to stay out of sight and keep watching him unnoticed for as long as I could. At least for the rest of the summer, or as long as the no-shirt weather lingered. My favorite morning routine was forever screwed because I got too careless.

“That’s that. You know what happens to greedy boys,” I mumbled. I drew a deep breath and heaved out a sigh. Closed my eyes and shook out my hands, trying to even my breathing and calm my racing heart. But just as I’d gotten myself under control, someone knocked on my door.

I jumped and yelped. It was the most undignified sound I’d ever produced in my entire life.

It had to be him, right? He was here to read me the riot act, or even worse: punch me in the face for perving on him. Should I hide? Pretend I hadn’t heard him? Try to sneak out through a window on the back of the house? Emigrate to Canada?

Another knock sounded, followed by a cheerful, “Open up, I know you’re in there.”

“Shit.” I was screwed. All that was left for me to do was to take responsibility for being a creep. I squared my shoulders and looked down at my semi. Glared at it. “You’re not helping,” I muttered.

Great. Now I was talking to my genitals, too.

With a couple quick steps, I was by the door and only hesitated for a second before opening it. “Listen, man, I’m…” My voice trailed off and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I was going to say. He leaned a strong shoulder against the post on my porch, his legs crossed at the ankles, and he looked relaxed. No angry scowl in sight.

“Well, hello,” he said and waggled his eyebrows.

I breathed a little easier. Clearly, he wasn’t angry at least. “Um…hi?”

“Nice to finally see you without the curtain.”

My eyes widened. “You’ve seen me before?” I squeaked and resisted the urge to smack my forehead. Good job exposing myself! God help me if someone ever put me on the witness stand.

My neighbor chuckled. “Mhm.” He let his gaze sweep over my body and a tingle raced up my spine. Blue. His eyes were blue. Like cornflowers. Or cerulean. Or azure. Or— “You’re not as stealthy as you seem to think.” His amused voice saved my overheated mind from having to come up with more blue nuances to fit his eyes.

“Shit.” I hid behind my hand for a second before looking at him. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to freak you out, but you’re ridiculously hot.”

As soon as the words spilled out of me I gulped. Oh-em-gee! I can’t believe I just said that. Was it possible to die of mortification? Moving to Canada grew more appealing by the second.

But he just laughed. A loud, hearty sound that made his chest heave and his stomach ripple. Deep laugh lines appeared around his eyes and his teeth were straight and perfect. Shit. He was even more gorgeous up close. I wanted to fall on my knees and bury my face in the fur on his stomach. Run my fingers across his abs and lick him along his hip bone, down to his—


“Huh?” I forced myself to look at more appropriate parts of his body.

“That’s my name. Jon. What’s yours?”


He laughed again, straightened, and took a couple steps closer. Right into my personal space. “What’s your name?” He grabbed my chin with his thumb and index finger. His fingers were thick. Strong. With a smile, he brushed his thumb over my stubbly skin.

His question finally registered in my brain. “I’m Alan.” My voice was raspy as if someone had vigorously rubbed sandpaper over my vocal chords.

“Nice to meet you, Alan,” he whispered.

“Uh-huh.” My eloquence knew no bounds this morning.

“Listen.” He took another step closer and his body heat wound itself around me. “I have to go to work, but are you busy tonight?”


Another step and his naked stomach touched mine. Why had I put on a stupid T-shirt when I got out of bed?

“Because if you aren’t, you’re gonna invite me over for coffee.”

“I am?” I shivered.

He nodded. “Sevenish?”

I nodded.

He leaned in and for a moment I thought, hoped, he was going to kiss me. But he just put his mouth next to my ear and whispered, “See you tonight, Alan.” Then he stepped back, winked at me, and jumped off my porch.

Not until he was halfway across the street, I remembered something. “Jon!”

He turned to me but continued walking backward. “Yeah?”

“I only drink tea.”

“I don’t care.” He burst out laughing. “I’ll be over at seven.” He gave me a quick wave before jogging the rest of the way to his house.

I glanced at my watch. Eight thirty-two. Ten and a half hours until I’d see him again. A smile bloomed on my face and my skin tingled.


hot guy with coffee

Inspirational image found on Instagram.

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