The Girl Next Door Ch. 01

Chapter 1: Amber in the Rain

Nick wasn't expecting company.

His wife had been gone less than 24 hours--off to some no-phones, all-women retreat up north, leaving him with a half-stocked fridge, an empty house, and a list of things to do he had zero intention of doing.

It was raining. Hard. Wind against the windows, thunder growling low and steady. Nick stood barefoot in the kitchen, mug in hand, watching it all come down like a warning from the sky.

Then the knock came.

Three soft taps at the front door. Not urgent. Not afraid. Just... casual.

He opened it--and time collapsed.

Standing on his porch was a redheaded girl soaked to the skin. Her green hoodie clung to her arms, zipped low over a tight white tank top that was going see-through by the second. Tiny denim shorts stuck to her hips. She looked maybe 18. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. Her hair hung in wet, heavy strands.

But her eyes--

"Hey, uh... hi," she said, brushing water from her lashes. "Sorry to bug you. I live next door now. I locked myself out, and my mom won't be home for hours. Do you mind if I... come in?"

Nick's mouth opened but no words came out.

Because he knew that face.

Amber Monroe.

Except this version had never kissed him at a college party, never walked barefoot through his dorm, never worn that lip ring she always sucked on when she was flirting. This Amber was younger. Smoother. Pure, almost.

But she had the same smirk under it all--the one that had made his cock ache during lectures.

"Y-Yeah," he finally said. "Come in."

She smiled and stepped past him, the scent of strawberry shampoo trailing in her wake.

⸻

She peeled off her hoodie and shook out her hair, leaving a little puddle by the door. Her white tank was soaked--nipples sharp, chest heaving from the cold. Nick couldn't stop staring. She caught him.

"You okay?" she teased, hugging herself.

"Yeah," he said quickly, then looked away.

Amber wandered into the living room, dropped onto the couch, and curled up with one knee tucked under her. Water still dripped from her bare thighs.

"I'm Amber, by the way," she said casually. "You live here alone?"

"My wife's out of town."

"Lucky her," she said with a grin.

⸻

Amber Monroe.

It hit Nick like a sucker punch.

Back in college, she'd lived in the dorm two floors up. Older, confident, free in a way he wasn't yet. She always walked around barefoot, made weird films for her art classes, and left parties without saying goodbye. They'd talked once or twice. Laughed. Smoked a joint behind the science building. And then that kiss--drunk, sloppy, perfect.

He had wanted her so badly he'd written a short story about her that he never showed anyone.

She disappeared the next semester. Transferred. No goodbye. Just... gone.

Now here she was. Younger. Barely 18. Calling him "Mister" like she'd never met him before.

What the fuck is happening? he thought.

⸻

She patted the couch beside her.

"You gonna sit, or just keep staring?"

Nick hesitated, then walked over and sat--close, but not too close.

"I didn't catch your name," she said.

"Nick."

She tilted her head. "Nick... what?"

"Just Nick."

"Cool," she said, biting her lip. "You don't look like a creep."

"You don't look like you're old enough to be here alone."

"Guess we're both lying to ourselves."

⸻

She moved closer.

Nick's breath hitched. Her thigh brushed his. She smelled warm now--rain, strawberries, something sweeter underneath.

"You ever get lonely in this house?" she asked, her voice lower now.

He nodded once.

Amber leaned in. "Want some company?"

He didn't answer.

She kissed him.

⸻

It was instant. Heat. Hunger. Her hands in his hair, his hands sliding under her wet tank. Her lips tasted like candy and something nostalgic. She straddled him on the couch, tugging his shirt over his head as he yanked hers up and off. Her tits were perky, flawless, her skin warm against his chest.

She rode him slow at first--both of them half-dressed, moaning into each other's mouths. Then faster. Wilder. Her ass slapped against his thighs, her fingers clawed at his back.

"You feel so fucking good," she panted. "Fuck me harder, Mister W--fuck me like you dreamed about."

He did.

Bent her over the couch. Took her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other buried in her wet red hair. She screamed his name when she came.

Then again in the kitchen.

And again in the hallway.

He couldn't stop. She didn't want him to.

⸻

Hours later, she stood by the door, slipping her hoodie back on.

"That was... fun," she said, cheeks flushed.

Nick stood shirtless, dazed, cum still drying on his skin.

She kissed him once more--slow and soft this time.

"See you around, neighbor."

And then she was gone.

⸻

The next morning, Nick ran outside.

The house next door was still vacant. For sale sign crooked in the grass. No sign anyone had moved in. No hoodie. No puddles. No girl.

Except--on the couch--was a single red hair.

Long. Curled. Still smelling faintly of strawberries.

Nick stared at it.

Then at the empty house across the yard.

"What the hell is going on..."