Casper North had been going to "The Harmony" since he was old enough to buy himself a beer. It's a bit of a dive, but the bands they book are good for drawing in crowds, and Casper liked the rustic atmosphere. His friend, Teddy, had always enjoyed taking part in the "man's wager" since the first time he visited and had taken Casper for plenty of scotch over the years. Today, though, the stakes were especially high. A bottle of Glenlivet XXV rested up on the shelf behind the barkeep, unopened.
Teddy said, "No matter who walks through that door next--as long as they're not with anyone else--you've got to bed her tonight. Or else that £500 bottle of Scotch is mine."
Casper nodded, took a swig of his beer, and looked over at the stage. The band was playing some old-timey folk music, and there was a crowd around them, swaying along with the beat.
Casper felt the familiar tingle in his belly, and tried to push it down. He didn't need this distraction right now. He needed to focus on winning Teddy's bet.
When the door opened, an older woman walked in. Her long, slender legs were highlighted by modest heels rising up to an incredibly stylish short dress that hugged her curves at just the right places. Featuring a silver quaff of hair done back severely, her neck was exposed in a manner more than befitting for a woman much younger than she appeared. With her body and class, she could have enraptured any man in the entire city - here she stood in this small dive bar.
Casper swallowed hard; his face had gone ghostly white. Teddy elbowed him, "What's up with you? You aren't copping out already, are ya?"
Casper shook his head, and smiled weakly. "No, I'm good." He took another sip of his beer, and watched as the lady glided towards the bar; her hips rolling in a way that made Casper's heart thump wildly.
"Why hello, Mr. North," the woman smiled, with a hint of seduction and a ton of mischief in her tone.
Casper once again swallowed hard, and replied, "Hello, Tasha, fancy to find you here."
... Three months earlier...
Casper North had just finished lugging the last of his boxes into his new flat when he heard a noise from next door-a soft clinking of wind chimes. Curious, he stepped out onto the shared balcony and spotted her. A woman, perhaps a decade or so older than him, was watering her vibrant potted plants. She had a head of silver hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and an air of self- assuredness about her.
Casper cleared his throat. "Um, hello there. I'm Casper, your new neighbor."
Tasha looked up from her watering can, her eyes meeting his. "Well, hello, Casper. I'm Tasha. Welcome to the building." Her voice was warm but had an edge of caution.
"Thank you, Tasha. It seems like a lovely place."
"It is. Quiet, mostly," she said, arching an eyebrow, as if silently telling him she hoped he wouldn't disrupt that peace.
"I won't be much trouble. Just moved in from two blocks away, needed a change of scenery," Casper assured her, trying not to look too awkward.
Tasha chuckled. "Well, we all need a change sometimes, don't we?"
"Yeah," Casper nodded, "I guess we do."
Just then, Tasha's eyes narrowed as she glanced behind him. "Are those your cigarette butts in the common area?"
Casper flushed. "Uh, yeah. I wasn't sure where the trash was,"
Tasha sighed. "Next to the elevator. And we prefer not to smoke in the common areas."
"Right, I'll make sure to remember that," said Casper, feeling like a chastised secondary schooler. For a moment, there was a silence, filled only by the wind rustling through the leaves of Tasha's plants.
"Well, nice meeting you," Tasha finally said, returning to her watering.
"Nice meeting you too," Casper replied, feeling that he had already managed to put a foot wrong. But as he turned to go back into his flat, he couldn't shake the feeling that his new neighbor intrigued him in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.
Over the next couple of weeks, Tasha couldn't help but notice the pattern. Different women, always significantly younger, entered and left Casper's flat at various times. Each occasion was accompanied by similar noises- the laughter, the suggestive conversations, the increasingly intimate sounds that left nothing to the imagination.
The first few times, she'd tried to dismiss it, to mind her own business. But the feeling of disappointment had curdled into a more complex mixture of annoyance and resignation. It wasn't just about any romantic prospects between them; it was about respecting community norms, about decency in a shared living space with thin walls.
One evening, after yet another such episode, Tasha decided she'd had enough. She wasn't one to stew in silence. The next time she saw Casper, she would confront him. Not in a confrontational way, but she would make her feelings clear.
The opportunity presented itself sooner than she expected. The next morning, as she was leaving for her daily errands, she found Casper fumbling with his mail at the communal mailbox area.
"Morning, Casper," she greeted, her tone neutral but firm.
"Ah, morning, Tasha. How are you?" Casper responded, looking slightly flustered as if sensing what was coming.
"I'd be better if my evenings were quieter," she began, locking eyes with him. "You know, these walls are pretty thin."
Casper's face turned a shade of red, a mix of embarrassment and surprise.
"I thought you should be aware," she continued, "that whatever happens in your flat doesn't exactly stay in your flat. We all share this space, and a little consideration would go a long way."
With that, Tasha picked up her own mail, gave Casper a curt nod, and went on her way. The ball was now in his court.
A week later, Tasha decided it was time to reclaim the narrative. She chose an outfit that was both elegant and provocatively understated. Just as Casper was returning home, she "accidentally" dropped a letter near him.
"You look amazing tonight," Casper said as he bent to pick up the letter for her.
"Do I?" she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Well, they do say clothes make the woman."
"Or unmake her," Casper retorted, eyes alight with the challenge.
Tasha laughed softly. "Is that an invitation or a forecast?"
"Could be either. Depends on the climate," he replied, his gaze holding hers.
Tasha felt a twinge of satisfaction at the banter. She was steering this ship now. "Why don't you come in? The weather's much nicer inside."
Tempted, Casper accepted. Inside her flat, Tasha poured them both a glass of wine, her hand accidentally brushing against his. "Would you like red or white?" she asked.
"I'm always partial to red," he said, looking into her eyes. "It's deeper, more complex."
