Page 47 of The Dixon Rule

“Thank you. That’s nice. But I literally just woke up and I’m not hungry.” I frown as something occurs to me. “How did you get into the building?”

“Louis buzzed me in. I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

I grit my teeth because I do mind and now I need to talk with Louis. He works the weekend day shift at the Sycamore front desk, and he knows better than to let anyone onto the property without buzzing the owner first. Yes, Percy had been a constant weekend visitor for the six months we were dating, but I never once told Louis he could let Percy in willy-nilly.

In fact, I might have to lodge a complaint at this morning’s HOA meeting. Which starts soon, I realize. Brenda strikes her gavel promptly at ten.

Crap, I almost slept through it. This is unacceptable. I don’t miss HOA meetings if I can help it. Maybe I should be thanking Percy for the wake-up call.

…No. I’m still irritated.

“Look, I appreciate the gesture, but you shouldn’t have come.”

He’s unable to shutter his frustration in time. “You’re still mad at me,” he says flatly.

“I’m not mad. I was never mad.”

“When I came over this week, you seemed mad.”

“No, I was simply pointing out why we’re not a good match.”

I hear a rustling behind me, turning to glimpse a shadow moving past the kitchen. Will is walking to the bathroom.

Shit. I close the gap another inch, so the door is pressed against my shoulder. Percy doesn’t miss my response.

“Is someone in there?” he demands.

“No,” I lie.

“You can tell me if there is.”

No, I can’t. Because then you’re going to lose your shit like you always do.

But I don’t say any of that out loud. It’s apparent that a friendship with Percy is not sustainable. And it’s time he knew it.

Unlike most people, I’m not averse to confrontation. I know my boundaries, I’ve always been confident in myself, and I always follow words with actions.

I speak in a firm tone. “I don’t think we can be friends.”

He rears as if I’ve struck him. Then his shoulders deflate, and his Adam’s apple bobs in a panicked gulp. “So you are still angry.”

“I already told you, I’m not angry. But I’ve had a lot of time to reflect since we broke up, and I truly believe this is not a healthy situation anymore. We should both be trying to move on. You shouldn’t be bringing me breakfast.” I nod toward the greasy Della’s bag. “We’re not getting back together, and no amount of fried egg sandwiches is going to change that.”

“This is a friendship gesture,” he insists.

“If it was a friendship gesture, you wouldn’t care if there was someone in my apartment.”

“So there is.” His eyes flash, and the hairs on my neck stand at attention.

I curl my fingers over the edge of the door. “There isn’t.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you have a man in there.” Accusation drips from his tone. “Is it your neighbor? The hockey player?”

“Percy.” Frustration gathers inside me, tensing my muscles. “Every word you’re saying right now is the reason we can’t be friends. I’m sorry things ended and that you didn’t want them to, but we’re not together anymore. So, please, I need you to respect that. I need you respect my boundaries and go.”

He stands perfectly motionless for a moment. A second ticks by. Two. Then three. His already sharp cheekbones become even more prominent as his cheeks seems to hollow. He’s grinding his teeth. Dead silent and chalk still.

Finally, he shakes his head and mutters, “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were different.”

---