Page 9 of Resisting the Grump

“I asked if that was a threat,” I said. “About the biting? It was a knee-jerk reaction, and I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I haven’t heard anything from him since.”

Her smile pulled to one side, causing one of her dimples to deepen. “So… what? You’re afraid he’s shopping for bleach and rope and tarp and that your days are numbered?”

“Of course, I don’t think that,” I lied. “But it’s definitely keeping me awake at night when something else isn’t… like his incessant hammering and drumming and spinning.”

“You can hear him spinning?”

“No,” I admitted. “But knowing he’s on the other side of the wall collecting pools of his own sweat really interferes with my ability to sloth on my couch.”

“Maybe you should install Tinder again?”

“Why? So I can go back to being annoyed by a greater number of men?”

She waved the suggestion away. “You’re right. Forget I said anything. Wouldn’t want to do anything to annoy your new neighbor.”

“I’m not going to start dating deadbeats again just because the devil moved in next door.”

“Not all men are deadbeats, Avery.”

“I realize that, but the one who isn’t is dating you, and until I figure out why I’m such a terrible judge of character, I can’t afford to take anyone else on.” Literally, I couldn’t afford it. It was one thing when I was on the road to becoming a bigtime lawyer and could spend my student loans as I saw fit, but I couldn’t afford to foster any more bloodsucking leeches. My heart and ego were fragile. Especially after the last few guys who’d blatantly used me when I naively thought we were using each other. But like a bad habit, I kept getting dropped.

So now, despite feeling as dry as a slug in the sun, I was officially on defense. Because there were worse things than being alone, and as far as I could tell, I was a lot better at being alone than I was at dating.

“Have you met him in person?” Grace asked. “The spinning drummer with the big hammer? He sort of sounds like he might be your type?”

I recoiled. “In what way does he sound like he could be my type?”

“I don’t know,” she said, scraping the edge of the gooey brownie pan with her finger. “Fit. Intense. Kind of an asshole.”

“Don’t you know me at all?” I asked. “I’m into lazy assholes.” It was a joke, but it hurt my heart to make it.

“Oh right. Forget I mentioned it.”

“And to top it all off, he’s a cat guy.”

Her nose scrunched. “Really? He didn’t strike me as a cat guy.”

I cocked my head. Had he struck her at all?

“That should make it easier to get rid of your body, though.” She screwed the lid back on the carton of milk. “And the cat smell should help with the cover up.”

“Thanks for that,” I said. Did she not hear me say I was having trouble sleeping?

She stood and stepped over to give my shoulder a squeeze. “Try not to get killed before the competition, okay? It’s really important to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Maybe you could wait until after my trip to Paris, too? If you don’t mind. I’ve really been looking forward to it.”

“Sure,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll do my best to cheat death a while longer.”

She booped my nose with her finger. “Thanks, babe. I owe you one.”

S I X

- Oliver -

I could see the tents from miles away, their pink and white peaks stabbing into the wide blue sky and making the festival impossible to miss. With the stereo blasting a medley of classic rock, I wove my Porsche in and out of the left lane to pass the minivans and SUVs closing in on the place and wondered how much biking I’d have to do the following week to make up for all the junk I was about to eat.

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