Page 16 of Holiday Hostilities

Would actually make a great job for my pantie-stealing roommate, Shannon.

Speak of the devil, she texted me during the flight.

You’re away for Thanksgiving, right?

I frown as I type out my reply, idly wondering how long ago she sent the message.

No, I just landed back in ATL. Going out for dinner but I’ll be home later.

Her response is almost instantaneous.

Oh, okay. I thought you were gone for the holidays.

For Christmas. But I’m home today.

I still haven’t gotten my December schedule, but it should turn up in my email in the next day or two. My phone lights up again.

I didn’t know you were coming home.

My frown deepens at her message, until yet another one pops up.

If it looks like someone was in your room, it’s probably just because I went in there to check that nobody was in there.

Should have guessed.

Were you sleeping in my bed again, Shannon?

No, but I think somebody else was.

The sheets already had makeup on them when I went to check that nobody was in there.

Translation: Shannon was, indeed, sleeping in my room while I was gone. Probably while wearing my underwear.

Which serves as my daily reminder that I need to find a new living situation immediately.

Yesterday’s reminder was the e-invite I received from Gregory-the-Scottish-Bagpiper for the “Annual Three-Day Christmas Rave” which will be taking place in our apartment. Because nothing says celebrating the birth of our dear Lord and Savior like EDM music, strobe lights, and ecstasy.

Thank sweet baby Jesus I’ll be out of town for that particular atrocity, working somewhere far, far away, I hope. Although I’ll have to make sure I lock my bedroom door before I leave. And maybe give poor Mrs. Kibitzky a warning that the apparently “annual” tradition will be continuing this year.

My phone pings again and I’m about to tell Shannon toget out of my room and stay out, but it’s Jake this time.

You home yet? Sof has an appointment that might go late so she’ll meet you at the game. Your name’s on the list, so just tell security who you are and they’ll let you through to the box.

Thanks. Good luck today!

I feel like he might actually need it. Since I saw Jake for breakfast early last week, the Cyclones played two games on the road—losing to Baltimore, then tying with Toronto. I’d like to say this was all Aaron’s fault, but I’m notthatpetty. Or blind. He scored the only Cyclones goal in either game.

Thankfully, he didn’t make good on his threat of pulling a stunt like dedicating a goal to me. Although, a few hours after our breakfast at Essy’s, at midday on the dot, I got a delivery to my apartment that consisted of an Essy’s breakfast burrito, a can of Diet Coke, and a note that said:I know you prefer your eggs soggy, but this will have to suffice for your lunch today.

Which some people might have mistaken for a nice gesture, but they would be exactly that:mistaken.Delicious as the burrito was, it was clearly a signature passive-aggressive Aaron Marino move.

Aaron is clearly the same flippant playboy he’s always been, and I’d do well to remember that. I saw the way he dismissed his date in the bar a few months ago, just as I saw those texts on his phone the other morning.

It’s sad, really, that his neanderthal brain hasn’t evolved from his MILF-loving high school days.

“So what are your plans for this afternoon?” I ask Jing as I start helping her with the trash pick-up.

“Hot pot,” she says almost dreamily. “My grandma’s super secret broth recipe. We eat hot pot every Thanksgiving now, butwe also have turkey on the side. And my mom makes pumpkin pie from scratch for dessert because she thinks it’s the best American cuisine.”

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