Page 110 of My Ruthless Neighbor

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First,thank youthen a chin lift in greeting.

Fuck. My. Life.

I slap my forehead. Goldie snaps his head toward me.

We are curled up on the sofa after dinner, watching a documentary. It’s almost over and I don’t even know what’s it about. Because I have been rehashing my run-in with Archer.

“I should’ve said Hi, right?” I ask Goldie.

He growls.

“Hmm. You are right. That would’ve been more awkward.”

He rests his chin on my chest, staring at me. I give him a head rub.

“What is he doing right now?” I pause, then sit up. “Is he on a date?” I shout, scaring Goldie.

“Sorry!” I lift him and place him on my lap.

My chest squeezes painfully at the thought of him with someone else. Moisture fills my eyes.

I am going off track. He’s making me lose my sanity and I am letting him.

He probably isn’t even thinking about me. And here I am, scaring my cute little puppy.

I hug him close to my chest.

“I don’t care if he dates someone else.” Goldie licks my face.

Sniffling, I clear my throat. “Alexa, play Thank you, next.”

When Goldie gives me a side-eye, I hold a palm up. “He’s not my ex, I know but I feel like dancing, okay?” I squint at him. “And you are going to join me.”

I set him on the floor and then push to my feet.

When the song begins, I start dancing even when there’s a weird feeling growing in my chest.

Standing on haunches, he dances with me. See? He’s the best roomie ever.

The next day, Saturday… I spend the morning going on a walk with Goldie.

This time I didn’t forget to bring a water bottle with me. You learn from your mistakes, right?

When I return home, I begin with house chores. I like to clean the house before leaving for work. Today I have a shift at the resort where I usually have to stay on the land and click pictures with the kids.

Yeah, folks. I am famous.

I’m in the middle of moping the living room floor, singing out loud, shaking my ass on Blinding lights by The Weeknd when I feel my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my shorts.

I fish it out. I read the name of the caller. Hannah.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answer, still dancing.

“Hello, Summer. How are you?”

“I’m great,” I say then slap my head. She thinks I have a stomach bug. My memory is getting worse each day, I swear. “I mean, I am feeling much better now.”

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