Page 11 of Fair Catch

Homicide is illegal, and the only person who’d help me hide the body now lives in New Jersey.

It takes repeating that sentiment internally a few times before I settle for the next best thing: grumbling a few profanities under my breath, slamming my pillow over my head, and making a mental note to order something to soundproof my goddamn bedroom.

The next four days are more of the same—Kason screwing with my sleep schedule in the mornings—and I’m about to explode because of it. Not even the ear plugs I bought can drown it out, and if this is how it’s gonna be throughout the year, or at least the entirety of football season, I might lose my mind.

My only saving grace is the few hours Kason isn’t around the apartment because of lifting and practice, but unfortunately, those hours aren’t as frequent as I’d hoped. But with classes starting just around the corner to keep both of us busy, I’m praying the two of us don’t cross paths more than once or twice a day.

Tonight is actually the first night since he moved in that he isn’t home immediately after practice, and it’s given me exactly what I’ve been craving: some peace and fucking quiet.

Until he comes crashing through the front door around ten o’clock while I’m unwinding by doing some reading in my bedroom. I do my best to ignore the noise he makes for about ten minutes, but when my stomach starts growling and I realize I haven’t eaten dinner yet, my hand is forced.

Sighing, I drop my textbook on the bed and grab the glass on my nightstand. I might as well make sure he didn’t actually break anything while I grab my leftover chicken and mashed potatoes.

I find the kitchen dark at the end of the hall, save for the stove light we always keep on, and Kason rummaging through the cabinets like some kind of food gremlin.

“You could turn the light on, you know,” I tell him as I open the fridge.

More dishes clatter at the sound of my voice, and Kason curses under his breath. “Jesus, you scared me.” His head pops out from behind the cabinet door, and he meets my gaze in the dim light. “You’re like a mouse. I didn’t realize you were even home, you’re so quiet.”

As opposed to a giant neanderthal who couldn’t be quiet if his life depended on it?

The lack of sleep has made me ornery to say the least, and I’m well aware of it. I’m also aware that we have the entire school year—which hasn’t evenstartedyet—to live together. Shoving down some of my irritation will probably be best for our cohabitation.

“I was getting in some reading. Doesn’t require making a whole lot of noise.” My attention moves to the fridge where my container of leftovers should be, only to find the spot empty. “Where’s my chicken?”

Kason’s face is guilty as hell the second my eyes slide back to him, and he holds up his hands. “I took it for lunch because I knew I wouldn’t have time to get something between lifting and practice.” His face screws up in grimace when I don’t say anything, and he adds, “I texted you about it and you read it, so I figured it was fine.”

Blinking, I pull out my phone and check my texts. Sure enough, there’s one from him that I must’ve opened when I was half asleep, because it’s marked read at barely after six o’clock.

Kason: I’m taking your leftovers for lunch. I’ll get you back when I cook this weekend.

I could actually kill him.

First my sleep, now my food. What’s next? Him using my fucking toothbrush?

“My old roommate and I didn’t really have rules about leftovers, but if I grabbed his, I’d leave him my leftovers the next time I cooked. Or vice versa,” he explains. Bumbling awkwardness radiates off him in waves more potent than that goddamn body spray or whatever the hell he wears, and he adds, “That’s what I meant when I said I’d get you back.”

“Right,” I say through gritted teeth. “I guess I’ll order Thai instead.”

“Well, that’s one thing you’ll never have to worry about me eating,” he says brightly, clearly an attempt to make a joke that doesn’t come close to landing.

I do make a mental note about the Thai, though.

“You said you were reading for classes?” he asks, switching the subject as I close the fridge and fill my water instead. When I nod, he asks, “Isn’t it a little early to start doing that?”

I give him a tight smile, wishing this stupid water dispenser would move a little faster. “Yup, kinda whatgetting aheadmeans.”

Okay, so maybe I can’t completely rein in the snark.

Deciding my glass is full enough, I move to go back to my room without any further conversation. Until Kason pipes up with an off-the-wall question.

“What are your majors again?”

I pause in the opening of the hall and look back at him. “Finance and business administration.”

I don’t ask him what his major is because, frankly, I don’t care. Just like I don’t care to continue this conversation he’s attempting to have via a follow-up question.

“What kind of jobs are you planning to look for with those? Clearly something involving—”

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