Page 90 of The Girlfriend Zone

Kill me now.

Ezra shoots me a helpless look as he mumbles, “If you walked into the bathroom and you saw that the toilet seat was up, what would you do?”

I’m so annoyed that they’re actually asking me to intervene that words fly out of my irritated mouth before I can hold back. “I’d kick it down.”

But that’s the exact wrong answer because Indigo gasps. “Where is the female solidarity?”

Not the point, but for the sake of keeping the peace, I backpedal. “What I meant is I would solve the immediate problem and then I would ask the offender to please put it down next time.”

Indigo frowns, her expression saying I’ve failed the test. “And you don’t think him leaving it up is a sign of the patriarchy?”

For fuck’s sake there are bigger battles to fight than toilet lids. “It isn’t my place to intervene,” I say, trying once more to head straight for my room and learn to love rock music to drown out the sounds of them for all eternity.

“Please, Leighton. Please help us,” she says, her lower lip quivering.

I groan privately, then give in since it’ll just be easier. “Maybe give him a consequence if he leaves it up and a reward if he puts it down. K, thanks, bye.”

I hustle into my bedroom and slam the door, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

But five minutes later, the sound of the flushing toilet, a theatrically loud snap of the closed lid, and a squeal from Indigo filters under my door.

Seconds later, she’s saying—no, shouting, “That makes me so hot.”

He brays right back. “I knew it would, babe. Let’s both enjoy the reward…of passionate sexual intercourse.”

That’s it.

I groan, exasperated, but as I slip into bed and tuck my hearing aids into their charger, I revel in the blissful quiet.

Sometimes, it’s a blessing to have this kind of control over the noise. The hum of the refrigerator dims, the noise of the street fades, and the distant sound of voices drifts away.

Except…

“Oh god, yes! Play with my balls, baby.”

I wither inside. They must be having a really good time if he’s not saying “touch my testicles.”

“Fuck me harder, honey,” she shouts.

Somehow, some way, they’re louder than my loss.

In the morning, when I trudge, bleary-eyed and yawning, toward the shower, they’re already in the kitchen, arms crossed, arguing by the coffee maker.

“I feel that when you make coffee, you should make enough for me.” Ezra adjusts his man bun like it’s a crown before crossing his arms.

Indigo flicks her sleep-mussed braid off her shoulder. “I feel you should ask me to.”

“I feel you should know.”

“I feel we should ask Leighton,” she says.

They both brighten, snapping attention to me like I’m the solution to all their woes.

I hold up my hands, and shake my head as I sidestep them on my way into the bathroom since I feel I should get new roommates.

I slump down on the players’ bench at the Sea Dogs arena as my father flops down next to me, skates still on. He reaches for the coffee I brought him.

He works out there in the mornings, still snagging ice time for himself.

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