Page 12 of The Pretender

I nod to Brick and flip off Mav. “Don’t cancel on me, bitch, or I’ll bring Monopoly, and we can all sit around and be a family.”

It’s an empty threat. I don’t own a game of Monopoly, but even if I did, I wouldn’t crash on Maverick’s time with his girl. I’m not that shitty of a friend.

Maverick ignores me—like usual—shoving Brick forward and out of my life for the next fifteen hours. I release a big breath. I finally hired a cameraman. That’s one obstacle down and one step in recovering my views and sponsored ads on MyView.

My self-destruction is ending.

I’ve found the motherfucking light at the end of the tunnel.

Fuck the hot neighbor and her sweet smile. They both can kiss my ass. Literally, if she wants to. I’m not selfish. Giving of myself is my best attribute.

I swipe the shirt from the trashcan, take a jump shot, and ring the hamper, following it up by bagging up the trash. Several jars clang together and I cringe. I really need to lay off the moonshine Rowan distills in his spare room. I don’t know what he puts in the brew, but the shit knocks me on my ass. Not to mention, I feel like I’m on an episode ofMoonshinerswhen I go over and grab an armful.

I’m pretty sure his neighbors know what he’s doing simply from the smell, but no one is crazy enough to complain. Rowan is like an angry version of Vin Diesel, which serves Maverick well, since Rowan is his game enforcer on Wednesday night poker. For me, though, he’s just a big ol' grouchy teddy bear that I like to textTheFast and the Furiousmemes to.

Opening the door, the heat stops me in my tracks. Fuck. You’d think it was midsummer rather than late spring. The shorts were definitely a good idea. Taking the back steps barefoot, because I can’t be bothered with shoes, I stuff the bag inside the rolling trash can and let the lid slam shut. Trash pickup is tomorrow. I can’t miss it again.

I chance a glance over at my neighbor’s front stoop. Her trash can isn’t out yet, but I bet it will be by morning, along with separate cans with her recycling.

I shake my head remembering the lectures she used to give me about throwing all my shit in one can.“This is plastic! Do you know how long it takes for it to decompose in a landfill?”I didn’t know at the time, but a few weeks later, I bought another stupid trash can. I don’t use it now, since she shit all over our friendship, but I still have it, and, occasionally, I consider throwing a milk jug in there just to spite myself.

Turning back, a bright light catches my eye, stopping me. Shielding my eyes, I ease my head down and notice a set of keys dangling from Vee’s front door.

Don’t do it, Sebastian. She has your pillow.

I nod to myself, fidgeting with my bottom lip.

She does have my pillow, and while I thought she would beg me for the return of her chair this morning, she didn’t. Which, I’ll admit is slightly disappointing.

What Valentina Lambros needs is a little more incentive, and maybe a lesson in self-preservation. Just because we live in a decent neighborhood, we can’t assume we have decent neighbors.

See exhibit A, me stealing her chair and exhibit B, her stealing my pillow.

But that’s sort of what neighbors do, right? Loan each other sugar or some shit?

That’s all this is. A little bit of borrowing with a little bit of menace behind it.

With a quick look around, I sprint across the hot as fuck sidewalk, ignoring the first degree burns on the bottom of my feet and swipe the keys from her front door, slipping them into my pocket smoothly and quickly then leaping onto the grass between our houses. Vee’s side is professionally landscaped, which I’m sure her daddy paid for; whereas, mine is overgrown with a few random weeds that have sprouted flowers.

I used to pay a guy to come and cut the grass, but since my sponsored ads reduced drastically, I don’t have the kind of money I used to. I meant to buy a push mower. Instead, I was impulsive and bought a wakeboard that I’ve yet to use because I don’t have a boat. I’m a dude. We do stupid shit sometimes.

Laughing bubbles from Vee’s back door, and I hurry to my back patio, only swearing twice when I step on something prickly.

“Are you sure we don’t need the duct tape?”

I recognize that voice. Aspen Von Bremen, my nemesis’ roommate and childhood bestie. She’s the reason our neighborhood get-togethers are tense and awkward. Her brother’s roommate, Bennett, is like her personal bodyguard or party pooper. I can’t quite figure out which. All I know is Aspen is fun and Bennett is…not so much.

“I’m not duct taping my boobs, Asp. If this game gets that out of hand, I’m quitting. I’m not flashing the neighbors.”

The word, “flashing,” grabs my attention as I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, staring at a blank screen. I don’t want the traitor thinking I want to see her boobs or even imagine her wrapping tape around them, plumping them into round globes—What the fuck kind of game are they playing anyway?

“You can’t quit!” Aspen laughs. “I made a bet with my brother. If we lose, I have to clean his bathroom. Don’t ask me to take on that torture.”

“You shouldn’t have a made a bet in the first place! You know I suck at most sports.”

A grin tugs along my lips. She does suck at sports. A lot.

“Shit. I don’t have the keys to lock the deadbolt, do you?”

---