Page 102 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

She twists her lips up, thinking.

“No,” she decides. “Believe it or not, I actually used to be fun. I guess I just buried my loneliness in work and it stuck. The business has been booming, and I’m hitting goals I always dreamed of.” She shrugs. “So I just never let up.”

I want to ask if she’s still feeling lonely, or if she’s behind on work because she’s no longer hiding behind it. I want to know if that’s my doing or something else.

But that feels too much like crossing a line.

“I can relate. What’s that saying? Find something you love and never work a day in your life?”

“That saying is horseshit.” I laugh at her brashness. “Just because it comes from a place of love and passion doesn’t mean it doesn’t take hard work.”

“True. I’m passionate about teaching, but it’s exhausting as hell.”

“Why’d you go into it exactly? You worked for your dad before you got your degree, right? What went wrong there?”

I wince, not a fan of explaining this part of my life to people. “So. Funny story.”

“People are never about to tell a funny story when they say that.”

“True.” I roll onto my back, putting my hands under my head. I don’t miss the way her eyes trail down my body when the blanket slips down to my hips. “My parents won the lottery and my dad started a business with the winnings.”

“Like legit won the lottery?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re loaded?”

I laugh. “How much do you think teachers get paid?”

“But your parents…”

“Theyhave money. Holland makes good cash working for my father, but since I ditched the family business and all, I’m on my own.”

“They cut you off?”

“There wasn’t anything to cut off. We grew up scraping by, and when they struck gold, my parents were adamant that aside from a good education, if we didn’t help keep the wealth flowing, we were on our own.”

“That seems…”

“A little ass-backward considering they got everything handed to them? Yeah.” I shrug. “But it’s fine. I’m not into the whole glitz-and-glam lifestyle they’ve adopted. I’m more into the low-key thing.”

“Ah, spoken like a true broke man.”

I chuckle. “And you? How was your home life?”

“Nothing exciting. Parents are still together. No real drama. Picket fence and all that crap.” She lifts a shoulder. “I grew up about thirty minutes away. I went off to college for a while, and when I moved back, I knew I wanted to live in the city.” She gestures around the room. “So, here I am. Nothing to write home about.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say quietly. “There’s a lot to write about when it comes to you.”

Her lips pull at the corners, and if it weren’t for the laptop light, I’d miss the grin.

I close my eyes, listening to her fingers clack against the keyboard.

“What about you?” she asks when I think she’s completely focused on other things.

“What about me?”

“Do you ever hide in your work? Ever feel lonely?”

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