Page 35 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

Dean has been living in my apartment for all of two days, and I am close to kicking his sorry ass to the curb. Or just skipping right to murdering him.

I slam the refrigerator closed and turn to him, glaring.

He sets his fork down beside his nearly empty breakfast plate and rubs his tired eyes. “What now?”

“You know what.”

He rakes his fingers through his inky hair. “Look, I slept like ass last night, so if you could just get on with whatever accusation it is you have this time, I’d appreciate it.”

“And I’d appreciate if you stopped using all of my creamer.”

It’s not the first thing of mine he’s used either.

When I woke up yesterday, he was digging into my eggs. Sure, they’re only eggs, but we’djustgone to the grocery store the night before and argued over how the grocery system would work.

It took ten minutes of practically screaming at one another in the chip aisle, but we managed to agree that he would buy his own groceries—and only his own—and we’d divide the fridge evenly.

Apparently, his version of evenly and mine were two different things.

Even though the shop is closed on Mondays, I fled to the boutique so I could avoid him.

Turns out, him eating my eggs was only the first of many offenses to come.

Like leaving his sweaty, smelly socks sitting inside his shoes after the gym. I had to lighttwocandles just to get the stink out of the living room.

Then there’s his constant bickering with Morris, who Deanclearlyhates. (It’s fine. The feeling is mutual.)

And the biggest complaint of all: I can’t just walk in the door and pop my bra off.

My back is starting to hurt, and these bad boys need to be free. He’s screwing with my ability to come home and relax at night.

Well, to be fair, he’s always done that.

But this is worse.

“I didn’t use your creamer, River.”

I nod toward his mug, which contains coffee that is far from straight black. “Then what’s in your cup?”

“Coffee.”

“Coffeeand…”

“Sunshine.

“Dean.”

“It’s milk.”

I sniff. “You expect me to believe that when my creamer is obviously empty?”

“I’m not the only person in this apartment. Did you stop to thinkyoumight have used the last of your creamer?”

“No. I’d know.”

“If that were the case, you’d remember when we were at the grocery store two days ago and you stood in front of the creamer for five minutes picking one out and then putting it back because youstill had plenty at home.”

He says it so confidently I almost believe him.

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