Page 42 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

“That’s what I call self-preservation.”

“It’s called being a wimp.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that, just tilts his beer back and finishes it off.

Because he knows I’m right.

I’ve known Nolan since I was five. We met at the bus stop for the same shitty school and bonded over neither of us having one of those sweet Power Ranger lunchboxes that were all the rage. All we had were brown paper sacks that were hardly bursting at the seams with nutritious treats.

Each day we’d meet up, and I’d swap my turkey and cheese for his peanut butter and jelly. He hated peanut butter, but it was all his dad could afford.

It never mattered to Nolan that my family won the lottery and we got out of that shithole.

He was still Nolan, and I was still Dean. That was that.

We’ve been close since we met. It’s fair to say I know Nolan well, better than anyone.

It’s how I know he’s a runner and doesn’t do commitment, which has everything to do with his mom bailing on his family when he was five. He’s been a ball of bitterness and discontent ever since. In any relationship he’s ever had, he’s always left before he can be left.

I’m serious about him meeting some girl who’ll knock him on his ass. It’s going to happen, and I can’t wait to be there to witness it.

“So, what’s this chick doing now? Besides being an absolute angel by letting your dumb ass live there after you nearly burned your apartment building down.”

I clench my jaw at the reminder, still pissed at myself—hence me sitting at the bar for happy hour, something I rarely do.

Like he could read my mind and knew I needed to blow off some steam, Nolan called me up and asked if I wanted to grab a beer. I jumped on the opportunity fast.

“She’s accused me of stealing or using her things every day I’ve lived there.”

“You’ve only been there for five days.”

“I know.” I laugh, but there’s no humor to it because I don’t find any of this funny. It’s exhausting. “The first day, she was mad because I ate her eggs or some shit. The second, she was pissed because I apparently used all her creamer.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” He chuckles. “The thirdandfourth day she was in a huff because I told her she shouldn’t keep letting her dishes pile up in the sink. She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“If you hate her that much, it sounds like the ideal situation, then.”

“Oh, it’d be great, exactly what I want—except she still hasn’t given me a key to the apartment.”

Despite my asking her every day, she still hasn’t given me a key. This means if I want to leave the apartment, I have to wait for her to get home so I can get back in. It’s why I was on board for beers with Nolan. I had to be at the school today to help inventory the football equipment, and there was no way I’d be out late enough to warrant waiting around for River to come home.

I thought about stealing her keys and making a copy myself, but she keeps them in her room, and it felt wrong sneaking in there for them.

I do respectsomeof her boundaries.

“How do you still not have a key?”

I shrug. “No damn clue, man. I’m of the belief that it gives her some sort of high lording it over my head that she has the final say in when I come and go.”

“Given everything you’ve told me about all your tiffs with her, that wouldn’t surprise me. Still can’t believe I haven’t met her more than in passing yet.”

“You should come over one night next week for a baseball game. You can meet her then.”

“Two things.” He holds a finger up. “One, baseball is boring as fuck, and you know I hate it.” Another finger goes up. “Two, I’m in, but I do want to go on the record saying I don’t think it’s exactly good practice to invite strangers over to the place you’re crashing at temporarily.”

“One,” I counter, “baseballisboring, but pizza and beer are not, and sports are an excuse for that. Two, I need a witness. I have a feeling either she or her cat is going to murder me.”

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