Page 61 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

I hightailed it to Making Waves even though it was my day off, skipping breakfast so I didn’t have to risk an unwanted run-in with my roomie. My entire day was off-kilter after that.

Like I said, completely his fault.

“I highly doubt you’re concerned about my eating habits.” I hold my coffee up to my lips and blow on the hot liquid.

It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s been sneaking my eggs and nearly all the other food in the fridge and pantry that’s labeled mine. It’s like the rules we carefullydrew mean absolutely nothing to him.

He beams at me as he plops down onto the other end of the couch. It’s that same damn smile he’s been giving me since he moved in, like he knows having him here is killing me.

And it is.

Mentally…physically.

I’m wound tight. Tighter than usual, that’s for damn sure. Having him around is stressing me out. Relaxation is a thing of the past. And I don’t just mean the “chilling with no pants on” or “letting my titties fly free” kind—that’s a whole different level of leisure.

I mean just sitting on my own couch and watching crappy television. Or walking into my own kitchen and eating a pint of ice cream without feeling his judgment bore into me. Even simply existing in my own space and not feeling on edge or like a guest in my own apartment. Don’t even get me started on the way he regularly pads around this place like he is now, dressed in those panty-dropping gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt like he’s some sex god.

I hate every moment of it.

Especially at night when I lie in bed thinking about the fact that Dean Fucking Evans is lying across the hall…and how good it might feel to cross the threshold of his room and curl into bed next to him. To let him touch me with his hands the way he did with his eyes.

To kiss him.

“Thank you for the inventory,” I tell him. “I’ll mark that down for the next time we do our grocery shopping…and you’ll take note of the carefully crafted plan we laid out.”

I give him a short smile, letting him know I’m not taking any more of his shit, including him stealing my food.

He laughs.

He has the fucking audacity tolaugh.

“You mean writing our names on our crap like we’re in kindergarten or something? Come on, River. It’s not a big deal if we use each other’s things. I know you use some of my stuff.”

“I don’t use anything of yours.”

He raises his brows, and I work overtime to not let my shoulders drop.

Shit. He knows.

To be fair, it’s his fault I use his things. He just smellsso damn good. Like so good I want to bathe in his scent…

So, I do.

I might have started using his bodywash in the shower.

But can I really be blamed? That cedar scent flowing over me…damn. It almost makes me feel not so single and lonely when I use it.

Sad, but true.

“I don’t,” I repeat, maintaining my composure.

He gives me a look like he doesn’t believe me but drops it anyway.

“So,” he starts, pushing his food around and mixing it up. “What’s on your agenda today?”

Luckily, since Dean has lived here, I’ve been distracted by work. I’ve made sure to leave early each day and stay late each night just to avoid extra time with him.

Rude? Yes.

---