Page 54 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

“And?”

She swallows thickly, the action visible even from here, and wiggles in her seat.

She clears her throat and waves her hand, trying to appear unaffected. “Not impressed.”

“That’s not what your nipples said.” I lift my leg, pulling my wet sock off my foot, then remove the other. I ball them up and shove them into my pocket.

If I were in my own place, I’d toss them on the floor.

I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well with River.

“There was a draft.”

“In a bedroom with all the windows closed?”

“Yes,” she says. Then she points across the kitchen. “Second drawer, next to the stove.”

“What?”

She huffs. “Hand towels. Second drawer down, next to the stove. You’re going to need them to clean your mess up. I don’t have paper towels.”

“Did you forget to buy some?”

“No. I just don’t use them at home. Reuse, reduce, recycle and all that. I try to do my part where I can, and paper towels seem pointless when there are perfectly good washable cloth napkins and towels that can be used.”

“That’s…surprising.”

“What is?”

“You being all hipster and whatnot.”

“Ifbeing all hipstermeans giving a shit about the environment, then yeah, I guess I am a ‘hipster.’” She uses air quotes around the word. “Do you need assistance?”

“Are you going to keep talking like that all night?”

“Like what?”

“Just throwing out these random questions like I’m supposed to know what the hell you’re yammering on about.”

“I’m referring to your mess. Do you need help cleaning it up? It’s taking you long enough to do it.”

I shake my head, moving toward the drawer she pointed out, and clean up my mess.

River rises from her stool, moving into the kitchen, stepping around me and having the audacity to side-eye me likeI’mthe one inherway.

Finished cleaning, I stand to my full height, tossing the towel onto the counter next to me. I lean my back against the granite and cross my arms over my chest, watching as she scuttles around, peeking in all the cabinets and shuffling things around before slamming them closed.

“Are you hangry or something? Need a snack? You sound extra grumpy today.”

“Yes, actually.” She pulls the door of the fridge/freezer open, and it takes all of five seconds before she angrily bangs it closed too. “I’mstarving,and there’s nothing to eat in this apartment.”

“Didn’t we just go grocery shopping?”

“Yes, but nothing sounds good.”

Truth is, I’m also starving, and now that we’re bringing up food, my stomach is starting to rumble. I did this same routine three times today before I settled on eating a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar that was clearly marked with…well, not my name.

But I’m not telling her that.

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