Page 55 of Crave Thy Neighbor

I was starving…until I remembered I had to come home to Maya in my apartment.

“It’s delicious.” A frown pulls at her lips like she doesn’t believe me. “No, really. See?” I shove a giant forkful into my mouth, chew, then swallow.

It truly is good. Probably one of the best dishes I’ve ever had.

My father tried his hardest to do what he could in the kitchen when my mom left, but he never quite got the hang of it. More nights than not, we ate sandwiches or macaroni and cheese.

“I’m tired is all,” I explain. “I zone out a bit when I get that way. I’m not trying to not eat.”

She looks like she wants to say something else but decides against it. Instead, she nods, then drops her attention back to the bowl in front of her, which is almost as full as mine.

I shovel several more bites of the tomatoey pasta into my gullet to make her happy, then reach for the can of soda I have sitting on the counter next to me and take a drink.

Her fork clatters against the bowl, and I nearly spit my drink out, caught off guard.

She turns her fiery eyes to me. “Are we going to talk about last night or sit in awkward silence for the rest of the time I’m living here?”

“Nope,” I tell her. I finish off the rest of my soda, then crush the can against my leg and toss it into the trash can across from me.

She huffs out a growl. “Why not?”

“Because nothing happened.”

“Nolan, come on.” She sighs. “Be an adult about this.”

“I am. I’m moving on and you should too.”

Her eyes sharpen on me again and she works her jaw back and forth. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“Fine,” she snips back.

I drop my fork into my now empty bowl, then march to the sink. I rinse out the dirty dish and plop it into the dishwasher.

I can feel her eyes on me as I grab the plug from under the sink and put it in place. I twist on the hot water and squirt out some dish soap, letting it fill up while I grab the dirty pots and pans from the stovetop.

She doesn’t say anything as she finishes off her dinner and drains the rest of her wine…then refills it with well over two fingers of bourbon.

Without another word, glass in hand, she pads down the hall to her bedroom.

She doesn’t slam the door, and somehow that’s worse.

Somehow, I know it means she’s truly pissed.

Good. Let her be angry.

Anger will keep her away.

Anger will keep us separated.

Anger will keep me from making any more dumb decisions.

I don’t need to get involved with Maya for a myriad of reasons, the biggest being I can’t give her what she wants the most—love.

9

Maya

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