Page 118 of Crave Thy Neighbor

I walk down to the edge of the lake and pick up a handful of small rocks. Nothing too big or too sharp—I’m trying to be romantic, not stick her with a repair bill.

When I line my shot up with what I’m fairly certain is her balcony, I launch.

The rock skips off the glass door, and I wait a moment to see if she heard it.

Nothing happens.

I pull my arm back and send another rock soaring.

Wait.

Nothing.

Then another.

Wait.

Nothing.

My hopes dwindle as each rock lobbed bounces off the door with no response.

Maybe she’s not home? Maybe they stopped off for a late celebratory dinner?

No. I know Maya, and there’s no way she’d be out this late with Sam.

I toss another rock.

Wait.

Another.

At this point, all my ideas of grandeur are gone, but I can’t seem to make myself give up yet. I’m tired of giving up. It’s all I’ve ever fucking done.

I stretch my arm back one more time. If this doesn’t work, it’s time for plan B.

With a prayer, I launch the last rock in my hand.

It never makes contact with the door, because it’s swung open.

“I called the police, young man!” An old lady who—clearly—isn’t wearing a bra rushes out of her apartment, shaking a landline phone in the air. “They’ll be here any minute! Don’t you dare think about running!”

I want to point out that if she called the cops, she shouldn’t have told me so, because I’d definitely be running right now if I were a criminal.

But I’m no crook.

I’m just a man standing in front of an old lady, asking her which apartment his one true love lives in.

I take a step closer, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Do you know Maya West?”

“I said don’t run!”

“I’m not running!”

“I’m warning you, mister!”

I hold my hands up. “I’m not fucking running!”

She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “How dare you!”

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