Page 6 of Like You Want It
He rolls his eyes, and it is the most emotion I’ve seen out of him since the minute I opened the door and he looked like he wanted to light me on fire.
“You have been incredibly rude and unfriendly since the minute you showed up at my door…”
“I only showed up at your door because you were playing your music at a freakishly high volume at six in the morning.”
“And stop interrupting me!” I shout, feeling like I’m finally losing my cool.
I place a palm flat on my face and let out a breath that is supposed to be calming. It’s definitely not. I take one more and then look at this guy. It’s clear that being all broody and irritated is his thing, and that positivity isn’t a mental state he’s familiar with. He’s flat, bored, disinterested. It’s just his way, and as much as it frustrates me, it isn’t my problem to fix. I need to just let go of any idea I have of him realizing he’s being a dick and just try to get him to leave.
“Look…” I wrack my brain, coming up blank. “What’s your name?”
There’s a pause.
“I’m going to be living next door to your sister, and I can’t even know your name?”
His jaw ticks. “Fin.”
“Fin? Is that short for something?”
Silence.
“Alright. Look, Fin, I am very sorry for fucking with your morning.” I uncross and recross my arms. “Next time I’ll, I don’t know, go knock and ask for a pipe down like a normal human being instead of my absolute train wreck of an attempt at vengefulness this morning.”
His shoulders drop slightly, and I feel like I just saw a fight leave his body in a rush. But he continues to stand there without saying anything.
“So… thanks for coming by, then,” I tack on, hinting that he should head out the door.
The invitation to leave seems to resonate because he moves quickly, making it through my tiny living room and to the front door in just a few long strides. He pauses in the open doorway and looks back at me.
“I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I don’t want to mislead you into thinking that it’s actually true.”
My mouth drops open, incredulous, and the tiny olive branch of apology that I handed to him a moment ago snaps in my mind like a fucking twig.
“Keep to yourself and Susie will keep to herself, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
He turns and walks out, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
My nostrils flare as I glare at the spot where he just stood like I wish he would come back so I could light him on fucking fire.
What a prick.
I don’t think I’ve ever had someone be so rude to me in my entire life.
Well, okay, that’s not true. I work at a coffee shop. People can be dicks. But I can almost always win them over with a well-phrased apology, or a smile, or a willingness to be wrong even when I know I’m not.
But this guy?
Fin?
What a fucking prick.
Mr. Fucking Prick.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll call him.
In my head though. Not to his face. I mean, I don’t wanna be atotalasshole.
I finally walk over and close my front door so I’m no longer showcasing my naked legs to everyone on Green Street, then head over to my couch and plop down with a dramatic flourish.
I have to be at work in – I glance at the neon yellow clock that hangs on the wall near the front door – a little under two hours. I can’t believe that conversation only took fifteen minutes. It felt like he was here for a year.
I let my head fall back on the couch cushion and take a deep breath through my nose, then let it out through my mouth. I usually do a round of yoga in the mornings if I’m feeling stressed or frustrated, following one of my own routines or watching a free channel on YouTube.
But this morning, I feel like the only thing that could possibly help is a big fat glass of wine and a trip to that place Dina’s always telling me about where people throw axes at a wooden block.
Yeah. Axe throwing.
I slap a palm over my face.
If my inclination after my first conversation with him is that I want to throw weapons at a wall, I hope I never have to see that Fin guy again.
