Page 11 of Subscriber Wars

Maverick scoffs and I add, “Anymore. I don’t do hungover employees anymore.”

I fight the urge to look back at the window.

Why does fucking with Valentina float my demented boat?

Yes, we’re enemies and I’d very much like to never speak to her again after what she did.

But yet, I sat at my window downing moonshine shots after moonshine shots while I watched her snuggle into her ratty old chair in her stupid flannel pajamas and mismatched socks.

I could see all the lies as I looked at her all peaceful and cozy. Meanwhile, I was stalking her like some loser. The drunker I became, the more ridiculous my thoughts were.

I didn’t miss her.

I didn’t care what movie she was watching.

I was fine without her.

It’s not like I won’t graduate in another year and move clear across the country. I don’t need Valentina in my life, not for views and especially not for my own entertainment.

So I removed part of the equation. If she couldn’t sit in her chair, then she couldn’t pique my interest and suck away my entire night.

Except, it didn’t quite pan out that way.

“Great. Now that we’ve found you a new friend, I’m going home.” Slowly, I pull my gaze forward and find that Maverick has stood and grabbed his phone from the sofa, texting someone—probably Ainsley.

“Gigi’s tonight?” I ask, refraining from demanding it like I want to.

He sighs a long and exaggerated breath. “Sure. I’ll meet you there at ten.”

Fucking finally. We haven’t been to Gigi’s in months.

I nod, hiding my excitement, and walk to the door, hoping Brick takes the hint and follows Maverick out. “Sounds good. Tell Ainsley I’ll answer her text later.” I take a look around my townhouse, noting the dirty clothes, I think I might have been wearing last night, laid haphazardly over the trash can. “I need to do a couple things first.”

Maverick doesn’t take the bait about Ainsley. He knows no one is stupid enough to text his girl. “Come on, Brett, I’ll show you out,” he says instead, forcing a grin from me.

He’s a really good friend, even if he is lame.

I nod to Brick and flip off Mav. “Don’t cancel on me, bitch, or I’ll bring Monopoly, and we can all sit around and be a family.”

It’s an empty threat. I don’t own a game of Monopoly, but even if I did, I wouldn’t crash on Maverick’s time with his girl. I’m not that shitty of a friend.

Maverick ignores me—like usual—shoving Brick forward and out of my life for the next fifteen hours. I release a big breath. I finally hired a cameraman. That’s one obstacle down and one step in recovering my views and sponsored ads on MyView.

My self-destruction is ending.

I’ve found the motherfucking light at the end of the tunnel.

Fuck the hot neighbor and her sweet smile. They both can kiss my ass. Literally, if she wants to. I’m not selfish. Giving of myself is my best attribute.

I swipe the shirt from the trashcan, take a jump shot, and ring the hamper, following it up by bagging up the trash. Several jars clang together and I cringe. I really need to lay off the moonshine Rowan distills in his spare room. I don’t know what he puts in the brew, but the shit knocks me on my ass. Not to mention, I feel like I’m on an episode ofMoonshinerswhen I go over and grab an armful.

I’m pretty sure his neighbors know what he’s doing simply from the smell, but no one is crazy enough to complain. Rowan is like an angry version of Vin Diesel, which serves Maverick well, since Rowan is his game enforcer on Wednesday night poker. For me, though, he’s just a big ol’ grouchy teddy bear that I like to textTheFast and the Furiousmemes to.

Opening the door, the heat stops me in my tracks. Fuck. You’d think it was midsummer rather than late spring. The shorts were definitely a good idea. Taking the back steps barefoot, because I can’t be bothered with shoes, I stuff the bag inside the rolling trash can and let the lid slam shut. Trash pickup is tomorrow. I can’t miss it again.

I chance a glance over at my neighbor’s front stoop. Her trash can isn’t out yet, but I bet it will be by morning, along with separate cans with her recycling.

I shake my head remembering the lectures she used to give me about throwing all my shit in one can.“This is plastic! Do you know how long it takes for it to decompose in a landfill?”I didn’t know at the time, but a few weeks later, I bought another stupid trash can. I don’t use it now, since she shit all over our friendship, but I still have it, and, occasionally, I consider throwing a milk jug in there just to spite myself.

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