Page 16 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

Meow.

“Dammit, Morris! You’re going to fall in and go nuts and ruin this whole experience for me.”

Thisis what my life has come to—arguing with my cat while I take a bath, slice of pie in hand.

The little shit finally hops down, only to jump onto the toilet and into his favorite spot in the apartment: the bathroom sink.

He meows again.

“Good. I’m glad you found your spot. Now let me relax in peace. Swear, I am never having kids,” I mutter. “If a cat is this demanding, hard pass on children.”

I scoot down in the tub, careful to keep my pie safely above water.

When I was first looking at apartments, number one on my must-haves list was a big bathtub. It might seem like a trivial requirement, but nothing beats a good soak when the demons living in my uterus try to murder me once a month.

Or when I need to unwind.

Like today.

I stab at my slice of Dutch apple from The Gravy Train, my second favorite thing they serve. I moan when the flavor hits my tongue and sink lower into the tub, the hot water already working its magic on the tension that’s beginning to feel permanent.

Maya and Caroline are right—Idowork too much. Just this week, I put in over fifty hours at Making Waves. It’s not the first time I’ve done it this month either. Overloading on work is a flaw of mine, a tactic I use to avoid everything else I don’t want to think about.

This is why I’ve officially reached a new low by eating pie and drinking whiskey in the damn tub at two in the afternoon.

I’m overworked and undersexed.

I could have fixed that sex thing last night with my date, but there was no way I was letting him take me home.

Cheddar.Ugh. Such a laughable name. I shouldn’t have tried to prove Maya wrong and go on the date to spite her because he wasawful—and not just because of his (lack of) taste in pie.

I’ve never met a more boring person in my entire life.

I thought maybe he’d have a good story about his obtuse nickname, but it was nothing more than him refusing to eat any kind of cheese other than cheddar and his college roommates picking on him for it.

That was the grand story he took fifteen minutes to tell me as we waited for our table because he made the reservation for later than we agreed upon. His reasoning was,“You know…because women.”

His misogynistic remark coupled with him being more boring than watching paint dry let me know right then I wasn’t going on another date with him.

Thatwas when I texted my mom to get me out of there.

I barely even waited until we were at a table—the one he spilled his frozen drink all over.

Ugh.

Okay, so maybe Idomake rash decisions to ditch on these dates, but at least I am aware of what I will and won’t settle for.

I take another bite of apple pie, trying to make myself feel better about my inability to find a normal guy to date.

Maybe Ishouldjust give up.

I have good friends. My business is thriving. I’m happy with where I’m at most days. There’s no reason to rock the boat…but man do I wish someone would rockmyboat.

“Stop whining about your pitiful sex life, River. You’re supposed to be relaxing, not bitching and moaning. This is a time of calm, of peace. Chill. Re—”

“STILL LIKE THAT OLD TIME ROCK ’N’ ROLL!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!”

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