Page 55 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

“Let’s go out.”

She crinkles her nose. “Like…together? In…public?”

I pin her with a narrowed stare. “Yes.”

“Where people can see us?”

“River…” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

“Fine, fine,” she relents. “We can go to The Gravy Train. People already know us there, so it won’t be weird if we’re seen together.”

“You’re acting like I’m some sort of leper.”

“You said it, not me.”

I shove away from the counter, brushing past her. “I’ll go get dressed.”

“You mean you’re not going to wear such an orgasm-inducing outfit out and about?”

I spin back around. “You know what? Yeah, I think I will. I mean, you go to the diner looking like shit on a log all the time. Why can’t I?”

She works her jaw back and forth at my lie.

River might not always be dressed up, but she certainly never looks like shit, even when she’s trying to.

“Whatever.” She breezes past me, making her way to the front door. “Just don’t stand too close to me.”

“Oh, I’m standing close—super close. I might even hold your hand just so everyone knows we’re together.”

“Please.” She slips her shoes back on as I stalk toward her, swiping my wallet and phone from the coffee table and stuffing them into my pocket. “Like they’d believe that. We hate each other. Everyone knows it.”

“Good point. You’re not very subtle about your distaste for me.”

“Can you blame me?” she shoots back, grabbing her purse as I pull open the front door and wave her through. “You first. I have the key.”

“Which Istillneed a copy of,” I remind her as I head into the hall. I’ve asked her every morningandnight since I moved in and she’s yet to get me a copy.

“So you’ve said about ten times. It’s on my to-do list.”

“Where? At the very bottom?”

Her grin tells me I’m right.

Before she can pull the door shut all the way, I reach into my pocket, grab the ball of wet socks, and chuck them into the apartment.

“Dean!”

“What?” I say innocently. “I’ll pick ’em up when we get back. I wasn’t going to go to The Gravy Train with wet socks in my pocket.”

“But you’ll bring your turtle there?”

“He’s my emotional support turtle!”

“Sure he is.” She turns the lock and I trail behind her toward the elevator, loving the way her ass looks in the skintight jeans she’s rocking. “And Michael B. Jordan proposed to me today.”

“That poor, poor bastard.”

She smacks at my stomach. “I hope Morris steals your socks and hides them where you’ll never find them.”

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