Page 98 of Loathe Thy Neighbor

Dean

“You could have at least toldme you were inviting someone over. I would have, I don’t know, put a damn bra on.”

“Don’t look at her tits.” I point to my best friend, who is still standing in the doorway, a six-pack of beer in one hand. “River, meet Nolan. Come on in, man.”

He sticks his free hand out. “We’ve briefly met before, but it’s nice to officially meet you. Sorry he’s an idiot and didn’t tell you I was coming over.”

Shaking his hand, she glares at me.

I shrug. “What? I wanted someone else to watch the game with for a change.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“Weren’t you though?”

I can tell she wants to argue, but she knows I’m right.

Just two nights ago she came home to find me on the couch watching a game. She didn’t even change out of her work clothes, just flopped down on the couch, ate no less than ten wings, and forced me to explain the entire sport to her.

I’ll never tell her this, but it was my favorite game I’ve ever watched.

“I’ll just go work in my office or something. I have a couple things I can take care of while you stare at other guys’ butts.”

“I just want to go on record saying I will not be staring at other guys’ butts. I don’t even like baseball,” Nolan says.

“So you’d be looking at the butts if they weren’t attached to the players?” she teases him.

His eyes widen, panicked.

“Leave him alone, River,” I tell her. “Go work.”

“I’m going, I’m going—but only because Idohave a lot of work to do and not because I’m letting you boss me around. I just don’t want to be around you anymore.”

“What’d I tell you about your shortness and that sass of yours? There’s too little of you and too much of it.”

She scowls. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

Spinning on her heel, she turns to Nolan. “I won’t tell anyone you watch for the butts. I know that’s why I endure it.”

He laughs. “I appreciate that.”

She turns her angry eyes on me once more before stomping off down the hall.

I can’t wipe the goofy smile off my face as I watch her sashay away.

When she disappears into her room, I turn to Nolan, and he raises his brow.

“What?” I say, grabbing the six-pack from his hand.

“Nothing. I like her, man. She’s feisty.”

“If by feisty you mean annoying, then yes.” I motion for him to follow me into the apartment. “First pitch was already thrown. I put the wings in the oven to warm ’em up. I’ll pop these in the fridge.”

I take off for the kitchen and Nolan heads for the living room.

“’Sup, shithead?” I hear him say to Leo.

---