Page 13 of Deck The Halls & Cover The Howls
“I thought it was high time I got to know my neighbors. Your apartment is the first.”
“Huh, I would think I'd be the last,” he says, his smile somehow getting wider.
“Maybe I started upside down,” I say, with an ‘oops, silly me’ expression.
“Sure you did.” He opens the door and gestures me in.
I walk into what looks like the most clichéd definition of a bachelor pad. A large leather couch sits in the middle of the living room, with a giant television right in front of it, and two barcaloungers sit on either side.
There’s an open pizza box on the floor. The kitchen on theright looks exactly like mine, but instead of cupcakes, it's filled with dirty dishes and a couple more pizza boxes. The unused stove has dust gathering on it.
Beck sits on the couch, his eyes flitting between me and the television. The television wins, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I want to know about Dalton, but not enough to lead this guy on. Definitely not enough to sleep with him.
I sit on one of the barcaloungers. He clearly chose football over me, and I’m weirdly okay with how quickly our love affair ended.
“I’ve passed your door so many times when I visited Mr. Smith,” I start while he watches the game.
He leans back and looks at me. “Wait, the creepy guy next door? You talk to him?” His face narrows in disgust.
“A couple of times,” I say vaguely.
“Really? He never talked to me. I may have greeted him once or twice, but the guy honestly seemed wacky.”
I make my most interested face.
“But hey, man, if you were friends, I'm not judging you. Like you do you.”
“I wouldn't say he was my friend. Did you see him do anything weird?” I prompt.
He’s back to looking at the television. I almost feel insulted now. Should I have worn my nice shirt instead of my cupcake-batter-covered, “Go Away, I’m Writing” T-shirt?
“Weird how?” he asks, absentminded.
“You said he was wacky,” I remind him, keeping my voice neutral.
“I mean, he didn’t, like, get out much. And the couple of times that we accidentally opened our doors together, I would smile, and he would, like, glare at me until I went back or out. Hewas a scary dude,” he says, shaking his head. “And all those muscles? At his age? My guess, he works out, like, the entire day. His apartment must be just gym equipment and protein powder.”
I nod.
“But you’ve visited his place, right? Did he work out a lot?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. How else would he have all those muscles?
“Do you work out? Because you’re wearing the hell out of that T-shirt,” he leers at me.
“Not if I can help it,” I awkwardly joke.
He laughs.
Well, that's a nice ego boost. But worth the cupcakes? Weirdly, yes. I’ve been feeling off my game lately.
“So, maybe I'll see you around,” I say, getting up.
“What, you're leaving already?”
“Yeah, many houses to cover, cupcakes to deliver.”
I start walking out. If he saw something, he’d have definitely shared.
