JB’s drunk ass recovers, managing another swing, this time catching me in the eye—which is bound to leave a mark—and I shove him again, locking his arms down with my entire body.
“Enough.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” he retorts.
“Yeah, I am.” He does nothing around here, and he can’t tell me what to do; it’s just taken me this long to realize it.
“I don’t want you seeing that LoveU hoe again,” he slurs.
“What did you just call her?”
“I said,” he repeats slowly, “I. Don’t. Want. You. Seeing. That. LoveU. Hoe.”
That’s what I thought he said. “If you don’t like it, pack up your shit and get out of my house.”
His bloodshot eyes roll. “You don’t own this place.”
“No, but my name is the only one on the leasing agreement. You technically don’t exist.”
“What?” Why does he look so surprised? Did he not know this?
“I’m letting you live here because I’m a nice fucking guy, and you needed a nice fucking place to live, so I let you stay in my nice fucking house.” I give him a jostle so I have his full attention. “Piss me off by hitting me again, and I’ll call the landlord and have you kicked out.”
“You wouldn’t do that. You don’t have the guts.” He’s a bit too cocky in my opinion, so I knock him down a peg.
“Try me.”
His smug smile falters as he tries to readjust himself, attempting to wriggle out of my firm grip.
“Whatever. Let me go.”
“Not until you’re cool with me dating Skylar. And when she comes over, I don’t want you to say a damn thing to her about any of this. Got it?”
His mouth thins into a straight line, refusing to concede.
“Got it?”
“And if I don’t?”
“I just told you what I’ll do—I’ll kick you out.” It’s going to be awkward enough as it is after this. We’ve never been in a fight (mostly because I always bite my tongue), let alone a physical altercation. “And you’re going to be a goddamn gentleman when you see her so she doesn’t feel unwelcome.”
His nostrils flare.
He hates being told what to do, and now I’m the one making the rules.
The long overdue ground rules.
“You’re hurting me,” JB whines.
I relax my hold on him so he can sag a little. “Oh chill out. I am not hurting you, you big baby.”
“Yes you are. You’re bigger than I am, cocksucker.”
It’s about time he recognized that fact.
It’s about time he looked at me with some respect.
JB steps out of my hold, back into the hallway where he should have stayed to begin with.
“Fine,” he says. “I won’t be a dick.”
“Fine. You can stay.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Me: I told him.
Skylar: New phone, who dis.
Me: Knock it off.
Skylar: Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that.
Me: You’re responding to me, so I’ll take that as a good sign.
Skylar: You started the conversation with “I told him” so now I’m curious about what that means. It sounds kind of ominous.
Me: I told JB about us.
Skylar: Okayyyy…
Me: Will you let me explain myself?
Skylar: Yes.
Me: Really? I thought for sure you’d tell me to go fuck myself.
Me: Can I come over?
Skylar: Yes.
Me: When?
Skylar: Tomorrow night. 5:00.
Me: See you then.
Skylar
“Abe is coming over. Can you make yourself scarce? We have shit to talk about and I don’t need you eavesdropping.” I hunt my roommate down and find her in the bathroom, plucking her eyebrows, face inches from the big mirror hanging over the sink.
She shoots me a look through the reflection but continues gingerly grasping hairs with the tweezers and yanking.
“Eavesdrop? Who, me?”
“Yeah you.”
“I guess I could lock myself in my bedroom and resist the urge to bang on the wall.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
“What if you start having sex?”
I shouldn’t deny the possibility of that happening but do it anyway. “I’m not going to have sex with you in the apartment.”
This time Hannah does turn to look at me, tweezers poised in her hands. “Why?”
“Because you’ll hear it and you’ll never let me live it down.”
“True, but you’ve heard me having sex a million times.”
Not quite a million, but about five too many.
“I’d really prefer you did not hear me screwing Abe.”
She sets the tweezers on the counter with a clang. “I cannot believe you just called it that. You strike me as the ‘lovemaking’ type.”
“That sounds awful. I’m not in love.”
“You’re not?”
“No. It’s been two weeks. One. I don’t know—I’m not keeping track.”
“You wouldn’t be letting him come over to beg for mercy so soon if you didn’t care about him. I know you well enough to know that.”
That’s true; I was tempted to make him sweat it out longer.
Hannah walks to the toilet, backs her ass up over it, pushes down her leggings, and sits.
Begins to pee while I’m standing there.
It doesn’t faze me; I do it to her, too.
“When is he going to be here?”
I look at my wrist. “Soon.”
“All right. I’ll grab food and prepare to camp out.” She finishes, poking at the toilet paper, letting it fall from the dispenser, then wipes. “But don’t not have make-up sex on my account—and if it gets uncomfortable for me, I’ll just pack up my shit and go to Jessica’s.”
“Thanks.”
She washes her hands. “Do we have potato chips?”
I’m not the one who buys the junk food. “I don’t think so?”
“Ugh, dammit. Those are the perfect food for camping out.”
I scrunch up my face, confused. “Why?”
“They make noise when you crunch them. Drowns out the noise.”
“There won’t be any noise.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No.”
While Hannah adjourns to the kitchen to gather rations, I use the bathroom, too, peeing before fixing my hair. Even out my complexion with foundation, add blush, clean up my mascara. Add gloss.
Give myself a little grimace. “This will have to do.”
Another voice cuts in. “You are not talking to yourself.”
“You’re supposed to pretend you’re not here.”
“Your boy isn’t here yet so I still have time to butt into your conversations…with yourself.”
Fair enough.
I meander into the kitchen so she can check me out. She’s in the process of unscrewing the lid of a giant jar of peanut butter.
“How is this outfit?”
Hannah gives me a once-over. “Good. It says, ‘effortlessly sexy without trying too hard.’”