than myself. And I had never stressed so much over my tats. Now, I kept my sleeves rolled down even when sweating at my desk while the central air didn’t do more than rattle the vents.
If being an adult amounted to spending my life doing miserable shit just to get by, I wanted a rain check. One day of working for Viktor, and I already felt like everything about my life that was interesting and enjoyable would be quarantined to specific boxes that could only be opened at certain times and occasions. The outlook was pretty fucking grim.
The apartment was empty when I arrived, but David had been working on it all day. He’d finished unpacking, and he’d even invaded my space and put away the rest of my clothes. I felt like I should be irked by him rummaging through my things, but I couldn’t deny that I kind of liked it. He was the only person who went out of his way to do random things that he knew would either make my life more convenient or happy. And I’d begun returning the favor. Going to the store after work, cooking for both of us, and I’d even started using a vaporizer so the apartment wouldn’t reek of weed when I smoked. Things were getting quite domestic.
Stripping off my work clothes, I made a mental list of things to do to loosen the kinks that had coiled in my system during the day.
Shower. Smoke. Food. Music. Once the list was checked off, I could decompress. Maybe even enough to kick back with David.
My hope of relaxing was quickly dashed. Once the rush of water from the shower ceased, I heard voices on the other side of the bathroom door—two male, one female. Damned David. He’d brought home friends .
The gnarls of tension that had just eased out of my body after thirty minutes of standing beneath the hot water, returned with a twinge of annoyance. I had two options: leave the apartment as fast as possible, or not make an attempt to hide how mad I was that I had to keep up my work persona in my own home.
The voices got louder. The woman laughed. I listened by the door, trying to gauge whether they were leaving or settling in for a while, and nearly slipped on the wet floor when someone knocked.
“What?” I growled.
“I have to use the bathroom!”
“Too bad.”
David kicked the door. “I have to pee!”
I cracked the door open. We glared at each other, and I jerked him into the bathroom with me.
“Why are there people in my house?” I hissed, locking us inside. “I’m in a bad mood.”
David squeezed past me, his bare arm sliding against my wet one in his rush to the toilet. I averted my eyes and glowered into the mirror. Listening to David take a piss wasn’t part of my plan, but it happened anyway.
“It’s my house too,” he said. “And they wanted to see the place. I’m not going to become a recluse just because we live together now.”
“You’re not a recluse if you live with me.”
“So you should be my only friend?”
Yes , I thought spitefully.
He flushed the toilet and turned to me, exasperation evident in the pursing of his lips. It was irritating, but his appearance put a damper on my desire to throttle him. He was dressed for the beach—trunks that didn’t even hit midthigh, a tank top, and flip-flops. His bare skin was flushed rosy in some places and tanned in others. I bet he smelled good—like sunlight and salt water.
“I guess someone had a good day. Must be nice.”
“Oh please.” David shoved me out of the way and washed his hands. “You’ve worked for eight hours and you’re already bitter.”
“That job sucks.”
“You haven’t even really started it yet.”
“I don’t have to. It’s an educated guess. I kept expecting to find someone hanging from a bathroom stall or to go postal and whip out a semiautomatic.”
“You are so dramatic.”
Outside the bathroom, someone was playing horrible music. The kind of stuff better suited for Starbucks than the living room of a guy with too much attitude and too little patience to wade
If being an adult amounted to spending my life doing miserable shit just to get by, I wanted a rain check. One day of working for Viktor, and I already felt like everything about my life that was interesting and enjoyable would be quarantined to specific boxes that could only be opened at certain times and occasions. The outlook was pretty fucking grim.
The apartment was empty when I arrived, but David had been working on it all day. He’d finished unpacking, and he’d even invaded my space and put away the rest of my clothes. I felt like I should be irked by him rummaging through my things, but I couldn’t deny that I kind of liked it. He was the only person who went out of his way to do random things that he knew would either make my life more convenient or happy. And I’d begun returning the favor. Going to the store after work, cooking for both of us, and I’d even started using a vaporizer so the apartment wouldn’t reek of weed when I smoked. Things were getting quite domestic.
Stripping off my work clothes, I made a mental list of things to do to loosen the kinks that had coiled in my system during the day.
Shower. Smoke. Food. Music. Once the list was checked off, I could decompress. Maybe even enough to kick back with David.
My hope of relaxing was quickly dashed. Once the rush of water from the shower ceased, I heard voices on the other side of the bathroom door—two male, one female. Damned David. He’d brought home friends .
The gnarls of tension that had just eased out of my body after thirty minutes of standing beneath the hot water, returned with a twinge of annoyance. I had two options: leave the apartment as fast as possible, or not make an attempt to hide how mad I was that I had to keep up my work persona in my own home.
The voices got louder. The woman laughed. I listened by the door, trying to gauge whether they were leaving or settling in for a while, and nearly slipped on the wet floor when someone knocked.
“What?” I growled.
“I have to use the bathroom!”
“Too bad.”
David kicked the door. “I have to pee!”
I cracked the door open. We glared at each other, and I jerked him into the bathroom with me.
“Why are there people in my house?” I hissed, locking us inside. “I’m in a bad mood.”
David squeezed past me, his bare arm sliding against my wet one in his rush to the toilet. I averted my eyes and glowered into the mirror. Listening to David take a piss wasn’t part of my plan, but it happened anyway.
“It’s my house too,” he said. “And they wanted to see the place. I’m not going to become a recluse just because we live together now.”
“You’re not a recluse if you live with me.”
“So you should be my only friend?”
Yes , I thought spitefully.
He flushed the toilet and turned to me, exasperation evident in the pursing of his lips. It was irritating, but his appearance put a damper on my desire to throttle him. He was dressed for the beach—trunks that didn’t even hit midthigh, a tank top, and flip-flops. His bare skin was flushed rosy in some places and tanned in others. I bet he smelled good—like sunlight and salt water.
“I guess someone had a good day. Must be nice.”
“Oh please.” David shoved me out of the way and washed his hands. “You’ve worked for eight hours and you’re already bitter.”
“That job sucks.”
“You haven’t even really started it yet.”
“I don’t have to. It’s an educated guess. I kept expecting to find someone hanging from a bathroom stall or to go postal and whip out a semiautomatic.”
“You are so dramatic.”
Outside the bathroom, someone was playing horrible music. The kind of stuff better suited for Starbucks than the living room of a guy with too much attitude and too little patience to wade
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