I’m in this temperament because of my neighbor. I don’t act crazy when I’m normal, I swear. I’m sweet, really. I even have the tiniest bit of guilt somewhere inside me that my neighbor will never be on the receiving end of my pie.
No. Oh no. Why did that sympathetic thought come to me?
It’s simple.
Keats is truly the worst person on the earth.
3
ESME
Must fate be so cruel?
It’s been a few days since I’ve crossed paths with my next-door neighbor who just walked into the Foxy Rox, our local coffee spot. He most definitely deserves someone spilling coffee on him, too.
I sink into my seat at a small table by the window and raise my laptop screen a smidgen, but pretending I can hide will only buy me a minute tops. At least he didn’t come in alone. He’s with Oliver, and they seem to be talking business, as they are both in suits. Did Keats shave today? I can’t tell.
Snap out of it. You don’t care.
“Seriously, I promise you, at 2am someone will call that we need to check the contract. They are going to do a player extension and want to finalize that before another team snatches him up,” Keats explains to Oliver. I have no clue who they are talking about, and I’m sure I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but this place is quiet considering it’s a weekday at 8am.
“I bet you a grand that you’re wrong,” Oliver counters because these guys have money to blow.
Keats tips his head to the teenager behind the counter as a greeting. “Double shot of espresso.” He turns to look at Oliver, but he pauses and his eyes narrow. Damn it. I’ve been found. “Isn’t this going to be a fine day.” He’s not thrilled as he grinds his teeth and begins to stride my way.
Oliver glances back over his shoulder to see me, and I can hear him utter “Shit”under his breath. “Here goes the next twenty minutes of my life.” Oliver turns to the barista. “Can you add a muffin to my order? Might as well get comfortable since I’ll be watching my dear old friend have a little lovers’ squabble.” Right now, I want to throw something at Oliver for that comment, but I need him alive so that one day Hailey can finally live out her fantasy.
Keats and I turn to Oliver with a death stare, and he sighs then walks away. But Keats then daggers his sight to me, and I seem to be a target.
I shut my laptop with vigor and scowl at Keats. “Double shot? Really? Guess you can’t manage a bullseye anyhow.”
His brow rises. “Considering my ruthless approach to law with an excellent track record, then I’ll assume your mind is a little filthy for 8am. So, in that case…” He arrives at my table and sets his hands on the back of the opposite chair. “It’s double because why have only one round when you can have two? It leaves everyone satisfied.” His innuendo burns me inside with exasperation and curiosity.
“Fine. Espresso as dark as your heart.”
“I thought I didn’t have a heart. I’m quite positive you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” The barista arrives with his to-go cup, and Keats takes it without batting an eye as they remain staked at me.
I begin to stir the stick in my coffee cup to keep my hands busy. “I don’t particularly care to go over the anatomy of your body, right now.” I swear I hear Oliver nearly choking.
Keats only takes a moment to glance over at his friend now sitting in the corner before he returns his swaggered eyes to me, the corner of his mouth twitching with an underlying smirk. “Working on your inappropriate-for-public-spaces photos?”
“Are you attempting to have a normal conversation with me?” I say flatly as I look down at the table, pretending to be unaffected. “And they are not inappropriate. Most would consider it art.”
“Or classy porn,” he rebukes.
That’s it. I’m twenty-nine, but where is the maturity in this 33 year-old? He has four years on me. Abruptly, I stand, and he straightens his upper body to ensure we are level, except he is a little taller.
“Not my problem that you can’t handle keeping it locked in.” My voice rises slightly.
He snickers. “Not my problem you’re having a dry spell, which I will assume is the reason that you’re a bitter woman.”
A sound vibrates under my breath. “Says the man who destroyed my herb garden.” I point a finger at him. “Yeah, I’m not buying the whole rabbit overpopulation bullshit.”
“Oh, is that not the reason a pile of snow ended up on my driveway right where your sidewalk ends?” His tone is flippant, and he takes an easy sip from his Espresso.
I scoff a sound. “Tell me.” I step around the table with my hand on my waist. “Do you use a knife or scissors when you destroy my mail?”
He looks offended, barely. “I would do no such thing for the woman who tips over my recycling bin on garbage day.”
