“Why? Did she change her Netflix password, too?”
His lips twitched.
“Seriously. It’s like ten bucks a month, you cheap bastard.”
He rubbed his hand down his face. “Don’t you think this is getting out of hand?”
“No. I’m just getting started.” I reached up and retied my ponytail. “You’re the one who started this, Ethan. You nudged my candles after I’d already told you it bugs me. Anything that happens to you is solely your responsibility.”
“All right. I see how this is.” He tapped both hands on the bar and straightened up. “You really want to see how far this can go, don’t you?”
“I have a list.” I smiled.
“So do I. Sleep with one eye open, sunshine. Be afraid.”
“Yes,” I deadpanned. “You look terrifying.”
Ethan’s dark blue eyes flared with something that told me that maybe a little fear wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Yeah? I’m going home. You’re here until midnight. That’s…” He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Six hours for me to do something, and you’re going to be standing here the whole time wondering what I’m doing. Or maybe I won’t do anything, but you won’t know that either.”
“You’re childish.”
“You’re petty,” he shot back.
“Says the one being petty.”
“Your TV move was petty.”
“This whole thing is petty,” I said, grabbing my cloth. “It’s kind of the point.”
Ethan sighed. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
I nodded. “That’s because I’m right.”
“Mm.” He pushed off the bar and hit me with a dark look. “I’ll see you at home. Maybe.”
I folded my arms across my chest and gave him my best, ‘I don’t care’ stare.
I did care.
A lot, actually.
We were quickly moving into a real savagery stage of this passive-aggressive living arrangement. Maybe Halley was right at lunch—maybe I did have to use myself as a way to get at him.
The problem was, I was one hundred percent sure that Angelica was wrong. I didn’t think for a second that Ethan was attracted to me. He’d never done anything to make me think that could be true—or if he had, I simply hadn’t noticed.
That was a possibility. Given that I kept him at arm’s length so he didn’t accidentally find out how I felt about him…
I sighed and dropped my arms. I really wasn’t sure I’d thought through my warmongering stance on this. I just wanted to win, but I wasn’t even sure what exactly it was we were competing for.
He was already showing signs of breaking. Taking away the cable and Netflix was a good one. That really hit where it hurt, and I made a mental note to text Angelica to thank her for that one.
Her changing her password was a nice touch.
It really gave the move some oomph.
Of course, Ethan had been right. I was stuck here at work for another six-ish hours while he was back at the apartment, maybe doing something. Maybe not doing anything at all.
It was torture to think about.
I had to be ready to fight back—a thin shirt with no bra and taking a bite out of every single cookie in the packet he’d just bought was a smart next move.
Hell, the no-bra one was easy. I’d get a headstart on that tomorrow morning. You know, be proactive and all that. That was how I’d win this.
I pulled my phone out from under the bar and, after glancing around to make sure nobody needed anything, tapped out a quick text.
ME: He’s mad. Next up, biting all the cookies and basically getting my boobs out.
HALLEY: Smart. When does the boob thing start?
REAGAN: Why are you getting your boobs out? Are you changing jobs again?
ME: Tomorrow. At work. Halley will explain.
I tucked the phone back away to serve the woman at the other end of the bar. Going back to it when she’d gone, I shook my head at how their conversation had ended.
HALLEY: $50 says the boobs make him break.
REAGAN: Nah, he’s gonna win. Deal.
ME: You two need another hobby.
CHAPTER NINE
* * *
AVA
Will He, Won’t He
Everything looked perfect.
I was worried.
It was like being a parent—they always said that they only worried what their kids were up to when it was silent.
Obviously, I didn’t have kids, but I imagined this was how they felt.
Absolutely nothing in the apartment seemed to be out of place. Ethan was already at work, and that’d allowed me to do a thorough walk-through and check everything I could think of.
None of my food had been eaten. Nothing hidden. He hadn’t hacked the Netflix account or anything. The hedgehog was safely in its cage.
There was nothing.
Nada.
I was extremely uncomfortable with this. I’d been sure that he’d retaliate immediately, but obviously his talk last night had done its job.
I was really fucking paranoid.
I didn’t like it. At all. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, even though I knew I was alone.
He had to have done something.
I shivered and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. I was too jittery even to drink coffee, so I drank some of the water, then went into my room to change into my running stuff.
Running was the only way I’d be able to shift some of this nervous energy.
I changed quickly and pulled my hair into a ponytail. After triple-checking my shoes for spiky pig poop, I put them on and tied the laces tight, then headed outside with my phone, money, and keys in the handy zip pockets in my pants.
Yep. Every item of clothing needed pockets. Pockets were so underrated. And, as a woman, my clothes did not have enough pockets. Dresses with pockets were so delightful—whenever anyone said they liked my dress, I was just like that internet meme that declares we women stick our hands in said pockets and perform some questionable ballet routine just to say, “Thanks! My dress has pockets!”
When I eventually rise to power, everyone will have pockets in all clothes.
That was definitely a solid use of power.
Ava, 2028. Make Pockets Great Again.
That’s right. I was going to sweep votes based on that alone.
We are women, and we demand pockets in all our clothing. It was a seriously underrated human right.
I know. First world problems. But first world problems are still problems, and anyone who thinks pockets aren’t a necessity has never pulled twenty dollars out of their bra.
‘Here, have some boob sweat for your troubles,’ said nobody ever.
Actually, said thousands of women ever, but I digress.
I picked up my running pace as I rounded the corner to the park. Despite all my complaints, I’d become pretty accustomed to this part of my day. Well, my week. Let’s be honest: I wasn’t running every day. More like… every three days.
Running was running. My mouth probably didn’t count here, but I did that at least ten times a day.
My feet pounded against the asphalt path that wound its way through the Creek Falls park. Thanks to the trees that stretched into the sky, I was pretty much sheltered from the sun as I ran. The lack of water I’d brought with me was already killing me, so I kept an eye open for where I could buy some.