Technically we have the same apartment. Same end of the building. Same floor.
So how the fuck did she get floor-to-ceiling windows?
“Your view is fucking ridiculous.” A panoramic overlook of the whole city—the nighttime skyline must be absolutely insane. “What the hell, dude!” I stand and stroll to the window, hands braced on my hips, the green-eyed jealously monster rearing its ugly head. “How much do you pay for this place?”
Translation: How the fuck can you afford this?
Abbott’s pert little nose tips into the air.
“None of your dang business.” She pops open a to-go container and steam rises; four eggs Benedict sit presented on a bed of asparagus and browns, hashed and spiced to perfection.
Well dangggg. Gimme.
I watch hungrily, mouth watering as she scoops out a serving and slides it on a plate. Sets the plate on the table.
Repeats the process, then once again digs into the paper bag. Roots around and retrieves another identical container.
Goodie, there’s more!
She eyeballs me like her cat did earlier. “Are you going to sit or not? Because I’m starting the show, and if you’re going to just stand there, I’m going to start eating without you.”
Grumbling, I kick my shoes off and flop down next to her. Sigh. Give her a sidelong glance. “Do you have any salt or anything? I don’t think I can eat veggies without putting something on them.”
“Cabinet next to the fridge.” She barely acknowledges me, which is more than I can say for Desi McTerrorPuss.
When I stand, the cat does too.
I sit back down on the couch.
Desi slowly lowers her ass to the carpet.
Fuck.
Checkmate.
Abbott notices. “Jesus, are you being serious right now? The cat isn’t going to hurt you.”
“You’re not taking this seriously enough!” I argue, stricken. Man I want that salt. But do I need it? Really?
I make puppy dog eyes at Abbott. She makes puppy dog eyes at the cat.
“Brooks, I’m not going to the kitchen for you.”
“Please!” I beg, in a deadlock with Desi. “I’m hungry!”
“If I go to the kitchen, you’re still going to be alone with the cat,” she warns.
“Right, but at least I can keep an eye on her. She only moves when I move.”
Abbott shifts on the sofa, tilting her body toward me, resting one arm on the back of the couch. “I dare you to go to the kitchen yourself and get the salt.”
“You dare me? What do I get if I actually do it?”
Abbott looks exasperated. “You get the salt, moron.”
Fine. Fair enough. “You’re sure the cat isn’t going to attack me?”
“She hasn’t attacked anyone so far today. I think you’re safe.”
“But it’s not even eight o’clock—there’s still time.” The cat raises its hairy old man brows at me, taunting. “I swear, if that thing does anything…”
Abbott scoops some eggs onto her fork and into her pink, pouty mouth. “You’re being so dramatic.”
I rise. Point at the cat and tell it to, “Stay.”
It stays.
“Huh.” I square my shoulders back and puff out my chest, victorious. “Look at that, I’m the pussy whisperer,” I murmur, more to myself than to my neighbor, because now she’s blatantly ignoring me. Admittedly, she looks quite adorable perched on the couch with a blanket across her lap, nibbling on her breakfast.
She finally spares me a glance.
“Brooks: a regular magician. I’ll call you Houdini from now on. How would you like that?”
“Actually…” I rub my chin, make for the kitchen, and quickly grab the salt and pepper from the cabinet. “I’d love it—even though technically Houdini was an escape artist and not an actual magician.” I haven’t had a nickname since college, and that one wasn’t even original—it was just my last name. “What about Copperfield?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re starting to annoy me.”
“You’re cute when you get worked up. No, seriously, how many people look that adorable with flared nostrils?” I finally relax on the couch, the cat having backed off enough to let me eat. “Like two tiny caves—a tiny little dragon could fly right up in there.”
“Stop it right now, shut up.” Her hand flies to her nose.
“Cool it, I’m fucking with you.” The eggs and asparagus go down my esophagus delightfully smoothly, taste expensive, and tantalize my taste buds. “Thanks for the free food.”
I’m one cheap son of a bitch who never turns down a handout.
“As if I had a choice? You barged in.”
“We always have choices, Abbott with only one name.”
“Stop it. I have more than one name.”
“Maybe, but you’re not telling me what the other one is. What’s the big fucking deal?”
Abbott sighs, loud and long. “It’s Margolis.”
I glance around, somewhat expecting fireworks to explode and sirens to go off with the pronouncement. Or maybe that’s what she’s expecting to happen?
Instead, I dig into my breakfast. “Okay.”
There’s a long pause, and finally, my neighbor joins me.
5
Abbott
Nothing happened when I told him my last name.
I wait for more of a reaction, but it never comes.
Admittedly, I may be hypersensitive to it. Or maybe you’re sheltered, living in a bubble, and only think everyone knows you—or cares—because that’s who you surround yourself with.
I watch as my neighbor readjusts himself on the couch before shoving more food into his face, resting his ass on my soft cushions, and spreading his legs comfortably.
Brooks.
Bennett.
What a doozy of a name—and here I thought mine was hoity-toity.
He’s dressed casually in mesh basketball pants and a hoodie, looking cozy and relaxed in my apartment. Looking like he belongs in my living room.
Not long after that firm ass of his hits the couch and he raises his plate, forking the breakfast I’ve served him, Desdemona pounces like the food enthusiast she is, like I knew the dang cat would. She has no manners and even less patience.
My cat loves food, eggs in particular. And while she might not be keen on strangers or new people, she’s a slut for snacks.
I watch, entertained, as my neighbor reacts to the cat, the entire scene playing out in slow motion, more beautifully than I could have scripted it.
Brooks’ display is an Oscar-winning performance.
“Holy shit! Holy fuck! I’m under attack, I’m under attack!” Brooks screeches from the depths of his soul. “Get it off!”
It literally sounds like he’s getting attacked in a pool of sharks and can’t climb out of the water.
Wow.
I’ve never heard a man scream like a girl before. Well, once, my twin brother Stuart saw a mouse run through the living room of our lake cottage when we were young. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and had an asthma attack, but we were twelve, hadn’t hit puberty yet, and had never seen a live mouse in person before.