She’s laughing so hard she’s not even making a sound as I sit there throwing daggers her way. I cross my arms over my chest, leaning back in my chair, letting her get it out.
“Are you finished yet?” She hasn’t made a sound other than sucking in air for at least thirty seconds.
Finally, she expels a breath, wiping at her eyes. “Not only does he still go by Cheddar, he drinks that. I can’t believe you didn’t marry him on the spot.”
“It was truly awkward when I ordered my whiskey neat.”
“Attagirl.”
I move on. “Anyway, the drink order and spill were something I could get over. Maybe he was nervous? Who knows? And when he mentioned still living with his mother? Whatever, the economy and all that. But…”
“Why do I have a feeling this is going to be good?”
“But then he said—and I fucking quote—that blackberry pie is the best kind of pie.”
She clutches her chest. “He said what!”
I nod, puckering my lips. “I had the same reaction. In fact, I texted my mom and made her call me with an emergency to get out of there.”
Maya rolls her eyes. “You realize I’m making fun of you, right?”
“What? You know cherry is the best kind of pie!”
“You can’t keep pushing every Tom, Dick, and Harry away for these asinine reasons. You’ll never find anyone if you keep this up.”
“First of all, I would never push a dick away.”
“River…” Her voice is laced with frustration, and I get it.
I am kind of picky.
But is it too much to ask for a guy to make me…well, excited?
“Maybe I am a smidge particular, but nobody gets me going, you know? Nobody makes my heart rate spike or makes me laugh. Not one of them has been the sit-at-home-and-think-about-him kind of guy. Nobody has made me tingly in all the right places. Not a single date has—ugh.”
In my peripheral, I watch the bane of my existence saunter through the doors of my favorite restaurant—which I’ve been frequenting for eight years now—like he owns the place.
His denim-clad legs stretch on for what seems like miles, and I don’t even have to look to know he’s wearing a t-shirt for some band that hasn’t played a show in nearly thirty years. His coal black hair is messy like the wind blew it everywhere, and his face hasn’t been shaved in three days.
He looks sloppy, like he just rolled out of bed and plucked his clothes from the floor. But, somehow, he’s still ridiculously attractive…unfortunately.
“What? What’s wrong?” Maya peers behind her to the front door of the diner, where my eyes have drifted. “Oh. Him.”
“Yeah.” I curl my lips back in disgust. “Him.”
She turns back to me. “I don’t understand your problem with him. He’s super hot.”
“You don’t live next door to him.”
Not only does Lucifer himself patronize my favorite place in the whole world, he also lives in the apartment right. Next. Door.
I see him all the time. At the mailboxes. In the elevator.
Every morning.
It’s exhausting because he’s exhausting.
Like the traitor she is, Maya lifts her hand and waves. He shoots her a grin I’m sure he thinks is panty-melting and waves back as he heads to the front counter to place his order.
I swat it down. “Stop that!”
“You stop it!” She yanks her hand back. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s—”
“Super hot—yeah, I heard you the first time. He’s also super annoying.”
“How so?”
“For starters, he—”
“Ah, Sam.” My mortal enemy approaches the line. “Nice to see you, bro.”
“That!” I practically rise up out of my chair, pointing an accusing finger at him. He peeks over at the commotion, thick brows squished together at my disruption. “That right there! He says stuff like that because—”
“Hey, Dean.” Sam high-fives his old teacher. “How’s your weekend going?”
“Because of that. They’re Sam and Dean. Like the Winchesters.” I roll my eyes. “Spare me,” I finish as I settle back down on my ass, watching the two of them chat it up like old friends.
Which I guess they are. Kind of.
Last year when Maya and her ex were going through their divorce, Dean was there for Sam in ways only a father figure can be. With him being Sam’s teacher and seeing him at school, the two grew close, and though it’s incredibly silly, it makes me a little jealous.
And horny.
Which in turn makes me really damn angry.
I hate him. He’s an ass. A total jerk. And so not my type. I don’t like him. The attraction is