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“No!” She assures. “I’m excited that you haven’t given up on yourself entirely since everything happened with Olivia. It kind of felt like you forgot how to have that kind of fun.”

“Exactly,” Vic agrees. “When there wasn’t a follow up after that night at the bar, I was beginning to really worry.”

She moves to put the container of juice away, but I grab it from her and search for my own glass.

“It is possible to have a fulfilling life without getting laid, you know.”

Autumn clears her throat.

“I believe that, but also… I’m not going to lie to you, babe. I was doing alright before Miles, but… having your itches scratched is pretty nice.”

“Yeah, well,” I begin with a sigh. “My neighbor isn’t scratching my itches. It was the other way around.”

Autumn squeals.

“What the fuck! Theneighbor?”

“The neighbor!” Vic echoes.

I remember the note that’s still in my back pocket, and blurt out my explanation as I pull it out.

“She randomly kissed me the other night, and then she did it again, and then we might have taken it even further one time,” I say so fast that it all comes out in one rush of breath. “It keeps happening somehow. Like just last night, I don’t even understand how.”

They’re at a loss for words. I hand over the note.

“We’ve been leaving notes since the first night she was playing her music, just aggressive little comments. Until this one.”

Autumn’s face turns red as soon as her eyes scan the words. Vic’s smile is amused.

“Woah.”

“Damn, girl.”

“That’s dirtier than my books.”

We laugh, but I don’t think she fully realizes how dirty she’s making her books.

They drag every detail of information from me, until I’m tired of talking.

Me.Tired of talking.Doesn’t usually happen.

The final result is that my friends don’t like her, and I get it. I don’t even like her, but there’s something really helpful about hearing it from someone else. Maybe it’s the push I need to tell her to fuck off. I tell them I want to, I really do, and they give me ideas. Thankfully none of them involve moving out of my apartment, because the more I entertain the idea, the more I hate it.

I hear her coming and panic. Fight or flight kicks in and I choose flight. I stumble out of my seat, almost tripping on theslippers I had slipped off right in front of my chair. I leave my phone sitting there, despite what a terrible idea that is. It’s unlocked and playing yet another true crime video. My feet don’t want to listen to commands at the moment, so I decide to abandon the slippers after I manage to kick them a little further away from me.

My door isn’t waiting open for me this time, and in the seconds it takes me to twist the handle, I know I’m too late. I know she’s behind me.

I pause, feeling paralyzed by indecision. Acknowledge her or pretend I was already headed in?Supercasually?

My pause is too long, and I know I lost the chance to decide without looking like a complete weirdo. I’m sure she already thinks that, but at least I’m a weirdo that gives good head.

I turn around slowly, and plant my back up against my door. She’s looking at me with a wry smile.

“Missed your chance to run away from me?”

My mouth doesn’t want to open to respond, so I just stare back at her.

“It’s probably better that you do,” she continues. “I’m a selfish bitch, after all.”