Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“I’ll stop if she stops.” Tristan rubs his pec.
“Can you put your seat up so I can breathe?” I grouse.
“Ask nicely,” he sneers.
“Move your seat, Tris. You’re literally lying on top of her,” Flip orders.
Tristan grumbles but raises the seat so the headrest is no longer digging into my ribs. I can take a full breath again.
“Don’t say a word to each other for the rest of the ride,” Flip snaps.
We spend the next twenty minutes in awkward silence. The closer we get to the apartment, the drier my mouth becomes. Flip parks in a visitor’s spot, and I un-pretzel myself from the back seat while Tristan pulls the seat belt aside, presumably so I don’t clothesline myself getting out of the car.
“This is a shitty fucking neighborhood,” he announces. It sounds like an accusation. I don’t know what it is about Tristan, but he always makes me feel small.
“I thought when you said you lived close to East Side’s, you were in the nicer part.” Flip frowns as he takes in the surrounding buildings and houses. I’ve met him at the restaurant all three times we’ve seen each other since I moved here. This is the first time he’s seen where I live. Lived. Past tense, once I get my things. A few blocks west, the neighborhood is less run down, but also more expensive.
“How long have you been living here?” Tristan asks with a frown.
“A few months.” I shrug. “It’s affordable.”
“But there are bars on all the windows of the corner store.” Tristan flings a hand toward the Tasty Mart across the street.
“The store where Flip and I grew up wasn’t any different,” I point out.
“Yeah, but we knew everyone. This is totally sketch,” Flip says.
“How far was your job from here?” Tristan looks annoyed.
“Half an hour on the subway, but I don’t work there anymore.”
“But you did, for three months. Where’s the closest subway station?” Tristan’s nostrils flare.
“A couple of blocks. It’s a seven-minute walk.”
Tristan’s jaw tics. “And you walked there by yourself?”
“I have pepper spray, and I’ve taken self-defense classes. Besides, after today, I won’t be living here, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I don’t get why he’s suddenly so concerned. He was biting my ear and crushing me twenty minutes ago.
“Let’s pick a better neighborhood for your new apartment,” Flip says.
“As long as it fits into my budget, sure.” Toronto is an expensive place to live.
Flip falls into step beside me, and Tristan follows with his phone in his hand. He’s probably sexting tonight’s victim.
My nerves kick into high gear as we pile into the tiny elevator with the little old lady who smells like tuna and mothballs. She makes small talk about how nice the weather finally is and how hard Canadian winters are on her old bones. It’s a standard conversation. Canadians like to bitch about the six months of snow and subzero temperatures. We also like to moan when it gets too hot. There’s really no pleasing us.
The little old lady gets off on the twelfth floor, and we continue to the twenty-third. The elevator clunks and groans, but the doors open, which is awesome. I got stuck in here once when it stopped between floors. I was trapped with a pizza delivery guy. He’d been worried about the forty-five-minutes-or-free situation. I was worried I’d pee my pants. Ten interminable minutes later, they pried the doors open. I’d used the stairs for two weeks after that.
Flip and Tristan follow me out of the elevator and down the hall to my soon-to-be former apartment. I stupidly dropped my fob back into my purse, so they stand there awkwardly while I rummage around searching for it.
“What’s all that crinkling?” Tristan asks.
“Mini bags of goldfish crackers and a few fortune cookies,” I mutter. I always carry snacks in my purse. I finally find my key fob and swipe it over the censor. I didn’t warn my roommates I was coming. I figured the element of surprise would benefit me.
But as I examine the scene before me, I reconsider that strategy. On the upside, Eugenia isn’t tied to the pillar in the middle of the living room. On the downside, her boyfriend, Claude, my other former roommate, is doing the helicopter, and every rotation of his wiener slaps Eugenia’s cheek. She’s dressed in another impressively designed period piece, her boobs hanging out.
I’d like to say this is a first, but that would be a lie.
“What the fuck?” Tristan mutters.
“Is he slapping her in the face with his flaccid dick?” Flip asks.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Eugenia is the first to notice me. My brother and Tristan are still in the hall. For now. She scrambles to her feet. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes flare as two shadows appear on either side of me. “Oh! You brought friends! Is this your way of apologizing for calling me a psycho bitch last night? I have dibs on the yummy one behind you. Claude, you can have the other one.” Eugenia squeezes Claude’s arm, her voice trembling with excitement.