Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I rushed up the steps to pull open the door for her, accepting her gratitude even though she was the one technically doing me a favor.
The hallway smelled familiar. The hint of something spicy simmering in a crock pot for an easy dinner after work, cigarette smoke, and the traces of the weed from the night before.
I tamped down the anxiety as it started to grow and forced my legs to carry me over to the elevator, to go in, and to stab my finger into the button for the eighth floor.
I dug for a key I was suddenly glad I hadn’t tossed in the garbage like I’d been planning, then marched down to the door before I could lose my nerve.
I stuck the key in the lock and pushed open the door, then slammed it behind me to announce my presence.
The man who was asleep reclined in his gaming chair at the desk across the room jerked upright, his arms flying out to grab the desk as his brown eyes looked around wildly.
“Where is he?” I demanded as I walked into the apartment.
It was the kind of place you walked into and knew immediately belonged to a guy. No curtains. No framed art on the walls. No throw pillows or rugs. Nothing to make it feel homey. But there were leather recliners, a massive TV, multiple gaming consoles, and two computer set-ups over by the windows that overlooked the back alley.
Hookers like to bring their Johns back there to suck ‘em off where the cops won’t see, I’d been told once.
I hadn’t been able to help but wonder if that was why the desks were set up there. With some voyeuristic urge to witness something like that on a regular basis.
Gross.
“Where is he, Bobby?” I demanded, rushing down the hallway to push open the bathroom and bedroom doors. But finding nothing. Save for unmade beds and piles of laundry that I could smell from the hallway. Sweat, garlic, and other scents I didn’t want to think about. “Where. Is. He?” I snarled as I marched toward the desk, reaching down, grabbing the footrest, and whipping it up, making the chair flip backward.
Bobby hit the ground with a grunt, his eyes huge, like he couldn’t believe what I’d done.
“What the hell, Kick?” he asked, flopping over onto all fours, then working his way up to his feet, showing off no small amount of buttcrack in the process.
Bobby was what you tended to think of when someone told you they were a gamer. Average height, a little overweight, greasy hair that was overdue for several trims, a superhero t-shirt on, and an actual dent in his head from wearing headphones so often.
Honestly, I didn’t mind Bobby.
Sure, he had slightly incel leanings, thanks to spending almost all of his time online with other guys who’d likely never been kissed, let alone gotten laid, so they spewed nasty-ass misogynist shit to the occasional female gamer, or about the big-boobed female characters.
But if you got him away from his gaming systems, he was kind of funny, a bit of a teddy bear, honestly. Sure, he perpetually was in need of a shower. And he could use a sharp razor and some deodorant. Still, he was an alright guy.
It was just bad luck on his part that he had such a dick for a roommate.
“Where is he?”
“He’s not here,” Bobby said, rolling his shoulders that had this perpetual tilt forward from leaning inward and clutching his controls. I bought him a posture corrector once. I was pretty sure it was still in the packaging in the closet.
“I see that, Bobby. Where is he?”
Bobby moved away from me, heading toward the little kitchen, complete with cabinets hanging off their hinges and the silverware drawer that had been stuck for what had to be two years at that point. Instead of fixing it, they’d bought new, mismatched silverware that they kept in a cardboard box on the counter.
“I don’t know,” Bobby said, reaching into the cabinet to pull out a cup of ramen, then setting it under the single-serve coffee maker that I was pretty sure was only ever used for hot water, not coffee. Since Bobby was an energy drink kind of guy. In case you didn’t know that about him based on the shelves full of various cans that served as the only real decor in the living room.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I snapped, making him turn to look at me for the first time.
He wasn’t great with eye contact. I imagine it came from having a shitty dad who was always telling him what a piece of crap he was. But when he looked at you, he was usually looking past your ear or down at your chin.
“What happened to your face?” he asked, eyes going a little sad.