Blood roars in my head, and I tighten my grip on the skillet. “Just so we’re on the same Kafkaesque page… You decided to move in here without telling me because you’re too cheap to pay rent for your own apartment?”
“Not cheap. Smart.”
“And you also thought it wassmartto bang her”—I point at the bathroom—“behind my back when you don’t even have a home to return to anymore?”
He glares likeI’mthe problem. “This is the least you can do for me.”
“Why? Because I won’t tell Nelson Webber what a wonderful lawyer you are?”
“Exactly. Be reasonable. Without me, nobody would’ve known you’re Andreas’s granddaughter anyway,” he sneers.
My gratitude for his one act of kindness five years ago dies a painful yet cynical death. “You asshole!”
“Calm the fuck down. Do we have to be this difficult?”
“Yes! Yes, we do!” I rush to the dresser and pull out the drawers with a few of his casual shirts, shorts, socks and underwear. I should’ve poured bleach on them all and set them on fire anyway!
I throw them in his face. “Take your crap andget out!”
He pulls a shirt off his shoulder. “Come on! You owe me! It’s gonna take some time to find a new place!”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shake the skillet at him. “What I owe you is a hard swing to the head with this frying pan!”
“That’d be assault and battery.”
“It would, wouldn’t it? And what would you do? Sue me? You know what… Do it! I’m gonna make this worth a lawsuit!” I put both hands on the skillet and swing it at him.
His eyes widen as he ducks. He rolls off the bed and lands on his side with an ominouscrack.
Did he…break something?I wonder, half hopeful and half uneasy.
“Aw, fuck!”
He’s talking, so he can’t be hurt that bad. How disappointing. “Get. The fuck.Out!”
He crawls along the side of the bed. “I think I pulled something in my back.” He glances up hopefully.
“What are you looking at? Move your ass.”
“Can you help me get up?”
“I’m not touching your filthy, cheating body, okay? Get out before I brain you.” I lift the skillet in case he’s too stupid to get the hint. My God. What the hell is wrong with him? How can a guy with an Ivy League education be this idiotic?
He stands gingerly and gathers his things. I can’t decide if I’m lucky he’s at least in boxers. After Huxley’s penis in all its bejeweled glory, other dicks sort of look small and sad.
“Don’t forget to replace my bed and sheets,” I say, making a face at a noticeable wet spot.
“Fuck you.” Then he hobbles out as quickly he can before I hit him for real.
I exhale to control my temper. It’s ridiculous and infuriating that my relationship with Peter didn’t hit its lowest point last night. What kind of fool did he take me for, anyway? Did he honestly expect me to let him live here after I found out he’d cheated on me?
The door to the bathroom opens. I’m still holding the skillet, although I won’t need it to deal with Viv. She’s even dumber than Peter.
“Get out, and don’t ever show your face around here.”
“You don’t own this place,” Viv sneers.
“Yeah, well, neither do you. And it’s me Andreas picked,” I say, twisting the knife a little. Viv wanted this condo. It’s in a nice, safe area and close to downtown.
