Ugh. I don’t want to like anything about this situation.
“Neither can I,” he grunts and walks into the kitchen.
He grabs a water and joins me in the living room. “Oh, no, no thank you, Beck, I didn’t want a beverage or anything.”
He side-eyes me with a swig and shrugs.
I sigh heavily so he knows how irritated I am.
“I didn’t offer you a drink because I assumed you’d have a lot of heavy lifting to do what with my front door wide open and all your things you still have in your car.”
“Oh, forgive me if I’m mentally drained after the day from hell and having to temporarily live under that same roof as you.”
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment in my life when I decided he wasn’t my favorite person. Seeing as he’s my older brother’s best friend, it isn’t as if we had a class together during school or something as kids where he embarrassed me. No, I actually had a class with his little sister, Ava. Talk about total opposite siblings. She’s so sweet and funny, and Beck is… he’s too cocky. And the worst part about it, he knows how charming and good-looking he is and makes it work for him.
He grunts. “The day from hell? I wouldn’t think having a new job and a warm place to lay your head at night is a bad thing. Some people don’t have either.”
“Shit.”
I cover my eyes with my arm and curl into the fetal position.
“What?” Beck steps toward me. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I live with one of those guys. The positive ones. The ones who think we should be grateful for everything we have because there’salwayssomeone less fortunate. Makes me sick.”
It really doesn’t, but anything that involves Beck just annoys me.
Surprisingly, my statement earns me a chuckle.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he answers with another sip.
“Not nothing. Clearly something.”
“Really, it’s nothing.” He stands and heads back for the kitchen.
“For fuck’s sake, Beck, spit it out.”
“I just didn’t know you were this dramatic.”
“I am not dramatic.”
He smirks.
“You’re a bit dramatic, and you’re definitely acting a bit immature.”
My mouth drops open, and I huff. “You did not just—”
I pause midsentence when it clicks. Fuck me, he’s right.
I groan and stomp out the door.
I can’t even with him. My life is complicated right now, and no matter how hard I try, a civil conversation with Beck Robertson will not happen.
“You know,” he says, leaning in his front doorway, arms and ankles crossed, “instead of marching out like a madwoman, you could have said, ‘sorry, Beck, you’re right. It’s been a long day, and I’m taking it out on you. My apologies. Would you kindly help me with my things?’”
I roll my eyes and open my trunk to get my pillows and the clothes I managed to salvage that weren’t left on the floor of my room at my brother’s house.
