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“In this neighborhood, that honestly wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Can you please get the hell out?”
“Trust me, I’m leaving.” He glanced at my bookshelf. “How ironic. The first one says How to Clean Your Room. I doubt you’ve ever cracked the spine.”
My blood boiled, and he walked over to my desk.
“In case you come to your senses.” He wrote his number on a purple post-it. “Or whenever you realize you’re lying and no other man has ever fucked you like I just did. I doubt one ever will.”
“I don’t,” I said. “In fact, I’ll call you when it happens. I might even send you the video so you can work on your techniques.”
We glared at each other, and he grabbed his cell phone, slamming the door on his way out.
Paint chips fell from the ceiling as the frame rattled. I immediately rushed over to his post-it and ripped it to shreds.
Then I stood by the window to watch him leave, spotting him crossing the street.
He looked up at me, and I threw up my middle finger.
He returned the gesture.
“Hey asshole!” A truck driver yelled at him. “Get the hell out of the street!”
William shot one last parting look in my direction and walked away, disappearing into the city, out of my life.
