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Old Lola would read into it.
Old Lola would think that’s kind, sweet even. Old Lola would go over with a plate of cookies and a pretty smile and daydream about possibilities.
New Lola lives forLola, though.
New Lola has a bookie on her ass that’s a little too interested in her.
New Lola cut off her father, is avoiding her sister, and is trying to run a business.
New Lola doesn’t have time for games.
Either way, it seems my punishment for avoiding Ben instead of seeking him out as he instructed me to is the noise.
He hasn’t made any effort to come to me, but he’s made it hard not to go to him.
And it’s not that I’d be going to him to do any of the filthy shit that’s admittedly run through my mind. No, it would be tofucking stranglehim. Tonight, as I’m mopping, listening to the already thumping music next door, my fingers curl around the handle of the mop, picturing his throat.
And not a single part of me doesn’t think he’s doing it with the express purpose of irritating me. Before I moved in, I spent a few early evenings at the bakery, setting up. While I was never here late, I was here when the tattoo shop was open.
I never heard this loud music.
But now it’s every night.
Every. Single. Night.
Since that night, I lie in bed and let my mind take over, and my stupid,stupid phone sent a very unwelcome text to Benjamin Coleman. (I actually don’t know if his full name is Benjamin, but I don’t really care. He seems like a Benjamin. A douchey, privileged asshole who took his parents’ money and made a business with it. Someone who turned into a punky, grumpy asshole to piss off his parents.)
Every night since that night, as soon as I flip my sign to “Closed,” like he has some kind of stalker sixth sense that can hear the sound of the acrylic hitting glass, his music kicks on.
I guess in some ways, I should thank him for not pulling this shit when I have customers in the store, but also, that’s just common decency.
But not for Ben, because he’s a giant dickhole.
I giggle to myself at the thought of calling Ben a dickhole when the screen on my register makes a beep as I’m trying to check the numbers for the day, and a notice pops on the screen.
Searching for network . . .
Strange.
It seems like, for whatever reason, it disconnected from the internet.
I tap the screen a few times and try to find the wifi so I can reset it, but the normal network that is for this building is gone.
What I find in its place makes my blood run cold.
“Network Name: COMEOVERFORTHEPASSWORD”
The other networks are random ones, all locked and for nearby businesses.
I remember Brad, the building owner, told me the internet router was based on the other side of the building.
No, no, no.
He wouldn’t.
I try the network that I justknowhas to be mine with the previous password.
Nope.
