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“Yeah, maybe it is.”
His eyes bore into mine, and I squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass on a hot summer day.
But I’m not backing down.
I push up onto my tippy-toes and give him my best glare. “I want my candy bowl back…or else.”
And then I spin around on my heels and strut away from him, holding my head high (and pray I don’t trip and ruin my badass walking scene).
When I get to my house, I don’t look back as I grab my bags off my porch and hop in my car. If I knew how to peel out, I’d do that too for good measure. Instead, I blast Metallica and rage-sing until I arrive at my best friend’s house fifteen minutes later.
“The shots have arrived!”
Simone rushes toward me and wraps me in a bear hug. “Finally. What took you so long?”
“I’ll explain later.” I set the tray of shots on the coffee table and dig out the pink feathery crown from my tote. “First things first: You need your crown.”
Simone squats down and tips her head while I pin the crown to her hair. “Wow, is this what you see down here? It’s like a whole different world.”
I give her a playful smack on her arm. “Screw you. Not everyone can be five foot ten and have curves like Beyoncé.”
“Truth.” She stands to her full height and plants her hands on her hips. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Lie.”
Our friend Fatima bounces onto the couch and unwraps a Jell-O shot. “You’re never late. Something had to happen.”
I let out a groan and drop onto the cushion beside her. “You know my neighbor that lives across the street?”
“Hot Neighbor?” Simone gulps down a cup of red gelatin and sets the empty cup on the table. “The broody one you always talk about?”
As much as I hate to admit it now, I have mentioned him a few times. If a tall, dark, and handsome man lives across the street, you tell your best friend—especially when he’s outside in a tank top cutting the grass, and there’s no sign of a woman living with him.
But that was before I learned what an asshole he is.
“I don’t always talk about him. But yes, for the purpose of this story, he’s the neighbor I’ve told you about.” I reach into my tote again and pull out the bag of penis lollipops, unwrapping one and sticking it in my mouth. “His daughter stole my candy bowl right off my porch. I saw her take it.”
Fatima gasps. “Are you kidding? They took the bowl too?”
“Yup. So, I chased after them.”
“Inthoseheels?” Simone snorts. “You can barely walk without tripping. How did you manage that?”
“I tried my best, thank you very much, but I lost them. So, I went to her house and told her father, figuring maybe he’d be able to get the bowl back for me.” My nose scrunches. “But Hot Neighbor turned out to be a giant dickhead.”
Simone takes another shot as she sandwiches me between her and Fatima on the couch. “What did he say exactly?”
I clear my throat and mimic his deep, gravelly voice. “You don’t have proof that it was my daughter.” I roll my eyes. “He was exceptionally rude. I mean, I guess it’s cool how he had his daughter’s back. Good for her. But he didn’t have to be so condescending.”
“Ah.” Simone snaps her fingers like she figured out something. “He pressed yourdaddy issuesbutton.”
My eyes roll at the mention of my father. “Daddy issues or not, the guy was a jerk. And he insulted my costume.”
Fatima shakes her head. “Hot guys can be such assholes.”
I nudge Simone’s shoulder with mine. “Except yours. I think you got the last one.”
