The Trouble Down The Hall

5.

Ryan

If Trent and I didn’t go way back, and by “way back,” I mean surviving four years of college, three broken bones, and one regrettable tattoo together as my best friend, his head would be rolling on the damn floor right now.

First, the i***t got me an apartment with my nemesis. Then, as if that wasn’t enough cosmic payback for every bad thing I had ever done, he brought over his cousin to the apartment; his clingy, flirty, completely oblivious cousin who still can’t take a hint.

Oh, and the best part was that she was in a “relationship” if you can call dating a guy who only texts her after midnight a relationship.

And now, Trent’s asking his wife to invite Jules to dinner with me.

Why would he do that?

Whenever I was in town, I would go to his place for a beer, a steak, and a few hours of peace. But now that I was going to be here for a while, apparently, he had decided to schedule my slow, painful downfall.

Unbelievable.

“I don't know what your problem is, Trent, but I'm sure not coming to dinner here on Saturday with Julia.”

Trent leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone I was plotting to murder. “Why not? It’s just dinner, man. Food, drinks, good company.” he said with an equally stupid grin on his face.

“Yeah, except one of those things isn’t true,” I said flatly. “You’re asking me to sit across from Julia Sinclair. That's not going to happen.”

Trent frowned, like he didn't understand a thing I was saying. “She's your roommate, man, not the devil.”

“She might as well be. She's the nightmare roommate,” I said with gritted teeth. “She's bossy, stubborn, argues like a cutthroat lawyer. You’ve basically invited gasoline and a match to dinner.” I said, just as Harper; Trent’s wife, walked back into the living room from the kitchen, holding a glass of wine and giving me that look. The one that said she already knew exactly what this conversation was about.

She had left right when Trent asked her to invite Jules and I, and I gave him the murderous look.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” she said, setting the glass down on the counter. “Julia seems lovely from what I've heard. Trent told me she’s a designer? I thought she and I would get along.” she said.

This brat! I almost said it out loud, except Harper would pout about it for the rest of the evening.

“She’s too much,” I said, gesturing vaguely, because words didn’t quite cover it. “You don’t want that kind of chaos in your house.”

Harper pushed up a brow. “You mean the kind of chaos that calls you out when you’re being an ass?” she asked, and her husband chuckled.

“She’s got you there.” he said, looking at me.

I shot him a glare. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I asked with gritted teeth.

Harper stepped closer, smiling sweetly—the kind of smile that made grown men give in without realizing it. “You know you don't have a choice, Ryan. You're bringing your roommate, or landlady. Whatever you prefer. Saturday. Six o’clock. You’re both coming, and you’re going to be civil.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already walking away, victory in her stride.

Trent raised his beer, grinning. “Guess that settles it.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You married a dictator.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearly proud of himself, and his tiny wife, “and she just drafted you for dinner duty.”

Goodness, I already lost my appetite for this beer. I dropped the bottle and turned my wrist to check the time. “I should leave now to get my truck before they close shop, then I'll head home.”

Trent stood as I did, still smirking like a man who hadn’t fully grasped how close he was to death. “You sure you don’t wanna stay for dinner? Harper’s making that pasta thing you like.”

“Tempting,” I said dryly, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. “But no. I’ve reached my quota of bad decisions for the week.”

Harper reappeared from the kitchen just in time to hear that, crossing her arms with a knowing grin. “You mean agreeing to dinner on Saturday?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes as I pointed at her. “Exactly that, except I didn't even agree. You and your husband played a fast one on me.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh, you’ll live. Who knows, you and Julia might actually get along.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, slipping on my jacket. “And pigs might start to fly.”

Trent clapped me on the shoulder. “You worry too much, man. She’s probably already over whatever weird tension you’ve got going on.”

I paused halfway to the door, turning to give him a look.

Already over? If only he knew. “Trent, she labels her leftovers with Post-it notes. In bold, capital letters. No one who does that is ‘over’ anything.”

Plus, I would never be over it as well. I wasn't sure I would ever see past the blame and anger I had towards her for what happened those years ago.

Harper snorted into her wine. “Sounds like she has boundaries. I like her already.”

“Of course you do,” I said, shaking my head as I grabbed my keys. “You two can start a club then, ‘Women Who Enjoy Watching Ryan Suffer.’ Membership: you.”

Trent raised his beer in a toast. “And me.”

“Glad you’re both amused.” If I didn't love these two like they were my family, I wouldn't forgive them for this.

Harper smiled sweetly, like she hadn’t just sentenced me to a slow social death. “Drive safe, Ryan. And don’t be late on Saturday.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, already walking toward the door. “Wouldn’t dream of missing my own execution.”

As I stepped outside, I heard Trent’s low chuckle follow me out.

By the time I reached my truck… or rather, the empty spot where it should’ve been… I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. Great. It was still at the shop and I still had to pick it up, which meant calling a cab.

And of course, as fate would have it, my phone buzzed with a new text.

Jules: Where the hell did you put the coffee filters?

I stared at the message, jaw tightening.

Fantastic. I wasn’t even home yet, and she was already yelling at me.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.