Why We Fight (At First Sight Book 4)

by TJ Klune

  I laughed bitterly. “That’s because everything is always wrong.” I took another deep swallow. “Did you even clean today?”

  “Who is she?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Don’t lie to me, Corey Ellis. I saw you get out of a yellow Jeep. The only people in this world who own yellow Jeeps are blonde sorority girls with loose morals and crop tops who say things like, ‘Hit me up on Snapchat later, zaddy.’”

  I set the bottle down on the counter and crossed my arms over my chest. “Were you spying on me?” I asked dangerously.

  His eyes widened. “I… I just was waiting for you to come home. I wanted to see you.”

  His bottom lip was trembling.

  God, how had I let it get so far? We used to be so much more than this. Why, I remembered a time Sandy had made me coffee on my first day of work. It seemed like only yesterday when in fact it was just this morning. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I… I’m just really stressed. You know how it is. Things at the office are busy, and I let it get the best of me. Tell you what. Why don’t you put on something nice and I’ll take us out for dinner.”

  “Really?” he asked hopefully.

  “No!” I shouted at him. “Of course not! I’m broke! I literally have ten dollars in the bank!”

  “You’re tearing us apart!” he wailed.

  And just because this was the most ridiculous thing we’d ever done, I laughed.

  Which, of course, caused him to break character. He grinned at me. “That was fun. I have no idea where that came from, but go us.”

  I shook my head. “You’re so stupid. God, I love you.”

  He shrugged as he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me. “Of course you do. I’m perfectly loveable.”

  He stood next to me against the counter and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I laid my head against him. It was good to be home.

  “Big day?” he asked quietly.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Code Orange Banana.”

  I groaned, turning my face into his neck. “We really need to come up with a better system.”

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But we got there. Eventually. You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” I muttered. “It is what it is.”

  “Is that right? So we’re not going to talk about how the blonde sorority girl with loose morals and a crop top was actually a certain professor-turned-boss?”

  “Nope. We’re not going to talk about that at all.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  I had no idea what I wanted. “Thank you.”

  “Any time, baby doll. But if you ever want to talk about anything, you just let me know.”

  “I will.” Then, “What the hell is a zaddy?”

  “Oh!” he said. “That. Well, I’m not quite sure, exactly. But I think it’s like a hot, older dude who’s not quite a daddy, but almost. So. Zaddy.”

  “I hate everything about that.”

  “Of course you would,” he said. “I hated myself for even saying it out loud. How about that steak?”

  I pulled my head away and looked over at him. “Steak is gross.”

  “I know. All that chewing and the payoff isn’t that great. We could always order in and watch trashy reality TV and make fun of the people who are faker than the two of us.”

  I felt the stress leave my shoulders. “That sounds great. But what about Darren?”

  He frowned. “What about him?”

  I looked away. “Don’t you want to see him or something?”

  He bumped me with his shoulder. “He’s under strict instruction to stay away tonight. I figured it could just be the two of us. Besides, I spent almost two weeks straight with it just being me and him. I swear to god, if I have to be in his presence for any length of time for the next few days, I won’t be responsible for what I’ll do to him.”

  I thought that was a lot of bullshit, but I was touched. “You sure?”

  He smiled at me. “I’m sure. I could do for a quiet night in. How does naan pizza sound?”

  I frowned. “I don’t know. What is… that?”

  He shrugged. “Something hipsters have undoubtedly appropriated. There was a flyer in the mail with a coupon.”

  “Music to my ears.”

  “Good,” he said. “Go get changed into something comfy and plop yourself on the couch. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  He shoved me toward my room, and I told myself that I wasn’t going to think about Jeremy Olsen for the rest of the night.

  AND I succeeded.

  Mostly.

  Granted, one cannot be in control of one’s dreams, and the less said about mine the better. It was some wannabe freaky Fifty Shades of Grey bullshit, which was weird, because I’d never read those books or seen the movies. My brain sucked.

  Which is also why I found myself wide-awake in the kitchen at six the next morning, telling myself that it was good to be up this early. That instead of slopping out of bed after hitting the snooze button multiple times, getting up right away would engender a newer, better me.

  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the large window in the kitchen had a perfect view of the street, whereas my bedroom window pointed toward the wall in the small backyard.

  “Ahh,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Perfect.”

  I wasn’t staring out the window.

  I wasn’t keeping an eye on the time, knowing between six fifteen and six thirty was a good time for joggers to jog right by the house.

  Instead I sent a text message to Ty: Hey, remember that time Sandy turned my room into a sex dungeon for you and Dom when you couldn’t talk about your feelings yet? That was awesome.

  I got a bunch of angry emojis in response.

  “Ahh,” I said again, and if I just happened to look out the window I was standing in front of, it was because I was taking in the world-famous Arizona sunrise. The sky was beautiful. I could hear birds singing outside. A woman walked by with her tiny little rat dog on a leash. I waved at her. She waved back.

  Yes, it was the perfect morning. A great way to start my day. Perhaps I should have a banana. Potassium was good for the body.

  It was while I was peeling the banana and not staring out the window that a voice said from behind me, “Do I even want to know?”

  I smiled brightly over my shoulder. Sandy was shuffling into the kitchen, face slack with sleep. He was wearing a frilly robe that should have been much longer than it actually was. I didn’t feel like pointing out I could see the outline of his balls through his underwear. I was a good friend. “Good morning!”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Uh-huh. What’s all this?” He waved a hand in my general direction.

  “Just getting an early start to my day!”

  “Riiiight,” he said slowly. “So you’re not up to anything?”

  “Why, whatever do you mean? I’m just here with my coffee.”

  “And your banana.”

  “And my banana,” I agreed.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised him.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen you eat a banana before. I don’t even know why we have bananas, aside from wanting to make you a gross sandwich.”

  “Potassium,” I told him as he yawned in front of the Keurig. “It’s good for me.”

  “That’s what you’re going with.”

  “I don’t know what else there could be,” I said. “And I don’t know if I care for what you seem to be implying.”

  “Oh my dear, sweet Corey,” Sandy said, lifting his mug from the machine. “If you want to stare at Hot Jogger Guy like the rest of us, all you have to do is say so. There’s nothing wrong with looking.”

  I almost squished the banana. “I’m not trying to stare at anyo
ne.”

  He rolled his eyes as he came to stand next to me in front of the window. “Of course not. That would just be terrible. I mean, who does things like that, aside from half the neighborhood?”

  “You’re all a bunch of perverts,” I muttered.

  He sipped his coffee, the steam wafting up around his face. “It’s window shopping. I’m not looking to buy, but it’s always fun to pretend.”

  “You’ve already got the Homo Jock King,” I reminded him.

  And even though he would deny it to anyone who asked, that goofy smile he got thinking of Darren made an appearance. “I do, don’t I? How about that.”

  I had no one to blame but myself. “Gross. Why do you have to sound like that whenever we talk about him?”

  He didn’t look ashamed in the slightest. “I’ve tamed myself a wild beast, one who makes the assholes of all the twinks quiver at the mere sight of him. Now they can only be jealous and have sex with each other. And that’s such a sad thing. Twink-on-twink sex is like banging two sticks together to try to start a fire.”

  I grimaced. “I really regret asking.”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Eat your banana, Corey.”

  I started to do just that.

  The problem with phallic food, of course, is that no matter what you do, it always looks like you’re about to fellate the shit out of it. Oh sure, you can nibble on it, taking little bites, but that’s completely pointless. When your gag reflex is practically nonexistent, it’s so much easier to try and stick as much of it in your mouth as possible. It saves time, and you look good while doing it.

  There are exceptions, of course.

  For example, say that you’re standing in the kitchen near the window looking out onto the street waiting for your hot professor turned hot boss to jog by in tiny shorts. You’ll deny this, obviously, until you’re blue in the face. But regardless of your repudiations, joggers (the sick, desperate individuals that they are) tend to stick to a routine and therefore can be counted on to appear as if from a pitched fever dream.

  So there I was! Sticking a banana in my mouth at approximately 6:17 in the morning while staring out the window, when he appeared.

  “O muh gurd,” I mouthed around the banana.

  “Here we go,” Sandy whispered.

  It was porn, pure and simple. Jogger porn, sure, but porn nonetheless.

  Jeremy Olsen wore a bright blue bandana around his head, his hair sticking up in tufts out the top. He had a strap on his right bicep with his phone attached. A thin black wire led from the phone to the earbuds in his ears.

  And the shorts. The shorts were obscene. The descriptor of tiny didn’t do them justice. They might as well have been briefs. They were white and made of a thin material with slits up the sides that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  “Huh,” I heard Sandy say next to me. “Those shorts are new. He must have gone shopping.”

  He had white socks peeking up above his running shoes.

  And that was it.

  That was the entirety of his running gear.

  I suddenly understood the point of jogging. I didn’t know how I couldn’t see it before. Jogging was quite possibly the greatest thing in existence.

  Jeremy’s bare arms flexed as they moved against his sides. The dark hair on his chest and stomach was slick with sweat. The muscles in his legs jerked with every running step he took. His thighs looked like they were made of granite. And even though I told myself not to look, I had no choice but to see the outline of his dick bouncing in his shorts. I tried to make some kind of noise, but my mouth was full of almost an entire banana, and my lips kept pressing against it.

  The blood was rushing in my ears as he approached our house. And for some goddamn reason, he seemed to slow when he neared us. I didn’t know if it was my own doing, my brain trying to catalogue every single jerk of muscle in his legs, the way his dusky nipples stood out against his tan skin.

  And he seemed to go even slower as he passed in front of the house.

  Sandy said, “Um, excuse me? Is that—”

  Jeremy turned his head to look at our house.

  And into the kitchen window.

  This was problematic for a few reasons. First, Sandy’s robe made him look like a working girl at the Moulin Rouge. Second, we were obviously being extraordinarily creepy. Third, I was fellating a banana for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.

  He saw us.

  My hand jerked, shoving the banana farther into my mouth and throat. I barely choked.

  His eyes widened.

  I pulled the banana out of my mouth in its entirety.

  He tripped.

  Somehow he managed to stay upright, face flushing brightly. He glanced over at us through the window again and gave a little wave.

  I waved back furiously, helpless do to anything but. Unfortunately, I waved with the hand I was holding the banana in, and it broke in half and flipped through the air before slamming into Sandy’s cheek.

  Sandy, as one would do when getting a facial from saliva-slick fruit, shrieked and began slapping at his face. “What have you done!”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I yelled back at him as the banana bounced off his shoulder and landed on the tile floor, smooshing wetly.

  “You were blowing the banana and then you threw it at me!”

  My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my head. “I did not!”

  “And that was Jeremy,” he said. He took a step back, hand once again at his throat, because regardless of what else he was, he would always be a drama queen. “And you knew it.”

  “I didn’t!” I cried. “I didn’t know!”

  He shook his head. “You have never been interested in Hot Jogger Guy until this morning.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know?” He gasped, jerking his head toward the window. “Did he tell you he jogged by our house when he dropped you off in his slut machine? Is that why you’re up so early, so you could watch him?”

  I placed my hands flat against the counter, looking out the window. Jeremy was gone. I thought I should be too. I didn’t know where I would go, but I’d have to start a new life. Jeremy had seen me fucking my face with a banana while ogling him. I would have to become someone new. I wondered if I could get that suit I’d worn when we donned disguises to spy on Darren before he rimmed Sandy in the alley in front of the dumpster behind the restaurant.

  God, I really wish that sentence hadn’t made sense.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said stonily.

  “You lie,” he growled at me. “How the fuck did I not notice that was Jeremy, aside from being distracted by the way his entire lower half always bounced so prettily? Why the hell is he in our neighborhood?”

  I knew the exact moment he figured it out.

  His eyes narrowed, and Helena came roaring forward.

  I was in so much trouble.

  “Corey.”

  “No.”

  “Corey.”

  I sighed. “What.”

  Because he was an asshole as well as a drama queen, he pressed his chest against my shoulder and leaned over to whisper directly in my ear. “Does Jeremy live near us?”

  I hung my head. I thought about lying, but since I was dealing with Helena more than Sandy at the moment, that would probably end with me in a shallow grave outside a Walmart. “He lives two streets over.”

  “The fuck!” he yelled. “How long have you known?”

  “Since yesterday.” And that was when I knew exactly how to shift the blame. It would mean throwing an old man under the bus, but I was desperate. I prayed for forgiveness, though I doubted my prayer would be answered. What I said next was tantamount to senicide, the killing of the elderly. “But you know what that means, right? Jeremy lives with his dad. And Charlie is dating his dad. Charlie has picked up Robert from his house before. Ergo—”

  “Ergo Charlie knew we were neighbors for months!” Sandy finished for me. “That bastard. That
means he’s been hiding their proximity from us this whole time! Oh, am I going to give him a piece of my mind, you can bet on that.”

  Hook, line, and sinker. I felt bad, but only a little.

  Sandy began to pace in his frilly robe. “Why would he do this to me? I mean, to us? First he wouldn’t let Robert give us his phone number at the wedding, and now Charlie’s been keeping his residence a secret? Does he realize who he’s fucking with? The audacity of that man is astounding. So what if he’s essentially helped me become the queen I am and shaped me into the person that stands before you. He knows I need to meddle.”

  “Exactly,” I said, starting to edge toward the kitchen door. He was really starting to get worked up over this. If I played my cards right, he wouldn’t notice I was gone until it was too late. “He knows that about you. How rude.”

  “So rude!” Sandy said, throwing up his hands. “I can’t believe he thought he would get away with this. And furthermore, he almost did. If you hadn’t fallen for the thirst-trap I’d lain out for you so supremely, who knows how much longer this charade would have gone on? I need to retaliate.”

  “So much retaliation,” I agreed. I was almost to the hallway. Just a little bit more. “Like, the most retaliation that there has ever been.”

  “Precisely! Oh, the plans I have in store for—wait a minute.”

  Oh no. I was so close.

  Sandy turned slowly to look at me. He still had a bit of banana stuck to his cheek. “You,” he said, voice dropping.

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “You have an in,” Sandy said, taking a step toward me. “You can help me have my revenge.”

  I knew that if I ran, he’d pounce and get to me before I got far. Sandy was faster than most people gave him credit for. Running would only exacerbate his instinct to chase. I had to find some way to distract him. “How can I do that? I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “Oh, baby doll,” he cooed at me, hips rolling as he took another step. He was slinking, Helena mostly in control. “That’s not true at all, is it? Because Charlie has Robert. And Robert lives with his son. And Jeremy just so happens to jog right past our house in obscene little shorts and trip at the sight of you fucking your mouth with a banana.”