Chapter Three
Nash
A loud banging causes the pulsing of my headache to double, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from my apartment door.
Fuck it. Fuck them. I’m not expecting anyone. Eventually they’ll give up and go away.
Or so I thought before I hear the key in the lock turning. From my prone position stretched out on the sofa, I watch as the door flies open and then Malcolm is filling it.
“Sort of regretting giving you a spare key,” I mutter.
“So this is where you’ve fucking been for the past two weeks?” Malcolm growls as he stomps over to me. Nostrils flaring, he adds, “You look and smell like shit. What the fuck is going on, Nash?”
“Nothing. Not a damn thing. I just needed some time away from everything, everyone.”
“Are you breaking up with us?” he asks, making me roll my eyes at his weak attempt at making a joke. He glances around my apartment. “When was the last time you cleaned this fucking place? It’s a pigsty even by my low standards.”
“Fuck off.”
Heading to the kitchen, he tosses some old take-out containers and empty beer bottles in the trash bin and then comes to a stop beside the small metal, four-person dining table.
“What’s this?” Malcolm leans over to read the papers spread out on top of the table before the asshole picks them up. “Divorce papers? Ellie finally pulled the fucking trigger, huh?” he asks, making me grit my teeth until the ache in my temple throbs even harder.
“Yeah,” I reply through my clenched teeth while pressing my finger and thumb to my temple to try and tamper down the ache. “Apparently, they don’t need my signature to make if official.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You think you’re the first bastard to try and avoid putting your John Hancock down to delay a divorce?” he asks, tossing the paper back down. “Courts will eventually grant it as long as you’ve been served. Should’ve gone MIA if you wanted to outrun it.”
“Whatever. It’s done and over. You would think she could’ve at least had the goddamn decency to warn me it was coming,” I mutter.
“I think up and leaving you without a word for three years was all the warning you needed, brother.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I tell him.
“It was stupid of you to keep waiting around for her, but I get it,” he says when he strolls back over and sits on the edge of the coffee table near my feet. “Now, though, it’s time for you to finally go out and get laid. Going too long without a woman makes men go insane. Trust me, I know from experience. I only endured a few months, so I have no clue how you’ve lasted fucking years.”
“I don’t need a woman. I can get myself off just fine without the bullshit drama.”
“That has to be the hangover talking. We both know your hand ain’t half as good as a woman’s tight wet pussy or mouth. Besides, it’s about more than the release. All of us need that closeness, the connection to another human being.”
“God, you are so fucking pussy whipped. It’s seriously pathetic.”
“No, man. You’re pathetic lying here in your own filth and pity, drinking your life away! You’re better than this, Nash. So, get your ass up, get a shower, find your dick while you’re in there and then use the damn thing! You’re legally single again. There’s no more of that ball and chain holding you back.”
“I’m good right here on my own.”
“No, you’re not. That’s what I’m trying to get through your thick skull! You need a woman, the sooner the better. Hell, I bet that bubbly new neighbor of yours would be happy to come up here and suck your dick for you.”
“My new neighbor?” I say with my brow furrowing in thought before I realize who he’s talking about. The little girl on the roof? “For fuck’s sake, Malcolm. She’s a child!”
“Newsflash — she’s twenty-five, almost twenty-six.”
“Really?” I say in disbelief and shock. From what I remember of her silhouette, she was so tiny I had her pegged for eighteen at most. “Wait. How the hell do you know about the new girl and how old she is?” I ask.
“She’s kind of cute with her glasses and freckles, right?” Malcolm asks with a smirk while dodging my question. I had no idea she had either since I didn’t get a look at her face.
“There’s nothing ‘cute’ about jailbait.”
“Lucy is perfectly legal, and not nearly as sweet and innocent as she looks...”
“Wow, you know her name too. I’m not even gonna ask,” I huff while scrubbing my palms down my scruffy face that hasn’t been shaven in weeks. Although, now there is a tiny, curious part of me that is wondering what he means about her not being sweet and innocent.
“Lucy and I got to know each other this morning when she came to tell me about your little stunt on the roof, asshole!”
Now it all makes sense, why Malcolm came barging in and won’t leave me the hell alone.
“I don’t know what the fuck she told you, but whatever it was, she was probably exaggerating.”
“So you weren’t standing up on the goddamn roof drunk as fuck contemplating throwing yourself over the edge or using the gun you dropped?”
“I was just drunk and messing around. She came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me. That’s it.”
“Well, it must have looked really fucking bad for the girl to seek me out at the pool hall. I just checked, and there’s a fucking combination lock on the door to the roof. She must have added that after catching you ‘messing around’.”
“What the fuck?” I mutter. “How did she find you?”
“Not entirely sure. But my guess is that she saw your cut and then did a little online
