Say Goodbye Again

C H A P T E R 2: Go Get Some Popcorn

A/N: Check the POV at the beginning of each chapter. This is Conner's POV!

Song: " Let Me Down Slowly," by  Alec Benjamin. (He's so underrated)

C O N N E R

The car door closes with a loud bang followed by two beeps. A few nosy pedestrians turn around to investigate the source of the noise like the fricking detectives they think they are. I scowl at them. They hastily look away and get on their way.

The redhead from the apartment down the hall glances my way and snickers. She takes two grocery bags out of the trunk of her white sedan and closes it with a soft clunk.

I put my jacket on and check my pockets for my phone and wallet. There they are.

Miss stuck-up walks past me with quick steps, deliberately avoiding my gaze. Always the dramatic one.

She was the one throwing up in front of her apartment last Saturday night.

The sun shines and the sky is clear, but the effort is wasted. Today is a cold day. The white steam of my breath is visible each time I exhale.

Nearly stomping, I cross the parking lot toward the red brick apartment building, ignoring the few other tenants I'd normally greet with a smile.

I should kick the hideous frog sculpture at the foot of the stairs. It'd be a community service. Sadly, the landlady loves it. I climb up the metal stairs with loud, heavy steps.

My apartment's door is unlocked. Perfect, just awesome. I curse my luck, turn the knob and push the door open as quietly as possible.

Just as expected, Easton is sitting on the sofa eating takeout while intensely watching some football match on the TV. Just his head and his hands are visible out of the blanket armor he has buried himself into.

This has to be the most stingy person in the world.

Maybe, the TV will be enough distraction?

He looks up and smiles warmly at me, his rumpled blond hair almost covering his eyes. Great.

I step into the freezing apartment, grumble a hello and close the door behind me. Hopefully, he'll notice my annoyance and let it go. I'm only lucky enough to take two steps before he mutes the TV.

"So, how did it go with out-of-your-league Wren?"

I glare at him as an answer. Not even sarcasm would make me feel better right now.

"That good, huh?"

"Sure. We're getting married next week and I want you to be my best man." I do feel better. Sarcasm is always the answer. "We're just torn between a traditional wedding or a beach wedding."

Easton stands up with a sigh and ambles through our cluttered living room, taking the empty takeout box with him. He walks past the four-seat dining table and rummages around in the kitchen.

I adjust the thermostat to a livable temperature, throw my jacket over the back of a chair and get rid of the restricting tie. All while glaring at Easton.

He opens the fridge and produces two beers. There's the hiss of him popping a bottle cap.

I walk over to the living room, grab the remote off the mahogany coffee table and slump into the old brown couch.

Cable TV proves to be as disappointing as always. Why do we need three weather channels? Why should I care about the life of people just because they are richer than me? When will the history channel show history documentaries again?