Chapter 2 | Evelyn

Thirty minutes later, the noise from upstairs ceased, and I hear an impatient knock on my door. Feeling petty, I let the person stew for over a minute before opening the door.

The sight of an angry Connor stares at me from the other side of the threshold.

"Was it you who called the cops?"

I fake my ignorance. "Called the cops?"

He lets out a low, menacing snarl. "Cut the act, will you? I know you called the cops and told them that we were having a party and being loud?"

Chuckling, I fold my arms and lean against the wall. My wall.

"I tried to handle this civilly. Besides, if you knew it was me, why are you here asking?" I ask, letting him know through my tone that I don't care.

"I--" he sucks in a deep breath, "I thought we agreed you were going to give me twenty minutes, and then I'd round up the party?"

I wag a finger at him. "No, we didn't. You made a series of suggestions that didn't resolve the issue. First, you asked me to join the party," I begin to let him have it.

"Then you asked me to give you twenty more minutes after the party had been going on for four hours. Meanwhile, I have been trying to sleep without success because you can't consider someone other than yourself. Then you ignored me and let the door slam in my face. I thought that was pretty rude, by the way," I add.

Connor looks speechless for a minute and then puzzled.

Feeling empowered by the fact that I took his words from him—when less than an hour ago he had so much to say—I take a step forward.

"I didn't want to do this," I say, looking him dead in the eye. "But you left me no choice. I came to you first, to give you a chance to do the right thing. I thought we could solve this amicably, but you wouldn't even consider being neighborly. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but it is what it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was getting ready for bed before you knocked on my door."

His foot kicks forward, keeping the door from closing. I open it again, frowning.

"Is there something else I can help you with?"

"This is no way to make friends," he says.

My eyes take him in—a deliberate sweep from head to toe. "Friends, I see the kind of friends you have, no thanks. Isn't that why you throw parties anyway, so you can feel "popular"."

A look of triumph crosses my face when he moves back, and I slam the door in his face.

One. Two. Three. I count to three and breathe my heart racing and my hands are shaking.

"Geez!" I place my hand on my chest as sweat beads break across my forehead. "That was intense."

And unlike me.

I've lived my whole life being non-confrontational. I'm not timid, I just avoid conflict. I've been known to take the path of least resistance, as they say.

Yet something about this man, Connor, just seems to get my blood boiling. Making him wait and dishing out the smartass comebacks was not part of the plan when I moved in.

It does feel good, though.

And in the future, I'll do my best to avoid him altogether.

But for now, it's Evelyn, 1. Connor, 0.