“Cass, calm down.” She tried to talk over me, but I kept up the charade.
“There’s nothing in his nightstand, but serial killers are notorious for covering all of their tracks. They don’t hide shit in their nightstands, do they! Oh God, they hide things under floorboards and behind secret doors where they have their stash of crazy and walls filled with pictures of their victims! Oh. My. God. I’m going to end up on one of those FBI Files shows, and it will be all your fault!”
I hopped off the bed and put the phone on speaker as I started stomping my feet along the hardwood floor. “The secret floorboards would sound hollow, right? And what are secret doors supposed to sound like when you find them?”
“Cassie!” Georgia’s voice echoed inside the bedroom.
“What?” I asked as I continued stomping my feet along the floor.
“Stop going through his shit. Thatch is not a serial killer.”
Once my feet got tired, I grabbed a nail file from my purse and sat down on the beige chaise in front of the window. “Then why is he going to get us dinner?” I yelled as I filed my nails. “Why isn’t he freaking out that some stranger—albeit a very attractive woman—took it upon herself to just move in with him?”
Come on, Georgia. Spill the juicy gossip. You know you want to…
“I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he’s messing with you back. He might be on to your prank,” she finally admitted on a whisper.
“Ninety-nine percent sure is not reassuring, Wheorgie! That one percent could be the one percent that has me ending up on a missing persons’ website!” I shouted as I held my right hand out in front of me. Man, oh man, I really need a manicure.
“I think he might be mentally disturbed, G! I wonder if I should try to get out of here before he comes back with dinner. Holy. Fuck. What if dinner is code for something else?” I asked on a dramatic gasp.
“Oh. My. God. Seriously, calm down and stop yelling in my ear,” she responded in irritation. “Thatch isn’t a serial killer. He’s not a psychopath or mentally disturbed. He called Kline the second he left his apartment to grab dinner. He knows you’re pranking him.”
Bingo.
“Oh, okay. Thanks for the info,” I answered in a normal tone.
The phone went silent for a few seconds.
“You are such an asshole,” she eventually responded with an incredulous laugh. “Why do I always fall for your bullshit?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea, sweetheart, but I can’t believe that big motherfucker is trying to one-up me. He’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks I’m going to be the one to raise the white flag,” I announced, determined.
“Uh oh… This sounds like it could end badly,” Georgia said in concern. Although, her concern didn’t really sound all that concerned. It sounded more excited than anything else.
“Yeah, you’re right. This could end badly, but I will not be the one to say uncle. Even if I have to continue this little prank war until I’m on my deathbed, you can bet your sweet ass I will come out victorious.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she responded with a laugh. “What exactly are you plotting? You promised you wouldn’t kill Thatch until after Kline’s birthday.”
“The only thing that will die at the end of this is a big part of the Jolly Green Giant’s ego.”
She laughed. “There’s a small part of me that feels bad for wanting to encourage this.”
“If anything, Thatch deserves this.”
He has to pay for making my steel-barricaded heart feel like maybe it isn’t impenetrable after all.
“I think that’s pretty debatable, Casshead. And mostly depends on what you have planned. Thatch is actually a really good guy. Kline says he’s—”
I didn’t want to hear it. I already liked the guy enough all on my own.
“Yeah, speaking of plans, I gotta scoot. My roommate will be coming home with dinner soon, and I need to make myself nice and comfortable in my new humble abode.”
“Okay…” she said and then paused. “You should probably avoid a few things, though. You know, just a few things that might make him mad.”
Well, I’ll be damned, Georgia could be a little devious when she wanted to.
“And what exactly would those things be?”
“Well, for starters, he only keeps one item of junk food in his pantry, and he gets pretty pissed when someone eats it. So, don’t eat his Trix cereal. Whatever you do, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Jesus, he’s like a giant toddler. I’ll be sure to stay away from his favorite sugar fix.”
Or I’ll eat the whole fucking box in one sitting.
“And don’t mess with his DVR. He records all of his favorite teams and a few shows. One of which is America’s Next Top Model, which I gotta say, I kind of find endearing.”
“Got it. Don’t mess with the sports.” Or I’d delete the games and, obviously, keep Top Model. “Any other no-gos?”