I took a sip then pressed the icy bottle against my swollen left eye, both the beer and the black eye courtesy of her overzealous meathead of a brother.
“Thought you were a stalker,” he mumbled.
He caught me looking in her window, watching her cook noodles on her stovetop while music blared.
But… I had my reasons.
She wasn’t answering the door. Rent was due. And I was here to collect.
“I’ll set you up,” he offered, a show of good faith.
“Not my type,” I answered.
He cocked his eyebrow.
Maybe there’d be a love connection after all.
The Weekday One Hundred 