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Mischa Eliot

Copyright 2017 Mischa Eliot

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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The ceiling fan rotated above me, spinning away into oblivion. It suited my mood today. The humidity was high; the central air had puttered and died last summer. The landlord was a dick and hadn’t bothered to repair or replace the unit. For the most part, I like the duplex I live in and I like my neighbor. Okay, let me clarify, I lust after my neighbor, Zane.

All the windows were open in his place, just like mine. A window fan did its best to suck the heat back outside. It had to fight, since the hot bastard had his cranberry-colored pizza oven on. The thing sat on his counter, throwing off waves of heat. There was already another pizza in it, baking to perfection, as he kneaded the dough for another pie.

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