Worth Billions (Worth It 1)

I looked over at our neighbor, Cecily, and she waved a courteous hand in my direction. She mouthed a particularly fond ‘good luck’ to me, knowing her voice would never be heard over the shriek of Andy’s guitar. I reached out and threw the door open, my ears assaulted by the wailing nonsense coming from our side of the house.

The stench of beer was thick in the air.

Stepping inside, my eardrums were already throbbing. And there Andy sat, shirtless on our couch and surrounded by empty beer cans.

I rolled my eyes and shut the door, wondering how I could smooth things over. Because he looked pissed.

What the hell did he have to be pissed off about? He didn’t work. Or cook. Or clean. Or do laundry. Or grocery shop. Or do anything except sit on his ass.

“Hey there, Andy.”

But instead of acknowledging me, he continued to riff away on his guitar.

Like I wasn’t even there.

Passing him without a second thought, I made my way into the bedroom. I needed to change out of my job search clothes. I slipped my shirt over my head and went to wiggle out of my pants, when suddenly a pair of hands came down onto my hips. Lips hit my shoulder and the smell of stale beer was putrid and thick. I felt Andy’s greasy hair on my skin and it made me grimace, causing me to pull away from him.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m not in the mood,” I said.

“I figured we’d celebrate your new job,” he said, as he came at me with his lips again.

I put my hand in his face and pushed him away.

“I said ‘no,’ and besides, they didn’t offer me the job.”

Andy rolled his eyes as I reached for my robe.

“How the hell did you blow it this time?” he asked.

Wrapping my robe around me, I scoffed.

“Me? I blew it? At least I’m out there taking interviews and trying to find a job. You haven’t had a gig in almost a month. And you’re not even out there trying to find any.”

“This isn’t about me and my gigs. People hire me all the damn time, but I have to stay behind and take care of your ass instead.”

“You know how you can take care of my ass? Do the gigs, Andy.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about you being unemployable. What the hell have you been doing all your life? You talk about how you’re all independent and on your own, but all you’ve done is drain me of my money.”

“Exactly what money was that?” I asked. “The three hundred bucks you occasionally get for playing in bars? Even though most of the time you take free drinks as payment. I’m the one that has kept us supported. It’s me that’s kept us fed. I’ve kept this roof over our heads while you lay around drunk all day riffing away on your stupid guitar.”

“Stupid? Let’s talk about stupid. Someone with a college degree that can’t even get a job. That’s stupid. You had to take that pathetic job with some old man because your stupid community college degree is worthless.”

“Well, remember what I said, Andy. Once I find that job, I’m going to go after every certification I can get, and then I’ll be leaving your sorry ass in the dust.”

“Good. It’s not like I’m banging that ass anyway,” he said.

“You’ll never touch me again so long as I can help it,” I said. “So, since we’ve talked about my job search, you want to tell me about yours now?”

Andy eyed me and I thought for sure he was going to hit me. He loomed over me, straightened out his drunken posture and tried to buck up to me. But I was ready for him. Reaching my hand out for the baseball bat in the corner, I was ready to use it. His eyes flickered down to my grip before a grin crossed his cheeks, then the hazy alcoholic returned.

“Bi

tch,” he said.

“Deadbeat.”