A/N: Hellooo, all. So I just want to thank you all for the feedback you left, you're all beyond amazing. Seriously, you guys make my day :) Alright, on with Chapter 2. Feel free to leave a little love in the review section.

Love on the Rocks

Chapter Two

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Chapter 2:

"Is tomorrow too soon?" She bites her lip self-consciously.

Yes. Yes it is 'too soon'. Who just springs that on somebody? Tomorrow? Seriously?

"I totally understand if it is," she continues. "I didn't mean to spring that on you." She laughs nervously, which I find annoying. She shakes her head, "Forget it, whenever's good for you is go-"

Hayley cuts her off, chuckling. "Tomorrow's great."

Ashley grins, looking excited and relieved.

I look at Hayley like she's a mutant turtle that's watched too many Jet Li movies.

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It's been 10 minutes since Ashley left, and I'm trying to savor my last few hours of pre-Ashley apartment time. It's difficult though, because I know I totally should've given her the inquisition when I had the chance. Still, I don't have any real desire to know much of anything about her. In fact, I just want her to stay out of the way.

I jump onto the counter and look at Hayley with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. "Why's she looking for a new apartment? Didn't you say she already lived in the city? Is she—"

Hayley cuts me off, probably guessing I'm going to say something at least mildly offensive. She always says that I'm pretty much just missing the filter between my brain and my mouth. "She says she just wants a change, Spence. Weren't you listening when we were talking about that stuff?"

'That stuff,' being her general background, I assume. And she already knows that was a stupid question.

"She's just tired of her old place and thought that maybe she'd trying living with other people. You know, instead of being alone all the time."

Great, so she isn't just a roomie. She's looking to be best buddies!

I shudder inwardly.

Hayley rolls her at my reaction. "Spence, do you have to be mean to everybody?" She just looks at me for a moment, her expression one of resignation.

"I'm not 'mean' to everybody," I say defensively. I'm not, either. Mean is such an elementary word. Sure, I'm cynical, pretty sarcastic, and somewhat short-tempered. But it's not as if I wander around stealing people's blocks.

"Spence, you all but verbally bitch-slapped the girl at Starbucks because you thought she looked at you funny!" Hayley looks at me incredulously. "She told you to 'Have a nice day,' and you demanded to speak to her manager!"

"She was totally patronizing me!"

"Spencer, you think everyone's patronizing you! She smiled at you, and you practically filed a formal complaint!" She sighs, moving to the living room and busying herself with a stack of mail as she shakes her head.

I follow her, "Okay, so maybe I have a slight tendency to overreact. That doesn't make me 'mean'," I put air quotes around her juvenile word choice.

"Slight tendency?!" She rolls her eyes, resigned. "Just…don't scare her out of the apartment, okay? We need this, and she's normal."

I grumble my consent and shuffle toward the couch before plopping onto it unenthusiastically. As I flip through the channels silently, I'm thinking I should probably be offended by the fact that my roommate and best friend feels the need to warm me about my hostility and thinks that I have the ability to drive somebody from our apartment with words and attitude alone.

But she's probably right.

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"Spencer, wake up."

At three in the morning? I think not.

"Spencer, now."

I open one eye to see the clock, which reads 10:30 a.m., and a pretty irritated-looking Hayley standing over my bed.

Not really the way I wanted to wake up.

"Five more minutes," I groan, turning over.

"Nope," she pulls the blankets off of my bed in one swift, cruel motion.

"I hate you," I grumble as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, yawning. Okay, I don't hate her. But I do hate mornings. In a big way.

"Your coffee's ready," Hayley leaves the room. She's pretty used to this morning routine. In fact, she's pretty much my human alarm clock. But it's Saturday, and this whole early wake-up call is wholly unnecessary. Still, I stand up, rubbing my eyes, which are still closed. I shuffle out of my bedroom into the living room, looking a little like a female Frankenstein, I'm sure.

"Hales, where's my coffee?" I run my hand along the wall as I walk blindly, though it's pretty unnecessary, as we've lived in this apartment for almost 3 years.

"She and the coffee are both in the kitchen," a voice to my left says. It's definitely not Hayley, but it's not unfamiliar.

I open my eyes quickly to see Ashley sitting on the couch, a cup (one of Hayley's) of coffee in her hand. She smiles in a friendly-but-infuriating manner that makes me roll my eyes as I walk past her, into said kitchen.

Hayley's busy trying to fix the coffee maker (which never works properly anyway. I gave up on it months ago) with her back to me. I do what I firmly believe anyone else would've done in my position. I deliver a decisive slap to the back of her head, Jet Li-style.

"Ow!" She turns around to face me, her hand on her skull. "What the hell was that for?"

I gesture angrily at my attire; a pair of short, blue plaid boxers and an old tank top.

"Maybe you should get dressed," Hayley shrugs.

"No shit? Really? Is that what I should do?" I laugh humorlessly. "Here I thought it was customary to walk around half-naked in the presence of strangers!" I hiss.

"She's not a stranger, Spence," Hayley goes back to the coffee maker. "She lives here." Hayley turns around to face me again, smirking like she usually does when she's about to say something really irritating. "She's our new roomie."

And with one word, she kind of makes me want to do something drastic. Like, I don't know, trip her. Which is not something I feel the need to do very often. Once a day, tops.

Okay, maybe twice.

Fine, three times, but who's counting? Anyway it's not like I'd actually do it.

Hayley rolls her eyes at my reaction. "Go get some clothes on. We've got some people coming over to help her move in." She looks at the clock. "And they'll be here in 10," with that, she moves past me into the living room, sitting on the couch with Ashley, a fresh cup of coffee in hand.

I grab my mug from the counter (knowing that Hayley has already added just the right amount of cream) and move quickly back to my bedroom, careful to avoid making eye contact with 'The Roomie'.

Quickly, I change into a pair of old, tattered jeans and my faded gray NYU t-shirt. Shoving the door open, I trudge to my chair, plopping into it unenthusiastically as I set my coffee on the end table next to it.

Hayley points to the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly wordlessly, taking another sip of her own coffee before she turns back to Ashley. I don't particularly care what they're talking about, so I grab the magazine, putting my bare feet on the coffee table as I start reading my favorite part: the last page.

"Spence, get your feet off of the table."

I lower my magazine from where it rested on my bent knees to look at Hayley disbelievingly. 1) It's half my coffee table, and she's never cared enough to reprimand me like an uptight grandmother before, and 2) She knows I hate being interrupted when I'm reading the Writer's Column.

"No," I say simply, choosing to avoid outright confrontation so early in the morning. Defiance is plenty before noon, I figure, as I go back to my article.

Hayley gives me a look that says something along the lines of, 'Now, you barbarian.'

I give her a look that says, 'Fuck off,' loud and clear.

She glares, opening her mouth to say something before a buzz interrupts her. Narrowing her eyes, she rises and moves to the speaker. "Brandon?"

"On a good day," comes Brandon Weaver's smartass reply, crackling over the aging intercom.

Hayley pushes the button, unlocking the door as Ashley stands, setting her mug on the other end of the table. Moments later, there's an energetic knock on the door.

Pulling the door open, Hayley greets Brandon warmly. "Glad you could be here by ten," she says with a forced smile. Okay maybe her welcome isn't all that warm.

Brandon shrugs it off. "Should've said 9:30 if you really meant 10," he steps into the apartment, heading for the coffee. "Hey, Spence," he says.

"Mornin' B," I say, turning to the movie reviews to confirm my suspicion that this week's obnoxious slapstick comedy is going to blow big time, but still manage to make outrageous sales at the box office.

"How's the studio?" he asks from the kitchen.

"Not too bad," I shrug. "How's the label?"

"Alive and well," he grins as he comes back into the living room.

"Brandon, this is Ashley. Ashley, Brandon," Hayley gestures vaguely as she makes introductions. "The truck's downstairs, parked illegally, so let's get a move on." With that, Hayley walks out of the apartment, Ashley and Brandon close behind.

I have a brief (very brief) moment of guilt, thinking I should probably help, but it passes pretty quickly as I take another sip of my coffee and return to the article.

It's not long before Hayley comes back, a large box in her hands. " So you're just going to sit there?"

"Yep. That's the plan," I turn the page to the music reviews.

Hayley sets down the box by the couch, then attempts to level me with her gaze.

It's not working.

"Spence, come on, we need your help."

I close the magazine impatiently, keeping my place with my thumb. "You need my help?" I smirk.

Hayley rolls her eyes but gives unenthusiastically. "Yes. We need your help. Because you're so great. Your intelligence, prowess, and general aura of awesomeness are unmatched here on Earth."

"And…?"

"And us common folk require your degree of superiority."

"Now that's what I like to hear."

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