No, the point is...
Ryan, of course, was fucking furious.
“Well that’s just fucking great, you guys. It’s not like I live here too. It’s not like my opinion actually counts for something, right?”
“Ry,” Spencer tried, but Ryan just huffed. “No, don’t you fucking start, Spence. How come I don’t get a say in this? I thought this was our place.”
Jon didn’t remind him that technically, Ryan wasn’t paying rent. He valued his life and it also felt like a cheap shot to draw attention to that fact. Spencer covered both their rent, mostly. Spencer never complained. Jon kept his mouth shut.
“Ry, we needed the cash.” Spencer was trying to be the voice of reason, Jon knew that. Just, right now? Not a chance in hell.
“You don’t even know him. He could be, oh, I don’t know. A drug addict, hooker, government assassin, serial killer?” Jon burst out laughing and Spencer smiled, shaking his head.
“He isn’t. He’s just a guy that seemed pretty decent and needs somewhere to stay.”
“My point…”
“Ryan, the point is your life’s not a Chuck Palahniuk novel. Fuck.” Ryan stared at Spencer for a moment.
“Yeah, thanks. I do know that.”