series of large framed black-and-white pictures from the Malones’ wedding in Italy on the wall. Classy.
“So, what’s new?” I ask.
She spreads her arms wide. “Not much. Starting my internship at a lab on Monday.”
“How long is your internship?”
“Eight weeks. Then I’ll visit Sara on Villroy until it’s time to go back to college.”
Eight weeks. That’s long enough to really get tangled up in someone. If you were looking for a relationship, that is. Which I’m not. The real problem here is that eight weeks is long enough to be way too tempted to cross the line. Which I’m also not.
Is she still in touch with her psycho ex? The one who threatened death if I touched her?
Who cares? It’s not like he’d fly all the way to Brooklyn to kill me. Pretty sure.
An awkward silence stretches between us while I try to figure out the right thing to say to the woman I’ve worked hard to forget.
“How’d school go last semester?” I blurt.
She twirls a lock of soft-looking shoulder-length blond hair and looks toward the door. “Fine.”
Does she want me to leave?
“Did you do well on the MCAT?”
She tilts her head. “You know about the MCAT?”
“Yeah, a friend of mine took it,” I mutter, lying through my teeth. I don’t know anyone who went to medical school besides my doctor. But I never asked her about the process. Whatever.
“I’m happy with my score,” she says, gripping her hands together in front of her.
I stare at her gripped hands, and she shifts, gripping them behind her back instead. She’s wearing an emerald green tank top, jeans, and white Keds. Just like I remember her wearing back on Villroy. She’s big on the tank top-jeans combo, though she added a cardigan there. My gaze catches on the dip between her collarbones, the line of her neck, her delicate-looking jaw.
I suddenly realize I’m staring too long and not holding up my end of the conversation. “Good. That’s good. Are you hungry? We could…” I gesture toward the door.
“Not really. I had lunch a couple of hours ago.”
I nod. Makes sense. It is afternoon. “Need any help unpacking?” Just your neighborly helper here.
She crosses her arms and uncrosses them. “It’s just my research papers and notebooks. I can do it myself.”
I rub the back of my neck. Why is this so hard? She’s just a woman I had some friendly good times with. A friend. My only woman friend ever. “So, I’m right next door. Knock if ya need anything.”
“Okay.” She walks to the door.
Guess that’s my cue to leave.
“See ya.” I let myself out.
Then I just stand in the hallway for a moment, my head spinning. Could that have been more awkward? I need to figure out how to be neighbors with her. I don’t want to spend the summer tuned into every sound next door, thinking about what she’s doing, or who she’s doing it with.
Shit. Am I going to have to hear her hooking up with a guy?
I jog downstairs, more agitated with every step. This is not going to work. I have to figure something out fast.
I wonder if I could move in with Beast. No. That’s the coward’s way. This is my place. And Chloe Travers isn’t going to force me out. No matter how awkward things get.
Chloe
I walk to the small galley kitchen in a daze. Brendan Rourke. The guy I hoped not to see face-to-face for a very long time is right next door. I reach for a glass with a shaky hand and pour myself some water from the sink. That was so freaking awkward. He must’ve remembered that unwanted kiss. I’m just so…mortified. He’s probably thinking, Shit, the woman who lusts for me is right next door. Now I’ll have to dodge her advances all summer.
If he only knew. After careful consideration of the facts, I’ve concluded the reason he’s my go-to fantasy with my vibrator, Blaze, is because my mind conjured a different ending to that night in Villroy. Purely in self-defense. In my fantasy version, he returns my kiss and pulls me into his room. Many orgasms follow. Thank you, Blaze.
I exhale sharply. No one ever needs to know that, especially my new neighbor. The fact that he pops into my mind with his sparkling blue eyes, ready smile, and appealing dimple on a regular basis is also easy to understand. He was a bright spot during a vulnerable, lonely time over the holidays. Another theory I have is that when I’m overworked