brush it off. I don’t need to feel guilty for anything. I asked a friend for help. So what?
I can feel his gaze drilling holes into us. I can practically see the sneer on his face, and if I’m not mistaken, I notice Travis step closer to me. I dart my gaze to his, a frown settling between my brows.
What the hell is that about?
When I turn back to look at Rome, he’s already rolling his bike into the garage and shutting it. I don’t get a wave or anything that makes me feel special tonight. Dread settles in the pit of my belly at the realization. It feels like it used to, before we became somewhat civil with each other. I worry he might go back to hating me all over again because of this. But why? Why would Rome, of all people, care?
“That asshole still giving you problems?” Travis asks, his gaze glued to the house next door.
I shake my head, trying to suppress the sudden bout of anxiety coursing through my veins. “No, I told you, I think we’ve come to somewhat of an understanding. And he’s not an asshole.”
Travis raises a disbelieving brow.
“Okay, well, not all the time.” I roll my eyes. “Not friends, but definitely not enemies.”
Travis nods, his gaze darting from me back toward my house. Under normal circumstances, if he wasn’t my boss, and he didn’t make a habit out of dating all his employees, I’d invite him inside, but at this time of night and seeing as he’s made his attraction toward me clear, I refrain from doing so. His track record with women from the clinic isn’t the greatest. I pause on my way up my porch, when I realize Travis is following me. He might be my potential boss, but I am not inviting him into my home. Not happening.
Clearing my throat, I point back at my house. “Well, thanks for all the help, but I should really head in and start getting ready for bed now. See you at work?”
Travis looks like he wants to say more, but as I wave and continue backing up toward the door, he shakes his head slightly, deciding not to. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow, Olivia.”
Hurrying inside, I lock the door, and the first thing I do is run into my bedroom. I’m surprised and a little deflated that, for once, Rome has his curtains shut. They’re almost always open, about ninety percent of the time.
Dread takes root in my belly. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a specific reason, tonight of all nights, he decided to shut his curtains. I don’t think he had a woman with him—not that that has ever stopped him before. It can’t be because he saw me with Travis, can it?
No.
Most certainly not.
That would mean he cares, potentially even feels something for me, and that is not something my dickish neighbor does. He has made it clear he cares for one person and one person only—his little brother. Where would I fit into that equation?
I wouldn’t. And that’s the problem.
The next morning, when I’m leaving the house, I wave at Rome in passing, and my stomach drops, painfully, when he ignores me and peels out like an absolute child.
I guess that answers my unspoken question about him being upset.
What right does he have to be mad at me? I got help from my boss. I didn’t invite the man inside and spill the beans about Roman’s life. Besides, he’s not my damn keeper.
I’m certain there’s another explanation for the way he’s acting this morning.
There has to be.
The entire day at work I’m in a mood over how asshole-ish Roman is acting. As I’m prepping one of the exam rooms for Dr. Bennett and a sick bird, I feel Kassandra settle next me. She perches her perfectly round butt against the counter, not even helping, just standing there watching me.
“You gonna help?”
“Noooope. Only reason I’m in here is to figure out what’s going on with you.”
“There’s nothing going on with me.”
“Oh, really?” She scoffs. “The whole office begs to differ. You’re walking around here like there’s a perpetual black storm cloud, hovering over your head.”
I roll my eyes at her dramatics. That’s a bit excessive.
“There’s nothing wrong. Well, not really.”
“Spill it. Is it the hot neighbor?”
“He has a name, you know.”
“Ooh, I see, we’re getting touchy-feely over him now, are we?” I don’t bother with a response. It’s not like she needs one. She’ll talk over