life with nothing to tie us down.”
“Huh.” My lips tighten as I wrap my ahead around what it must be like to go through life with just one legal name. “Never met anyone like that before.”
“I’m Crew,” I say.
“Yeah, I remember from the shop,” she says. “I’m guessing you have a last name, though.”
“Forrester,” I say. Forrester is definitely an anchor of a moniker. I envy Calypso’s freedom in that respect. It’s not easy being the son of Conrad and Susan Forrester.
“Like the Subaru.”
Haven’t heard that a million times before. I give her a free pass because she’s pretty.
“Kind of.” I fold my arms, widening my stance and finding myself not in any particular hurry to move this conversation along. Calypso is nice and unassuming. She’s not like the other women in this city, with makeup-caked faces and hairspray-scented hair extensions.
She yawns, covering her pretty lips with the back of her hand.
“You stay up late reading, don’t you?” I ask.
Her expression fades. “Nope.”
“Oh, so, that, uh, neighbor who keeps you up late,” I say. “The one your associate was referring to . . .”
“That’d be you.”
I figured as much, but at the time, playing dumb seemed like my smartest bet.
“Your headboard smacks the wall we share,” she says, her arms folding and her head cocked. “All night. Almost every night.”
“Shit, Calypso.” I drag my fingers through my hair. I rack my brain, attempting to come up with some kind of appropriate apology.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
I can’t tell if she’s flattering or attacking me.
“Do what?”
“Never mind.” She waves me off. “I need to head back to the shop.”
“You don’t know how I do what?” I’m curious more than anything.
She turns to leave, takes three steps, and pauses. “Just, please try and keep it down. I really, really need some sleep.”
“Of course,” I say. Naturally. I don’t plan on bringing women home anytime soon. “But what were you going to say a second ago?”
I’m a dog with a bone, refusing to drop this until I get what I want. Noelle hates this about me. I find it almost always works to my favor.
Calypso exhales, though she won’t meet my gaze. “I don’t know how you can bring women home every night and fuck them all night long while you’ve got a baby sleeping in the next room.”
I smirk.
“Calypso.” I take a step toward her, but she’s already out the door. I can’t chase after her because I can’t leave Emme. “Wait.”
She turns toward me, but she continues walking backward. “You asked. Now forget I said anything.”
“You’re just going to walk off?” I’m not sure where I get off expecting her to stick around, but I’m not about to end the conversation without getting a chance to explain.
“Gotta go back to work.”
“It’s not like that,” I call after her.
“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just keep it down . . . whatever you’re doing.”
The enchantment I saw in Calypso’s eyes has vanished. She seems annoyed with me now. By the time she’s halfway down the sidewalk, I’m standing in my doorway scratching my brow.
A faint crackle comes through the baby monitor, and I step back inside. Emme’s waking, and I don’t have time to figure out why the hell that hippy Barbie doll took off in such a hurry and why the fuck it bothers me so much.
4
Calypso
“I need a drink, Bryson.” I take a stool at the end of my bar, several seats away from a couple who are very obviously on a first date, and a couple of spots from a handful of middle-aged book club members who meet here each week, same night, same time. “Something strong.”
He pushes his tragically hip, horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and cocks a flaccid hand on his hip.
“What’d you do now?” His words scold, but his eyes flash with salacious delight.
“Did Presley tell you about the guy who came in today?” I ask.
Bryson’s manicured brows arch. “The guy who looks like Liam Hemsworth?”
I laugh, slicking my hand along the polished wood bevel of the bar top. Of course Presley would compare him to Liam Hemsworth. She hooked up with him once, before he got super famous, and she talks about that night at least once a week anytime she finds a way to work it into a conversation.
“Yeah,” I say. “Anyway, it turns out he’s my neighbor.”
“The Jackhammer?” Bryson gasps, his hand flying to his chest. “Did you tell him off like you’ve always wanted?”
He grabs a bottle and a martini