Totally discomposed.
It’s an odd look on him.
“And?” I prompt.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
“Something nice,” he grumbles.
I laugh. “Ah, so that’s it. You’re being protective of your nice friend.”
“It’s hardly protective, and you’re not really nice. More like saucy and vexing, and you wear sarcasm like a coat.”
I preen like a cat, taking the compliment. “Thank you for backpedaling on such a terrible adjective. ‘Saucy’ is way better than ‘nice.’”
“I just don’t want my mean, cruel, terrible friend dating douches, and you seem to be drawn to them.”
I shoot him a withering glare. Who is he to talk? “And you’re drawn to sweethearts? Angels? Mother Teresas?”
He stares at the ceiling as if in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure about sweethearts, but I’m positive I’ve never dated Mother Teresa.”
I lean across the table to swat his shoulder. “You have definitely dated douches too. Oh, wait. You haven’t dated anyone long enough for them to measure on the douche-meter.”
He arches a brow. “I beg your pardon. I have absolutely hit the crazy-ex floor in the department store of love.”
I laugh as we clear our plates and head for the door. “Have you now?”
“Do I need to remind you of Hazel?”
No. He doesn’t.
I can picture perfectly the day I saved his ass.
6OLIVER
Two years ago
This was getting to be a problem—the morning ambush.
Warily, I walked to the window, pulled back the blinds, and peered down to the street. Cars, cabs, and buses rushed along the avenue, and I held onto the fervent hope that I might be able to leave my own building unscathed.
Then I caught a glimpse of red.
Fucking hell.
Hazel was there, lying in wait.
With tea.
I didn’t even like tea.
Who decided that all Englishmen liked tea and scones, lived in castles, and followed football?
Well, scones were delicious.
I pulled back from the window, grabbed my phone, and called in a favor.
“She’s here again,” I whispered, even though whispering was unnecessary. But it felt necessary. “Are you nearby? You’re probably on a run, right?”
On the other end of the call, Summer breathed out hard. “Just finished five miles. I’m on the east side of the park. I can be there in ten. Want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on it,” she said, knowing the situation well and knowing the solution too.
“You’re a superhero.”
“I am. It’s true.”
I grabbed a tie and slipped it around my neck, knotted it, and pulled on my suit jacket. I had to get to work without my ex pouncing on me and asking me to get back together with her. Never mind that she was hardly an ex. She was a woman I’d dated for a mere two weeks. After I ended it on account of a massive lack of sparks—and not at all because she wanted to attend a cheese-making class, even though I hate trendy thing-making classes—she decided to try to woo me back by waiting outside my building with tea from my favorite coffee shop.
She’d done this four days in a row. Today was the fifth.
Returning to the window, I watched the street below. On the dot, Summer walked into view, holding a paper cup. She spotted Hazel and, with a smile, headed over to the redhead, exchanged a few words, then continued into the lobby.
Hazel cast a glance upward, but she’d never been inside my building, so she didn’t know which floor was mine.
