“What happened to debating a good book? Isn’t that part of the discussion?”
“Fine.” I set my cup aside and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s discuss the things you said. It’s not repetitive and redundant. And it’s definitely not sophomoric.”
“The dialogue is above average, but the narration is clumsy and disconnected.”
“There’s a ton of description!”
He shakes his head. “Purple prose. Too much showing instead of telling. The book could double in dialogue and cut out half of the filler shit, and it would be a better story.”
“Seriously? What makes you such an expert?”
The stupid smirk. Gah! I hate it.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ve just read a lot of books.”
I blow out a breath, sending my long bangs away from my face.
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Cut the cute crap.” I glare through narrowed eyes, my grip on my coffee cup tightening.
“Fine. You’re fuckable when you’re mad.”
“You’re crude and a total loser for not buying my coffee since you’re nothing more than an entitled asshole.” I jolt to standing, hiking my bag over my shoulder. “And stop looking at me like that!”
“You’re beautiful too.”
I roll my eyes and growl, stomping out the door.
The rest of the day everyone crawls under my skin until I’m forced to apologize to my coworkers before leaving work. Freya greets me with a huge grin when I walk into our two-bedroom loft, tossing my keys on the gray quartz island.
“Why the look?” I mumble.
She sets her phone on the sofa and sashays to the opposite end of the island, eyeing me with a suspicious smirk the whole way. “Look what our new neighbor dropped off.”
I glance at the card in her hand, taking a few steps closer before snatching it from her hold. It’s a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Finn’s Café.
“He must have slid it under our door before I got home. Here’s the note.” She hands it to me.
I read it.
Anna,
Thanks for hosting book club. It was the most donnish experience I have enjoyed in a long time. Think of this as a hostess gift. Regards, Eric.
“He’s hot and clearly generous.” Freya fans herself.
“He’s obnoxious and a spoiled rich kid.”
“No. You don’t get to be pouty because he was critical of your book pick. He’s one person. Everyone hated my book pick, and you didn’t see me unfriending anyone because of it. I think you’re pissed because you’re attracted to him. And now that he doesn’t share your taste in books, you can’t imagine riding his big, rich cock. Your disappointment is understandable, but don’t let it get in the way of a good thing.”
I try but fail to keep from grinning as she animatedly makes her case by stroking her imaginary dick.
“You don’t know that his cock is big. And my attraction to him doesn’t matter because I’m not getting involved with someone who lives in my building. And … I don’t care that he has terrible taste in books. I don’t. Really … whatever. I’m over it.”
“Good idea. Get over it, and then get under him.”
I scrunch my nose. “You get under him.”
“I’m engaged.”
I grab a bag of popcorn from the cabinet next to the fridge and toss it into the microwave. “You’re engaged to a man you’ve never met. And he keeps making excuses for not moving here. Seriously … are you going to have an online wedding and consummate your marriage with a string of dirty texts or via video chatting?”
“I’m so disappointed in you.” She tips up her chin. “I thought you were more of a romantic than that. A cheerleader for the underdogs.”
I hand the gift card to her. “I’m your biggest cheerleader. When your Latino lover arrives … coffee is on me.”
She smirks, picking up the gift card and sliding it into her pocket. “I did provide the wine.”
Chapter Four
I make it two weeks without seeing my new neighbor. Granted … I’ve had to find a new place to get coffee. Avoiding him near the bike racks has been total luck.
“New hot guy alert.” Kenzie pops her head into the back office of the climbing gym as I work on the employee newsletter.
I crane my neck to see past her before jerking back into a slightly hunched position. My luck just ran out. “He’s my new neighbor. Don’t tell him I’m here.”
She laughs. “Too late. He already asked for you.”
“I’m busy.”
“He wants to hire you to spot him.”
“What?” My nose wrinkles as I focus on the computer screen.
“You know … make sure he doesn’t get injured if he falls.”
“I know what it means. We don’t do that. You only spot when you’re outdoor climbing.”
“Fine. I’ll tell him that you don’t want to do it. Is that what you really want me to tell the hot guy?”
“Um … yes.” I squint at her. What’s her deal?
She grumbles and pivots. A few seconds later, she returns. “Dude! He’s offered to pay a thousand dollars an hour for you to spot him.”
“The answer is still no.” I continue typing.
“If I tell Linda you said no to the gym making a thousand dollars an hour to spot him, she will fire you.”
My gaze slides to the side, burning a huge hole into Kenzie’s forehead. Linda would not fire me. She knows the safety concerns and the sheer ridiculousness of him asking for that service. He could crush me. It’s not like he’s bouldering outside where he can miss the crash pad and crack open his head.
“You heard her say we fell short of our membership renewal goal last month.”
The answer is still no, but Kenzie’s having a brain fart and can’t see she’s being played.
“Spoiled.” I shut my computer. “Little.” I shove the desk chair back. “Rich kid.” I stand, balling my fists.
Kenzie bites her lips together. “Uh … he seems really nice. And hot. Did you not focus on his body or that smile? Or the hair? It’s all Patrick Dempsey.”
He hates my favorite book. I bet he hates kittens and puppies too. Total monster.
“Eric.” I don’t offer so much as a twitch of my lips that could be mistaken for a smile.
“Hey, neighbor.” He glances up from the waiver form on the tablet in front of him.
“Spotters aren’t used for indoor climbing. Your assumption that we would do that is sophomoric at best.”
His finger continues to tap the tablet screen. “I have a thousand dollars … maybe even two … that says you’re spotting me today.”
Kenzie’s gaze ping-pongs between us, and I give her a nod to go do something else.
Leaning into the counter with my arms resting on it, I narrow my eyes and lower my voice. “What’s your angle?”
“My angle?” He presses submit on the waiver and tries to slice through my distrust with his signature crooked grin.