She shrugged. “I’m just sick of men. You all want something meaningless over something substantial.”
I returned to the bar and lowered my voice. “I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong, but all men aren’t Stanley, Laurel. Maybe stop going out with a guy who clearly doesn’t want the same relationship you need.”
Her gaze drifted to the bar. “It’s easier being with him than being alone.”
“Is it? Because right now it doesn’t look like you’re having such an easy time.”
Her lashes lowered. “I don’t know why I invited him. I’m not even sure what we are anymore. For all I know, he’s hitting on women and then coming back to my bed.”
“Fuck him. Want me to send him home? He’s your guest, using our family’s club membership. Rescind your invitation, and he has no right to be here.”
“I don’t need my little brother cleaning up my messes.”
“I know you don’t, but I will. Believe me, I don’t mind.”
It was more than a hunch that Stanley was hitting on other women. I’d seen him getting too close a few times and finally said something to him, but the guy excused his behavior by claiming he and my sister had a sort of understanding, which seemed true, but not at all what Laurel wanted.
Laurel gave a sad smile. “You’re a good brother, Noah.”
“You’re a good sister.”
As much as I wanted to get my mind off Avery by getting inside another woman, those plans would need to be postponed. Laurel needed a friend, and since Shane had screwed me over with Margaux, my sister had stepped in as my best friend, always there whenever I needed a distraction. Tonight I needed to be hers.
Waving a hand at the bartender, I said, “Another chardonnay for the lady, and I’ll take a refill as well.”
“You’re staying?”
I sat on the stool beside her. “Maybe that whole getting drunk thing is exactly what we both need.”
“Cheers to that.”
12
Avery
It had been nine quiet days without a peep from my mother or my neighbor. I took a few nights off of work to focus on school. I needed to get my Lit grade up to a B, and my professor wasn’t making that easy. I also needed to reassess some things that were keeping me up at night.
Thanksgiving was a quiet day in the building and a much-needed chance to think. The halls remained silent through the weekend. It was as if everyone disappeared, which was probably what normal people did—home to visit families that actually enjoyed each other.
Noah claimed our conversation wasn’t over, yet he hadn’t tried to contact me in any way. I knew his schedule, but nothing about his occupation. He left around seven-thirty each morning in a suit, and I could smell his soap in the hall every day when I returned from the gym.
Then, I could sense his presence when he returned from work around six each night. I wasn’t sure if he had a commute or worked in the city, but I wanted to know these things, and that had to make me the stupidest girl on the planet.
Finished with my final English paper, I packed up my books. The close of the semester left me wanting to celebrate, but I had no one to share in my personal accomplishment, no one that really cared.
Wandering around my apartment, I debated if I should call a client—maybe Micah. He’d celebrate with me in his own Micah way. I had nothing better to do, but the idea of making a date didn’t sit right.
I nosed around in the fridge for a few minutes and snagged a bottle of wine off the shelf. I wasn’t a big drinker, so I’d been saving this for a special occasion. Cocktails were nice, but I only indulged when someone else was making them or paying. This bottle of wine had been in my fridge for over three months, and I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of expiration date I was missing.
Rummaging through my drawers, I searched for a corkscrew, unsure if I owned one. About to give up my search, I stilled when I heard a door close. My gaze drifted to the front of my apartment and then down the front of my body for an inspection of my appearance.
I wore sweats, slippers, and my hair twisted into a messy bun. There was nothing sexy about my outfit, so maybe this was the best time to see what had caught my neighbor’s tongue. Grabbing the wine bottle and my apartment key, I crossed the hall and knocked.
His footsteps shuffled, and the door opened. His eyes did a double take of my outfit, and then he grinned. “Do I know you?”
Funny guy. I held up the wine. “I need a screw.”
He laughed and gave the door a nudge, so it opened wide. “You guessed my magic password. Come on in.”
I followed him inside, immediately noting how different his apartment appeared when not full of fifty drunken guests and gourmet food stations. We headed into the kitchen where an open box of pizza sat on the island, one slice removed and sitting on a plate.
“Did you eat?”
The scent of garlic and basil filled the air, and my stomach stirred at the opportunity. “Not since lunch.”
He brought down another plate from his nicer-than-mine cabinets. “One slice or two.”
“One.”
He pursed his lips. “Really?”
“Really.”
Appearing unimpressed, he dropped a slice on the plate and went to a drawer. Holding up a corkscrew, he took the bottle of wine from me, pausing to frown at the label. “What is this?”
I slid onto a wooden stool and pulled the pizza slice closer. “I don’t know. I bought it when I moved in.”
“And you never opened it?”
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Yet you like bourbon.”
Surprised he remembered what I drank, I smiled. “Honey bourbon. It’s whiskey with training wheels.”
He scoffed. “Whiskey’s whiskey. You drink. You just don’t know how to open bottles.”
I pulled the cheese off my slice as he twisted the cork free.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re ruining the pizza.”
“I don’t eat cheese.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that some girly bullshit to do with your body?”
“No. I have a dairy allergy. Cheese doesn’t do nice things to me.”
“I could order something else.” He filled two glasses and slid one to me.
“It’s fine. This is how I’ve always eaten pizza.”
“Okay.” He took a sip and grimaced. “This is terrible wine.”
“You don’t have one of those little voices in your head that tells you not to vocalize every single thought that crosses your mind, do you?”
“Like a Jiminy Cricket? No. I’m a real boy.”
I laughed. He certainly was.
We settled in and quietly ate. Noah finished off three slices before calling it quits. He nudged the box toward me. “Have another one.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. “Because I’m still a girl and I still follow some rules. I had a big lunch.”
His eyes studied me for a long minute. Reaching into the box, he plucked the cheese off a slice and dropped it onto the wax paper, then plopped the piece on my plate. “Eat.”