Page 25 of Scoring Chance

And of course, like the devil summoned by my panic, the elevator doors open and out steps Kyle.

Kyle’s eyes go from the pantless, fuming twink to me standing behind him. He’s holding a bottle of wine and a smug expression. “Well, well, well.”

I freeze. Jeremy pushes past me and Kyle, and disappears into the elevator.

Kyle watches him go, then turns to me, one eyebrow lifted like he was hoping for a scandal and just got served one on a silver platter.

“You live here, Des?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, willing the normal color to return to my face.

“My friend Hiram lives here. We rowed crew together in college. Anyway, he’s throwing a little thing tonight. Small world.”

“Too small,” I mutter.

“Who was that half-naked man leaving your apartment?”

“That was a friend of mine. He was helping me with something…and he thinks best when he’s in his underwear.”

“Don’t we all.” Kyle’s Grinch-like grin stretches up to his beady eyes.

I turn and walk back to my apartment. I can feel Kyle’s dull spirit behind me.

“Are you following me?”

“Hiram lives here.” Kyle points to the apartment two doors down from mine. I vaguely remember Hiram from when he moved into the building. He seems nice. Don’t understand why he’d willingly have Kyle as a friend. “Is this your apartment?”

Kyle steps around me and peers into my place. “I heard you had an amazing bachelor pad. Where are the little ones?”

“They’re at home,” I grumble.

“This isn’t their home, too? Typically, when you get married, you move in with your spouse and his kids. And typically, you don’t have naked guys running out of your apartment.” Kyle crosses his arms and has a grin the size of Times Square on his face. “That is, unless you’re not actually married.”

My spine stiffens. “Actually, I was about to go home.”

“Mmhmm.” Kyle smiles like he smells blood.

“I’m in the process of selling this place.”

“Right.” Kyle nods, taking it all in. “Well, enjoy your night. Hope you and the husband can sync calendars soon.”

He disappears into Hiram’s apartment, and I race into mine.

I close the door, lean against it, and sigh so hard it feels like my lungs deflate.

I stare around my spotless condo—the ambient lighting, the curated art prints, the cold, hard edges of everything—and realize that not a single thing in here feels like home right now.

A few hours later, I’m on Tanner’s front steps with two roller suitcases and a duffel bag.

The lights are on. I can hear music coming from inside, something poppy and chaotic from a kids show. I take a deep breath.

This is it.

This is what the plan demands.

If Stan wants a married man with a family, then I have to be that man. I can’t just phone it in from my luxury condo like some sleazy consultant. I have to show up. Be present. Be believable.

And, somehow, not ruin Tanner’s life in the process.