Page 8 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

Who the hell was this guy?

I whipped out my phone and fired off a text to Silvia as I kicked my rolling luggage toward my apartment.

Mel: There’s an asshole living on my floor.

Silvia’s response was immediate. How hot?

I snorted and sent a laugh-crying emoji.

Mel: I didn’t say he was hot.

Silvia: You didn’t need to. I can tell.

I sighed as I keyed out a reluctant admission.

Mel: He fell out of a Times Square billboard. Sooooo many abs.

Silvia: Smash. Where’s the problem?

Back in my apartment, I stripped off my damp clothes and hung them to dry over a towel rod in the bathroom. Then, I opened the first suitcase and retrieved fresh underwear, a tank, and cotton shorts before responding.

Mel: He must be another teacher.

Silvia: Ah, no bueno. Def don’t smash a coworker.

I snorted another laugh, reminded of her misstep with a coworker at her marketing firm. The sex had been mediocre, and she had zero intention of seeing the guy again, but the next day, they had been assigned desks ten feet away from each other. Awkwardness ensued.

Mel: I just don’t get why he was so rude. I was a damn delight.

Silvia: What did he say?

Mel: Asked what I was doing here. But not in a nice way. In a you-don’t-belong-here way.

The memory of his words caused a fresh sting in my chest, and I rubbed it as if that might help. I wanted to belong here—needed to belong here. This job was the first thing I had done completely on my own and my first big step toward real independence from the Connecticut Burkes. But a little piece of me felt like an imposter, and the asshole had poked a sharp stick directly into that tender place.

Silvia: Asshole. Abs-hole.

Her reply made me smirk. Silvia always knew what to say to make me feel better.

Silvia: Are you gonna try to win him over?

Mel: Maybe? Not sure he’s worth the effort.

Privately, I hoped I could avoid the abs-hole altogether. But the campus wasn’t that big, and he lived directly across the hall. Total avoidance would be a challenge.

Silvia: He’ll come around. You’re a damn delight, and he’d be lucky to smash you.

I chuckled at her contradictory comment and quickly replied, No smashing!

Silvia sent back a corn emoji and two drooling emojis. I rolled my eyes and decided not to justify that particular message with a reply. There was plenty of unpacking to do anyway. I tried to focus on that and keep my mind off the rude-slash-hot neighbor-slash-coworker across the hall.

Of course, he wasn’t my first rude neighbor. Every building in New York came with at least four. But this wasn’t New York. This was Newbury. Newbury was supposed to be my safe place.

Even though I tried to block him out, my mind kept slipping back to the confrontation in the hallway. I wasn’t a people-pleaser, but I prided myself on being friendly and likable, even with the grouchiest of grouches. I had always been confident—my parents raised me to believe I could have anything I wanted. But as the abs-hole’s words spun around my brain like a centrifuge, that icky shadow of doubt crept back in.

Chapter 3

It’s Not a Competition