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The universe must really hate me, because at that exact instant, my phone buzzes with a text from Matt.

MATT

When are you getting your stuff? I need the space.

I stare at the message, my jaw clenching. He has spectacular timing as always. Of course he’s pushing me now when I can barely handle everything else on my plate. My gaze slips to the lilies in the trashcan. I guess the apology flowers mean nothing then? Looks like he’s completely changed his mind, which is fine by me. There’s no chance in hell I’ll take him back.

Sarah might’ve looked at me like I was crazy when I chucked them, but I’ll happily murder those flowers if it means never dealing with Matt again. Releasing a huff, I type and delete five different responses to his rude ass message before settling on something that won’t cause a big fight.

Working on it. Give me a week.

His response comes back immediately.

Three days. I’m having people over this weekend.

I grip the phone tight. Three days? I have three days to figure out storage, coordinate movers, and somehow squeeze it between a new client, a second job, and now cleaning the house for Addison? Great. Fucking perfect. Who needs sleep anyway?

I drop the device on my desk and take a deep breath.

I’m fine.

It’ll be okay.

Everything will be fine.

Even I don’t believe myself.

The morning I’m set to pick up things from Matt arrives like an unexpected hangover. I’m tired and more than a little grumpy. A wise woman once said: coffee fixes everything. Or something like that.

I grab the azure mug I’ve been using every day and breathe in the rich aroma of French roasted coffee as it finishes brewing. The guys’ kitchen is especially beautiful in the morning light. Nothing crazy expensive, but it’s the kind of space that screams we have our shit together. So different from the cramped galley kitchen Matt and I shared, where the coffee maker sat next to a pile of dirty dishes he expected me to clean.

The knot in my stomach tightens. I’m already gearing up for a fight. Matt doesn’t do anything the easy way.

Footsteps pad down the stairs behind me. I turn to say good morning, but the words die in my throat.

Holy shit, Cole’s naked.

Okay, an exaggeration, but he’s not wearing a shirt and his boxer briefs are slung low on his hips. That combined with sleep-mussed black hair and a lazy grin that could probably talk a nun into sin? Lord, save me. This man is attractive. His chest is defined, skin golden tan, and his washboard abs belong on the cover of a fitness magazine.

Great. I’m staring, again. Heat flushes through my body as I wrench my gaze away. I blame it on the lack of coffee. Trying to act normal, I grab the carafe, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the liquid splashing into my cup.

“Morning, Red.” His voice is rough with sleep, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. Normally I hate when people focus on my hair because the world fixates on red heads for good, bad, and filthy reasons, but when he uses the nickname, I’m not a bit bothered by it.

He grabs a mug from the cabinet and holds it out expectantly. I pour coffee into it without looking directly at him even though I can feel the heat radiating off his skin when he steps closer.

Is it hot in here? Maybe it’s the coffee. Definitely the coffee.

“What’s the plan for today?” He leans against the counter next to me, close enough that I catch hints of the rich, masculine scent of his soap.

I’m tempted to lean in and breathe deep. I don’t, though. That would actually be creepy. “I uh, have to go get my things from Matt’s.” The words make the coffee even more bitter as I take a drink.

Cole frowns into his mug. “Do you need help?”

And put them in yet another awkward position of picking my side or Matt’s? Absolutely not. “No, I hired some help for the bigger furniture. Oh, I also put in a few more applications for rentals,” I tell him, leaving out the bit about the handful of rejections I’ve already received.

“Anything nice?”

“Livable,” I say with a shrug. “Don’t worry though, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”