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“Yes. Why do you live across from me? Of the thousands of apartments in Manhattan, what made you think choosing one right across from me would be a great idea?”
I’d lived here for a year when he bought the place across the hall. He hadn’t forewarned me, either. One day, my neighbor was Stella Weinblatt, a ninety-year-old former socialite who dripped in diamonds, and the next, it was Alex Murray, a twenty-six-year-old guitarist who dripped condescension.
“Some things have nothing to do with you, Yael. I liked the place, so I bought it. End of,” he said.
Drip, drip, drip.
I braced my bent arm on my doorframe. “Do you want me to see the parade of women? Do you think I’ll become mad with jealousy? I’m just trying to understand your motivation.”
His brow crinkled. “Like I said, not everything has to do with you. And I’d hardly call a couple friends who sometimes spend the night a parade.”
My stomach churned at the imagery.
“I will never be convinced you didn’t move here to dig at me, which is strange since I’m the one who had every reason to want to make you uncomfortable.”
He ran his hand down his stupidly tight abs. “Good thing I don’t care if you’re convinced.” He tipped his chin. “Mo and Mic get back okay?”
“Yes. They’re fine. Simone shrieked with relief that someone competent was finally going to take care of her, and Mo and Mic were all glowy and in love.”
His shoulder connected with his doorjamb as he leaned. “Nice for them.”
“It’s swell.” I straightened. “Well, this has been lovely, but I’m going to sleep for ten years.”
As I turned, he said, “Hey.” I glanced over my shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“Did you RSVP to the wedding? ’Cause I’m still down for some Fingering,” he said.
“Not yet. And truly, I’d like to never hear you say ‘fingering’ again.” I forced myself to shudder.
Alex winked. “Okay, Yael. I know how much you hate fingering.”
“Not all fingering.” With that, I flipped him the bird and walked inside my apartment, keeping it up while the door swung slowly closed. His cackling laughter still reached my ears after it clicked shut.
Unknown Caller:I heard some interesting news about you from my brother.
“I woke up from the best nap I’ve ever had to this bullshit.” I shoved my phone at my friends Haven and Maeve. They both frowned, not understanding. Not that I had expected them to. Neither had been around for the Harris phase of my life. Maeve and I were neighbors when we were teenagers, then she moved to L.A. and we lost touch until she became the drummer for Unrequited nearly two years ago. Haven had already cemented herself as Maeve’s new bestie, and by the luck of the draw, she became mine too.
“Who sent you this, honey?” Maeve asked in her soft Georgia accent I couldn’t get enough of.
Sighing, I flopped back on Haven’s couch. Usually I left the drama for her, since she was the actress, but some things couldn’t be helped. “My ex, Harris. He istheex. You know, the one who shapes you for all future relationships.”
Maeve’s pouty lips twisted. “You never told me you had a ‘theex.’ I have one of those. I could have commiserated.”
I waved my hand in the air. “Yeah, but you’re all wifed up now. Those days are a distant memory.”
Haven tucked her thin legs beneath her. “I don’t have an ex like that, only an arch nemesis.”
“That’s similar, I think,” I said, pondering it for a second. “Would you like to dip your nemesis in acid?”
Haven scrunched her nose. “Scott Porter isn’t worth the effort. But I’d really like him to disappear from the planet.”
Poor Haven had been dealing with Scott Porter for years. He’d fallen for her, but she hadn’t returned his mushy feelings, and I guess that really rankled him. He still hadn’t let it go. Whenever she auditioned for a show or project he was attached to, he got her blacklisted. The joke was on him, though. Haven landed a commercial campaign with a hair care company a while back, which led to a supporting role on a sitcom. Not her dream job of starring in a Broadway musical, but out of Scott Porter’s reach for now. While I didn’t know Scott Porter personally, I was pretty certain he was watching every step of Haven’s success with bitterness, which was almost as satisfying as a good acid dipping.
Maeve pushed my knee. “Stop changin’ the subject and tell us what the hell this text is about.”
I’d already had plans to go out with Maeve and Haven tonight, but the text from Harris sent me running over to Haven’s a couple hours earlier than scheduled. I needed a third party to interpret his message and help me compose a response. Though, given we hadn’t spoken since he unceremoniously dumped my ass four years ago, I was thinking I shouldn’t reply at all.
“I met Harris my junior year at NYU. My roommate, Allie, was dating his brother, Jamie, so I saw Harris all the time. He’s a WASP wet dream, with his floppy blond hair and blue eyes. He was on the row team, and hell, sometimes he wore sweaters tied around his shoulders.”
