Page 34 of The Starfish Method


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My grin transforms into a smirk. “I know, but it’s my duty as your best friend and best man to get you in as much shit as possible.”

“Well, you’ve certainly lived up to your obligations over the past fifteen years, you prick.”

“And you’ve loved every minute of it. You would have died of boredom without me in your life, and you know it,” I tell him with a nudge to his ribs.

He shakes his head, and finally, having had enough of the stripper’s attention, he leans forward and whispers in her ear. She instantly straightens, moving away from him, and glares at me.Me.What the fuck did he just say to her? Before I can ask, she slaps me across the face and storms—as much as one can storm in stripper heels—away from the corner of the bar we’ve taken up.

I glare at Simon. “What did you say?”

The smug bastard shrugs. “I did what I had to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He plants his feet then stands, dusting imaginary lint off his shirt. “I’m going to find some club soda to get this shit off my collar before I go home to my fiancée.”

Three steps into the abandonment of his own buck’s party, he looks back to me and calls out, “Thanks, dick-face. And I think that new cream should really help the rash on your balls. Just don’t forget to apply it three times a day.”

Conveniently, the cute bartender I was planning on taking home is standing close enough to hear my once best friend’s implication that I have an STD. That asshole.

Eight or nine drinks later, I stumble into a cab—alone.

* * * * * * *

Jesus Christ. What the fuck is that?

*CLUNK* *THWACK* *THWACK* *THWACK*

For the love of GOD! My hand shoots to my throbbing skull. The sound on the other side of the wall continues, and with each thwack, my brain flinches.

I sit up and instantly regret the sudden movement as my stomach rolls. Another thwack vibrates through the wall behind my bed, and my eyes squeeze shut. What the hell is she doing over there?

I’m drowning in sweat—stupid bloody air con. Once the urge to throw up eases, I gingerly swing my legs over the side of my bed, pressing the soles of my feet to the floor. Only when I’m sure I’m not going to empty the contents of my stomach all over the carpet do I stand. My head spins, and I press my hand to the wall to steady myself, then make my way over to the air-conditioner unit above my drawers.

Glaring at it, I reach up and give it a little love tap. Nothing. I do it again, a little less lovingly. Still nothing. Frustration boils under my skin until another loud thwack fills the room, and an idea blossoms in the pits of my hungover brain.

Striding down the hall with purpose, I head straight to my front door. Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I yank it open and stalk towards my quirky little neighbour’s apartment. I bang on it with a heavy hand to make sure she can hear me over the sound of whatever the hell she’s doing in there.

I only cease when the door swings away from my pounding fist and I’m met with a dishevelled little psycho clutching a hammer. I blink at her. What the fuck—

“Rhett?” she squeaks. “Where are your pants?”

My gaze drops down to my cock, now half-erect due to the sexy little number in front of me. A vision of this gorgeous creature standing just like that at the foot of my bed while offering to play handywoman for me plays out in my mind. “Umm …” I shake my head and wince at the movement. “It’s not important,” I mutter as I shove past her on my way inside the apartment.

The cool air inside sends a chill scattering over my skin. Spotting a plush grey couch, I smile and head over to my new hibernation zone. I grab a few of the throw pillows, toss them on the floor, then snatch a particularly cosy-looking one back out of the pile I just discarded. I squish it a few times to make sure it’s a keeper, then wrap my arm under it as I lie down, snuggling into the surprisingly soft fabric of Neighbour Girl’s couch.

Just as I’ve closed my eyes, she appears. “What are you doing? And where are your pants?”

I pop one annoyed eye open to glare at her. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to sleep. And pants are overrated.”

“Pants are overrated,” she mumbles under her breath. And I think she’s taken the hint to leave me alone, but I’m wrong. “No, I—this is weird. Even for me, this is weird.Iwouldn’t even do this. I barely know you. Do you even know my name? Why are you naked in my apartment at five in the morning? No, wait, the time doesn’t matter. Why are you in my apartment? And why are you naked?”

Opening both my eyes to give her the full power of my sleep-deprived, hungover glare, I spell out what should be quite obvious. “I’m in your apartment becauseyouwoke me up, and my air conditioner is broken, and it’s hot as fucking hell at my place. A fact that I was oblivious to when I was asleep but became very aware of after you started trying to knock out the wall that divides our apartments with that fucking hammer.”

She blinks down at me several times. “I see.”

I nod. “I knew you would. Now, if you’ll kindly stop staring, I’d like to go back to sleep.”

She does not stop staring. I can’t sleep when someone is looking at me. It’s creepy as fuck. So, I stare back at her, then slowly raise a brow when she makes no move to leave. “Did I miss something?” I ask.

She licks her lips and wrinkles her forehead. “Do you even know my name?” she asks tentatively.

Uh, shit. I rack my brain in a vain attempt to come up with it. The look on my face must give me away, because she draws her shoulders back and mutters, “That’s what I thought.”

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