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“Come on, Elle, what’s wrong? Did a house fall on your sister?”
She kept smiling but said nothing. I couldn’t look away from her tear-stained cheeks, feeling a strong pull to walk over and gently swipe them dry with my thumbs. Still standing in front of her door, she looked like she was considering whether or not to walk inside.
“How about a one-night truce?” I suggested. “Just tonight, we can be friends. Tomorrow, we can go back to being enemies.”
“Enemies?” She gave me a look. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. My team is 0–3, so I’m feeling dramatic. And cranky.”
“Maybe my misfortune can cheer you up,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m not that kind of person.” My gaze travelled down her legs to her feet. “How’s your toe?”
“It’s a lighter shade of purple than it was.”
I shook my head, walking over to pick up my glass and sip my bourbon. “I really am sorry about that.”
“I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Crotch Face.”
Laughing, I gestured at the empty wine glass in her hand. “Go fill that up and come tell me what’s on your mind.”
She glanced at the glass and then back at me. The few seconds of silence that passed felt like longer.
“Okay,” she finally said.
As soon as she closed the door behind her, I blew a breath into my hand, trying to gauge it. I smelled bourbon, which seemed okay. Not that she’d be close enough to get a whiff.
Why had I told her the Crotch Face thing? She’d probably think about it every time we saw each other now. Who cared, though? She hated hockey, which meant there could never be anything between us.
My teammates would flip their shit if they even knew I was talking to her. Her columns, in opposition to the city helping fund and acquire land for a new arena with taxpayer money, were the number one roadblock Mila was encountering on the project.
But when Elle stepped outside, her glass filled halfway with red wine and her hair pulled into a ponytail, I couldn’t bring myself to argue with her about anything.
“What’s got you down tonight?” I asked as she sat down in a chair at the table.
We were looking directly at each other, but there was about ten feet of distance between us. That was probably best. I didn’t need to be impulsively putting the moves on my neighbor.
“It’s my brother,” she said softly.
I ignored my relief that it wasn’t her boyfriend. She probably had one, though. She was the type of woman who liked having a picture-perfect man who never stood up to her. Poor dude probably got one blow job a year, on his birthday.
“I’d do anything for him, but…” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to save him from himself for a while now, and it’s not working.”
She took a sip of her wine, and I realized I didn’t see Eleanor Lawrence, the uptight columnist with a chip on her shoulder. Instead, I saw Elle, my gorgeous neighbor with a great sense of humor and a sexy laugh.
“How old is he?” I asked. “Does he still have some growing up to do?”
“He’s twenty-six. And I’m…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid he won’t see twenty-seven if he doesn’t make some big changes.”
I once again fought the urge to wipe away her tears. As different as we were, I understood her love for her brother. My only family was my mom and my grandpa, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” I asked.
“Multiple kinds.” She took a longer sip of her wine, looking out at the faint outline of the mountain range in the distance. “Do you ever stress about things you can’t change?”
I scoffed. How could she see straight through me? Stressing about every aspect of my team was my full-time job these days.
“I have trouble accepting that there’s anything I can’t change,” I admitted wryly.
