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Liam left a little earlier for a hot date. Lucky him.
“Good night, Jules,” Dad calls from the spare room.
“Good night. Thanks for everything today.”
He and Mom are staying so that I’m not alone on my first night here. I’ve only ever lived in apartments since moving away from home. If I’m being honest, being here in this big old house may be a little scary. That’s one of the reasons I decided on getting an older dog. He can be my protector as well as my best friend.
I walk into my bedroom and look around. The walls are different colors, one green and one cream; the other two are a dusty pink.
Hideous.
The former owner did do a bit of a renovation at some point many years ago. An en suite bathroom was added to the master, although its brown tiles leave much to be desired. At least it’s there, I guess.
I shower, throw my pajamas on, and turn off the light. When I go to close the blinds, I notice that the neighbor’s upstairs bedroom window is in full view; I can see straight in. It’s luxurious looking, with expensive furnishings. There’s a four-poster bed with a couch at the end.
The bedroom looks huge.
Jeez.
“Swish.” I smile. There’s a giant artwork behind the bed, and I narrow my eyes to try and zoom in on it. I think it’s an abstract painting of a naked woman?
Hmm . . .
A man walks into the room with a towel around his waist, and I quickly grab the cord to pull the blinds down. I don’t want him to think I’m a Peeping Tom. I yank the cord, but nothing happens.
“Shit.” I struggle with the cord, but it’s stuck solid. I glance back up to see the guy is now in black briefs. He’s pulling the blankets back on his bed.
“Fuck.” I duck behind the wall. I don’t want him to see me. I’ll struggle with the cord after he closes his blinds.
I wait and wait . . . and wait. What the hell is he doing?
I peep around the corner and watch. And the man in the window walks over to close the blinds, and for the first time, I see his face.
My eyes widen.
No . . .
I quickly duck back behind the wall in horror. With my heart hammering hard in my chest, I peer back around the corner. This cannot be happening.
What are the chances?
It’s that asshole bastard, Henley James.
3:00 a.m., the witching hour
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.
Fuck. Him.
How dare he ruin this for me?
Is it not enough that he’s ruined sex for me forever?
Is it not enough that I compare every damn date I go on to that stupid fucking horrible, amazing, wonderful nightmare date that we went on?
I bet you he’s married.
I bet you his wife is gorgeous and smart and probably a lawyer or something equally impressive.
