I let out a long exhale. “I feel better. Thanks, friends. I needed this.”
“Good. You don’t smell angry anymore,” Mabel teases.
“Did I smell angry?”
“Oh, I’d say the scent of annoyance was pretty strong,” she adds. “But now? You just look like a badass babe.”
Mission accomplished.
I march to the register, saying hi to Hetty as I swipe my phone. Then I drop the blazer and bag into my reusable canvas tote, and we head out onto the busy block, past cute boutiques with sidewalk sales and a perfume shop that just opened and peddles the prettiest vintage bottles.
As we near the crosswalk, Trevyn stretches his arms and grins. “So, are we going to talk about the hot neighbor discovery on the podcast?”
I run a design podcast, co-hosting with Trevyn and Mabel, that just cracked eight hundred fifty—count ‘em, eight hundred fifty—subscribers. Add in our video version, and it makes nine hundred thirty-one. Technically,Hot Trends, Classic Spendsis all about how to get the look you want without the waste. But somehow, we always circle back to dating instead of design hacks. Dating is a never-ending well for content, especially since I’ve been single for over a year after Landon, AKA Mister We’ll-take-the-next-step-as-soon-as-I-open-my-board-game-store, left me in the lurch.
Five years together—five years—and in one afternoon, he packed up and left. That’s how I learned my biggest lesson: I deserve the best, and I’ll never come in second again.
“No,” I say firmly. “I won’t give my hot neighbor the satisfaction. Just like I won’t give him the satisfaction of me checking him out tomorrow morning.”
Mabel laughs. “So you’re going to punish him bynotogling him?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Sounds like you’re punishing your eyes.” She squeezes my shoulder with affection. “Ever heard of cutting off your nose to spite your face?”
“Check him out tomorrow, Sky. Just check him out,” Trevyn goads.
Right now, I need to go home and review my notes for my meeting. I’m going to nail this job. This gal is not going to let that happen again. I’ve got a new bag, a new blazer, and a can-do attitude. Try and stop me.
I say goodbye to my friends and head to my temporary home in Hayes Valley. When my brother Adam, a scientist, landed a coveted year-long research post studying efforts to reduce carbon emissions around Europe, he took it. Then he asked me to move into his home to look after his cat while he’s traveling. Um, hell yes. Of course, I pay him rent too.
Adam’s place is right at the end of a cluster of townhomes, which means Hot and Mean Yoga Guy’s house is a little bigger than my current abode. But it’s a great deal on a fabulous place, even though I have a bone to pick with my brother.
I let Simon into the tiny backyard for a bathroom break when I get home—refusing to look at Hot and Mean Yoga Guy’s yard—and then call Adam.
It’s evening in Amsterdam, where he is this month, so he answers with a question. “Did you break the water heater? The dishwasher? The dryer?”
I gasp. “Excuse me. I’m handier than you.”
“Did you, Skylar?” he presses.
“No! I didn’t break anything, and I could fix all of those if I did.”
“Did Cleo escape then?”
“I don’t only call when there are problems,” I point out.
“Is there a problem?” he counters.
I sigh as I head back inside with Simon at my feet. “Yes, a big problem. Why didn’t you tell me your neighbor is hot?”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then, in a softer voice, he says, “Jessica? Yeah. She’s something, isn’t she?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes at his mention of the artist who lives down the street and sometimes shares seedswith me for planting. “Though, yes, she is quite pretty and nice. I mean the guy right next door.”
“Oh,” he says with a snort. “The hockey player.”
“He plays hockey?” But of course he plays hockey. That explains those strong thighs and the buns of steel. Plus, that to-go cup save, darting out his hand like a superhero. I hate him even more now.
