“He said...”
“Men say a lot of things.” Sloane pulled onto my street. “The question is what you want.”
She parked, killed the engine, and turned to face me. It was a very good question, but I had no damn answer. I just knew I didn’t trust a man enough to give them my full trust. Damien’s bullshit had left a deep wound on me, one I hadn’t healed yet.
“I like him,” Sloane said. “I think. He’s polite, he does dishes without being asked, and he looks at you like you hung the moon.” She paused. “But I also don’t know him. And after Damien...” She trailed off, but I heard everything she wasn’t saying. We shared the same thought.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Just don’t let a pretty face make you stupid.”
“His faceisvery pretty,” I admitted.
“I noticed.” Sloane’s lips twitched. “Now get out of my car before I’m forced to have more feelings.”
I climbed out, waved goodbye, and headed upstairs. I locked my door behind me, leaned against it, and let out a long breath. The apartment was dark. Gerald, the ceiling stain, was barely visible. And as I just stood there, I replayed the evening, a thousand thoughts crashing into me per second.
Friends.
The word echoed in my head, sounding less believable with each repetition. Shit. I was definitely not getting a good night of sleep tonight.
7
— • —
Caelan
I had been running into Riley everywhere for the past five days, and it was going exactly according to plan.
The coffee shop she frequented at 8:47 every morning? I was there at 8:45, ordering a complicated drink I didn’t actually want, positioned perfectly to “accidentally” bump into her at the door. The barista had started calling me “the tall latte guy” and asking if I wanted “my usual.” I did not have a usual. I didn’t even like coffee. But I nodded and accepted the drink every time just to have an excuse to say hi to her.
The bookstore where she browsed during lunch hours because it was the most empty? I was in the mystery section, two aisles over from romance, close enough to intercept. I had accidentally purchased six mystery novels I had no intention of reading. Thessa said I was losing my mind. She wasn’t wrong.
The park bench where she sometimes wrote? I was on a nearby bench, pretending to read while actually watching her mutter to herself and stab the air with her pen. She talked to her characters out loud. She argued with them. She once shouted “that’s not how seduction works, asshole” at her notebook and then looked around to make sure no one heard. I did. I thought it was the most endearing thing I’d ever witnessed.
I knew this was borderline unhinged. Thessa had told me approximately forty-seven times. But the alternative was not seeing Riley, and that was simply not acceptable.
Today’s “coincidental” encounter happened outside her apartment building. I had timed my morning walk perfectly, been tracking her schedule for days, and emerged from around the corner just as she stepped out the door.
“You again,” Riley said, though there was no real annoyance in her voice. More like resigned amusement.
“Were you expecting someone else? I can leave.”
“That’s not what I...” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re messing with me.”
“I would never.” I fell into step beside her, matching her pace. “I’m a very sincere person.”
“You’re a very suspicious person.” But she didn’t move away, didn’t speed up, just walked beside me like it was natural. My wolf preened at that. “This is the fourth time this week we’ve run into each other. That’s statistically improbable.”
“Is it? I’m not good at statistics.”
“You said you were interested in statistics last time.”
“Did I?”
“When I asked if you were following me.”
“Ah.” I considered lying. Decided on partial truth instead. “I may have exaggerated my interest in statistics. Sorry about that.”
