“Hmph, I wouldn’t put it past him.” The apartment manager gave Jo the creeps, always lurking in the hallway.
“And doesn’t Chase have one?”
Jo blew out a long breath. Asshole never did give her key back after they broke up. “Yeah.”
That was a one-time shot when he’d helped them move in, but every time she’d asked for it after that, he’d forgotten it or didn’t remember where he’d put it. She’d asked again at Christmas, but he’d picked a fight and stormed out.
“They also said it could have been a former tenant. They’re going to look into it.”
Jo didn’t hold out hope the police would even investigate, much less recover their stolen property. They were overworked and underpaid, and petty crimes like this, with no witnesses, were hard to solve. Insurance was the answer to restitution, and well…enough said.
“I gave the cops a quick inventory of what was missing,” Brooke went on. “I told them about the mixer. They got my laptop.”
“Awe, man.”
“I hoped you had yours with you.”
“Nope.”
Brooke grimaced. “We’ll call the police in the morning and add it to the list.”
“And Grandma’s pans.”’Cause why not?
“Huh?”
“They’re not there.”
Bracing one elbow on the armrest, Brooke twisted and peered over the couch toward the kitchen. “Shit.” She flopped back around and spooned another bite. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I missed those.”
“You were dealing with a lot.” Jo poked at her ice cream.
Brooke’s elbow nudged hers. “Okay, it’s time for crazy town.”
Jo let her head drop back and closed her eyes. “I lost my job.”
“Good.”
“Hmph, you won’t think so when we’re living on ramen again.”
“I like ramen. Running out of toilet paper is another matter.” Brooke licked her spoon clean and set the empty container on the end table. “I never liked that job for you. You’re so much better than that.”
“I don’t know about that.”
The cushions dipped as Brooke turned to sit facing Jo, her knee wedging against Jo’s hip. “What excuse did she use?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.” The remnants of Jo’s hysteria gushed out in a sharp chuckle two octaves higher than normal. “Raspberry petit fours and a prick with a hard-on and short-term memory.”
“Sounds intriguing. Spill.”
With a deep sigh, Jo recapped the night, starting with the mistake she’d made with the petit fours to Avery Preston’s horndog pursuit of her when things didn’t work out with the blonde with no name. She held back telling Brooke about the powerful reaction she’d had to him. How her body flooded with warmth at his nearness. A tiny flutter echoed in her belly just recalling the moment he’d touched her.
Ugh. She shook off the memory and finished the story of getting fired and then finding him with What’s Her Name.
“Are you kidding me?” Brooke shook her head. “What a dick.”
“That’s what she said.” Or so Jo imagined What’s Her Name saying when she was on her knees, polishing that asshole’s knob. And just like that, the sting of being so easily replaced needled through her, pricking her pride and burning the edges of her self-confidence.
Disgusted with herself for letting him get to her, she sat forward to place her sweating cup on a stack of mail and wiped the condensation—and damn him, a bit of lust-induced sweat—on her skirt.
