“Let me take that,” he says, lifting the heavy box from my arms with ease.
By the third trip, my arms are aching, cardboard cutting into my skin, boxes packed with books and clothes stacked against my chest. We round the corner on the third floor and nearly collide with Jake. His eyes go to Lance first, then shift to me.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
Chapter 9
Lance and I turn to find Jake looming in the stairwell like an unwelcome guest, his expression darkening faster than storm clouds over the Ouachita Mountains. The box in my arms suddenly weighs a thousand pounds.
“I’m moving to the second floor,” I say, forcing my voice into something light, casual, as if my heart isn’t thudding and his sudden appearances aren’t starting to feel like a curse.
Jake’s brow furrows. “Why?” Then he starts down the stairs after us, and I can feel him breathing down my neck.
Needing a breather at the second-floor landing, I drop the box with a decisive thud. “Because I can’t live next to you, Jake,” I say, the words blunt, stripped of all softness. “It’s bad enough that we’re in the same building.”
Lance comes forward to lift the box I put down, and Jake scoffs at him as he carries it to my new unit.
“We’re still going to see each other at work,” he says. “So what’s the point of this again?”
“The point,” I say, walking away from him, “is that I’d rather not live next to a thief.”
His hand catches mine, and I spin to face him, heat coursing through my veins. “You didn’t think I’d notice your name on the wall of achievement on the executive floor?” I say, the words trembling with fury. “You stole my work on your uncle’s RainSafe campaign and claimed it as your own to get ahead.”
Something flickers across his face, raw and fast, pain, regret, maybe even shame, and for a heartbeat I think he might actually explain himself. Then his eyes cut to Lance stepping out of my apartment, and Jake lets go of my hand. He steps back slowly, like he’s retreating from a line he doesn’t want to cross.
He follows us up to the third floor, footsteps steady behind mine. “Since you’re so eager to get rid of me,” he says, voice casual, almost amused, “I can help you move.” But the tightness in his jaw tells a different story.
I shift the weight of another box in my arms. “No, thank you.”
Jake ignores me completely and proceeds to lift the nightstand from my bedroom.
Lance comes out of the kitchen with another one of my boxes. “I’ve got it covered,” he tells Jake.
“Two sets of hands are better than one,” Jake counters, not backing down.
The two of them stare each other down like they’re about to compete in who can lift heavier loads.
I have no time for this, so I say, “Come on, let’s just get this done.”
For twenty excruciating minutes, I just watch them haul my life from one apartment to another in a bizarre little performance of masculine one-upmanship. Jake goes straight for the heaviest box he can find. Lance lifts two at once, effortless, smiling as if this is fun. Jake knows exactly where my color-coded books go, the way I keep them organized as hearranges them in the precise order I would do it. Lance pauses to compliment my throw pillows like he’s auditioning for the role of Perfect Neighbor.
It’s ridiculous. It’s like watching two peacocks strut and flare, only with less plumage and more thinly veiled hostility.
When Jake bumps Lance with a box, causing him to stumble backward into a wall, I’ve had enough.
“Okay. Stop.” I step between them and plant a hand on each of their chests, cutting off whatever silent contest they’ve decided to stage in my living room. Jake’s heart pounds beneath my fingers, strong and too fast, and I snatch my hand back, pretending I don’t feel my own pulse answering.
“If you’re going to be difficult,” I tell him, “maybe you should just leave us be.”
His eyes darken. “Fine.”
As Jake turns to leave, Lance calls out, “So, we’re still on for Friday?”
Jake freezes mid-step, his shoulders going rigid.
I didn’t want him to find out like this, under fluorescent light and petty tension, but I lift my chin anyway. “Yes.” The word is sharp, defiant, and it costs me more than I want to admit. I hate that it still matters, that some traitorous part of me still cares what he thinks.
Lance smiles, all charm and perfect teeth. “Great. I know this coffee place close by—Brewed Awakening. Ever been?”
