"You're literally facing the wall."
"The wall doesn't ask stupid questions."
"The wall also doesn't care about your emotional well-being." Brian clutched his chest in mock offense. "I, on the other hand, am deeply invested."
"You're deeply nosy, Torres."
"Nosy is just another word for caring." He leaned forward. "So talk."
I shoved my phone back in my pocket. "It's nothing. She's just someone I helped on a call."
Brian's eyebrows shot up. "You're texting someone from a call?"
"It's not like that."
"What's it like, then?"
"Like you minding your own business for once in your life."
"Ouch." Brian put a hand over his heart. "That would hurt if I had any intention of dropping this. Which I don't." He studied me for a moment, that teasing grin softening just a fraction. "You like her."
"I barely know her."
"Doesn't matter. You like her." He shook his head slowly. "Whoever she is, she's got you messed up, man. Haven't seen you like this in a long time. Maybe ever."
"You've known me for years. You've seen me like a lot of things."
"Yeah, and none of them involved smiling at your phone like it just told you that you won the lottery." He stood, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed. "Good luck, Briggs. You're gonna need it."
"Your faith in me is inspiring."
"That's what friends are for."
He left me alone with my sandwich and my phone and the uncomfortable realization that he wasn't wrong.
My shift ended at 8 AM Saturday. I went home, crashed for a few hours, then spent the afternoon running errands I'd been putting off for weeks. Laundry. Groceries. An oil change I was three thousand miles overdue for.
By the time I got home and showered, it was early evening. I stood in my kitchen, keys in hand, trying to talk myself out of what I was about to do.
This was ridiculous. I barely knew her. She had a life, a kid, a thousand things more important than some guy she'd met a week ago showing up at her door unannounced.
But I kept thinking about the texts. How easy it was. How I'd catch myself checking my phone, hoping for another message. How talking to her felt different from talking to anyone else.
I ordered Chinese food before I could change my mind and drove to her building. I convinced myself I was just checking in, making sure she was okay, doing the decent thing.
But standing outside her door with bags of lo mein and orange chicken, I knew that was a lie.
I knocked anyway.
Maya opened the door and froze.
She was in sweatpants and an oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The bruise on her temple had faded from purple to a yellowish green. No makeup. No effort.
And still, my mouth went dry.
There was something about seeing her like this. Unguarded. Real. The soft fabric of her sweater hanging loose, the exposed collarbone, the way she looked up at me with those tired brown eyes. I had to consciously stop my gaze from lingering on the strip of bare skin at her shoulder.
"Shane?"
