“With her boyfriend.”
“Ethel Bedd is taking a sexy pottery class?”
“Apparently.”
Eva leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. She’s not inviting me in or making this easy.
Good. I don’t deserve easy.
“So everyone in your life is conveniently unavailable,” she says slowly, “and I’m your last resort.”
“Yes.” There’s no point lying about it.
“Your last resort… and you won’t even share your Wi-Fi.”
I wince. “Eva?—”
“No, I get it. I’m the neighbor. Neighbors help each other out. That’s what neighbors do.” Her voice is light, almost casual, but there’s an edge underneath. “What time?”
I blink. “What?”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Nine, but we should leave by eight-fifteen to be safe.”
She nods once. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at eight-fifteen.”
“Eva—”
“Was there something else?” She straightens, hand on the door. The words land like a slap.
I shake my head.
“Eight-fifteen,” she repeats. “Don’t be late.” She closes the door before I can respond.
I don’t sleep.
Eva Storm enters my life, and suddenly I’m an insomniac, lying awake replaying conversations and imagining different outcomes and generally torturing myself with what-ifs.
What if I’d kissed her that night in the golf cart?
What if I’d given her my Wi-Fi password?
What if I’d told her the truth—that I pushed her away because I’m broken, not because I don’t want her?
None of it matters now. She thinks I’m an asshole who used her when it was convenient and discarded her when it wasn’t. And tomorrow I have to sit next to her for forty minutes while she drives me to Climax and back.
The universe really has a sick sense of humor.
She’s exactly on time. I’m waiting on the porch because I couldn’t stand being inside anymore. She doesn’t get out to help me. Doesn’t even look at me as I make my way to the passenger side, wrestle open the door, and collapse into the seat with my crutches awkwardly jammed in the back.
“Morning,” I try.
“Seatbelt,” she says.
I buckle my seatbelt.
She smiles half-heartedly and pulls out of the driveway.
