My amused satisfaction is cut short when Jack himself enters a few beats later. I open my mailbox and act casual, except for a single weird, darting glance we exchange. I try not to think about his hands on me, try not to wonder if he’s thinking about it, too, and instead chuck my mail into my bag and lock up quickly. Jack eyes the brown stains on his mailbox before apparently deciding against opening it.
I begin the five-flight climb and hear Jack just behind me. I stop, waving him past. He stops, too, holding onto the banister. He has a strange look on his face, almost guilty—but he would have to have a conscience for that.
“Ladies first.”
“Just don’t stare at my ass.”
I continue the climb, thinking about Jack’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me against him. It was one thing whenPirate Dukeput ideas into my head and I thought they were entirely one-sided. Gross and confusing and disconnected from reality, but one-sided. But now, with an almost-kiss…
We reach the landing, and there’s a faint sheen of perspiration on Jack’s face, though I’ve never seen him break a sweat on the stairs before. Maybe he’s sick? Is it the kitty juices? He doesn’t appear to be itchy, and he would’ve left for work shortly after me. I rush to my door and try to ignore the prickle of conscience the thought brings.
“Can I talk to you a sec?” he asks.
I jam my key into the lock. “What?”
“I wanted to say… I misread the situation last night, and I didn’t have a right to put my hands on you without your explicit consent, and…”
I’m having a hard time following the thread of this convo. Is heapologizingto me? And saying things like “no right” and “consent”? No wonder he looks ill. I gape at him.
Jack runs a hand through his hair and then loosens his tie, unbuttoning the top of his blue dress shirt. I’m briefly distracted by the reveal of that patch of skin. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, bewilderment and suspicion at war with each other. I turn to close my door on him, guilt over this morning’s feline antics growing.
He reaches out a hand, stilling the motion. “And?” he says.
“And… What? Thank you?”
“And don’t you have anything to apologize for?”
“No?”
He grits his teeth and spits out, “Yelena?”
What the hell?“My name is Penelope,” I say, slowly. My eyes search his face for signs of real illness.
Jack bends his head, and when he finally speaks, it’s with insultingly exaggerated patience. “I’m talking about the appraiser. Her name is Yelena.”
“Oh. That.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Okay, fine. I— I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was there to appraise the place, and…” Oh, fuck it. This war with him is exhausting. At least if we can return to a Cold War, I won’t feel so disoriented all the time. I need to conserve my energy to focus on my project at work. “And even if she wasn’t there for that, I should’ve minded my business. Happy?”
He rubs at the back of his neck and nods. “I wasn’t blameless in that whole thing, either, I guess,” he mutters. “I just remembered telling her my neighbor was eccentric. She must have thought I was underselling it when you launched yourself through the hole.”
I glare, but there’s no real heat in it, and a smile tugs at his mouth. “Kiss and make up?”
“Ugh. The worst.”
“Hey, you’re the one who tried to move in with me.” At my blank look, he continues, “The hole?”
“Whatever. Speaking of, you’re definitely planning on buying your place?”Please say no. Please say no.
“Yes.”
My shoulders slump. Damn it. “Okay, well then, do you—” I grit my teeth. “Do you want to help me put up a new wall?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” I cry. “That’s the only way we can keep our places!”
“Not exactly. I want your place, too, and I talked to Gence about it. I plan on knocking down the wall entirely and making it one big apartment. Just like it used to be before they put up that piss-poor wall.”
