Page 36 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

Probably.

Rule Six: No making her laugh on purpose.

Her laugh does something deeply inconvenient to my internal organs. Therefore, jokes are prohibited. Teasing is prohibited. Saying ridiculous shit solely because I know exactly what expression she’ll make is prohibited.

Rule Seven: No jealousy.

She can date whoever she wants. Talk to whoever she wants. Smile at whoever she wants. If some guy puts his hand on her back, I will not stare at it like I’m considering whether I could break all five of his fingers before anyone stops me. Even if it’s Damon.

Her life. Her choice.

His extremely punchable face is irrelevant.

Rule Eight: No learning things about her I don’t need to know.

Favorite food? Irrelevant. Coffee order? Not my concern. The song she sings badly in the car? None of my business. What makes her nervous, what makes her happy, what she wanted to be when she was ten, why she pretends she’s fine when she clearly isn’t…

Absolutely fucking not.

That’s how this happens.

One harmless detail at a time until suddenly you know somebody.

Then you care about them.

Then you’re screwed.

Rule Nine: No taking care of her.

She is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Painfully capable, actually. If something breaks, she can handle it. If she’s hungry, she can feed herself. If she’s cold, she should’ve brought a jacket.

I will not give her mine.

I will especially not put it around her shoulders myself.

That would violate rules one and nine, and I refuse to become the kind of idiot who breaks two rules in a single move.

Rule Ten: No imagining her in my life.

This one is nonnegotiable.

No wondering what she’d look like sitting across from me at breakfast. No imagining her stuff mixed in with mine. No picturing her at family dinners, arguing with my brother, charming my mother, or stealing my side of the bed.

No future.

Because I don’t do futures.

Six months. That’s about as long as I’ve ever managed before relationships start requiring things I’m shit at giving. Talking. Sharing. Being emotionally available. Apparently, answering What are you thinking? with Nothing is frowned upon when you’ve obviously been silently brooding for twenty minutes.

I know who I am.

More importantly, I know who I’m not.

I’m not the guy she should fall for.

Which brings me to the most important rule.

Rule Eleven: Do not let her fall for me.