She grabs for the door, and the towel wrapped around her torso loosens, sliding down her body, which means I get a glimpse of a pair of nice perky tits before the door slams a third time.

“Nice boob job!” I yell at the closed door.

This time when it opens, a middle finger appears in the narrow gap. “They’re real, asshole.” The finger disappears, and the door slams again and remains closed.

She seems too feisty for Bowman. Too bad I have a moral compass. Otherwise she might be fun to play with.

CHAPTER 3

JERKS INC.

Stevie

“What a jerk!” I say to my boobs. I drop the arm barred across them, as it’s no longer necessary to protect my nipples from being visually molested. Despite his size, and the fact that he’s a virtual stranger, I didn’t feel particularly threatened by his unexpected presence in the apartment. Maybe because of his ridiculous underwear?

Anyway, my boobs are very much mine and also very nice. Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had whom I’ve gone past second base with has pretty much fallen in love with my chest—which hasn’t been a ton of guys because that’s not how I roll. Apparently I have great boobs and nipples. Guys are oddly enthralled with them.

I press my face against the door so I can look through the peephole. The jerk is still standing in the foyer, wearing a stupid grin. He scratches the inside of his leg near his junk, mutters something I can’t hear, and swaggers to his apartment door. I get to check out his fine, fine ass and incredibly defined back.

It’s so unfair that someone with a personality so lacking is this ridiculously good looking. He bends to retrieve his newspaper before he disappears into his apartment.

After I get dressed, I check the cupboards for food. There is literally nothing, apart from a bag of noodles and four tea bags, which makes grocery shopping a top priority. I don’t really want to leave the apartment, but I don’t seem to have much of a choice.

I’m poised to open the door when my phone chimes in my purse. Joey has messaged relentlessly since I found him with his man unit lodged in someone else’s vagina. It’s the typical “Oh shit, I got caught” BS: I’m so sorry, babe, it was an accident; it didn’t mean anything; we can work this out.

And maybe we could work it out, but if we did, then what? I’d spend the next however many months feeling insecure, wondering what he was doing when I wasn’t home or if he was being faithful when I visited my family in LA. I can already see how that would play out, and it definitely wouldn’t be good for me. I wouldn’t feel good about myself if I got back together with Joey after walking in on him like that. I suppose now at least I know exactly where my line is.

I’m relieved, sort of, when my brother’s name appears on the screen instead of Joey’s.

“Hey.” I put him on speakerphone and flop down on the couch.

“How are you this morning? Everything go okay last night?” RJ’s parental-style concern is as endearing as it is annoying with zero caffeine in my system.

“I’m fine.” That’s a lie, but the truth is an entire therapy session, so we’ll leave it at that. “You were right about the lock being tricky, but I figured it out. The guy across the hall thought I was trying to break in.”

“Which guy?”

“Uh, the super-buff one?” I wasn’t paying attention to the apartment number last night, and I’m too lazy to get off my ass and check.

“Most of the people up there keep to themselves, but if any of them give you problems, tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”

“It’s fine. I was making a racket because I was entering the code wrong at first.” I leave out the part where the guy insulted me and broke in this morning because I really don’t need my brother knocking on his door, making a scene.

“What about the douche ex? Has he tried to contact you?”

Only about a million times. “He’s messaged. I haven’t responded.” I change the subject because I can feel my eyes pricking with more stupid tears. “Where’s the closest grocery store and coffee shop around here?” If I use Uber Eats, I could avoid leaving the apartment altogether until Monday morning, but that would be a waste of the limited funds I currently have available.

“There’s a coffee shop on the first floor, and the grocery store is down the street. Sorry there’s nothing in the penthouse, but you can use online delivery. The concierge will bring everything up for you.”

“Isn’t there some kind of fee for that? Besides, there’s not much point in filling the fridge when I’ll be moving out as soon as I find a new place.”

“You don’t need to find somewhere else, Stevie. I’ve already cleared it with management and explained the situation.”

“Are you sure?” As much as I don’t want to mooch off my brother, not having to search for another apartment or foot the rent bill on my own would alleviate one of my many stresses.

“Positive. I’ve got your back, Stevie. And don’t worry about grocery-delivery fees. My card is already on file with them. I’ll send you my log-in and password; then you can order what you need.”

“You’re doing more than enough by giving me a place to stay, and you already helped with furniture and stuff; you don’t need to pay for my groceries too.” I feel bad that I’m twenty-four years old and not self-sufficient, especially since RJ has been making millions of dollars since he turned twenty. Being fresh out of graduate school means my bank account is going to be light until I get a paycheck from my first-ever career-related job. On the upside, the salary and benefits are really great; on the downside, I’m working at the same clinic as my cheater ex.

“You don’t need to worry about money when you haven’t even started your job yet. Let me help. I can afford to take care of my family, so give me the chance to do that.”

He has a point, since he makes eleven million a year. Racking up a credit card bill is another stress I don’t need on top of everything else, so I concede. It’s ironic how his fame and money are both a blessing and a curse in so many ways.

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of unanswered text messages and voice mails from Joey, many pints of Ben & Jerry’s—courtesy of online grocery shopping—and several boxes of tissues. By Sunday night, my second suitcase still hasn’t made it back from its trip to Alaska, but I ordered a bunch of clothes with express shipping—compliments of my brother’s credit card—so at least I don’t have to start my new job naked.

My stomach is in knots on Monday morning as I get ready for work. I pack snacks even though I’m too nervous to eat, pour a to-go cup of coffee, and make sure I have my key card before I slip on my shoes. A newspaper sits in front of my door when I open it, which seems odd, but I kick it into my apartment. Maybe it’s complimentary or something.

As I pull the door shut behind me, the one across the hall opens, and out steps my jerkwad neighbor. Just like our first interaction, he’s wearing only boxer briefs. This time they’re a black-and-white checker print. A set of flags crosses over the peen pouch with the words FINISH LINE right over his junk. It’s physically impossible not to look at his crotch. I force my eyes up, dragging slowly over his ridiculously cut abs on the way to his annoyingly attractive face.