Page 33 of Across the Boards

“What does that mean?” I ask Sarah, panic rising. “What’s not fair? What’s he doing?”

“I have no idea, but I’m officially invested in this saga now,” Sarah replies. “Maybe he’s coming over to talk in person?”

“God, I hope not,” I groan, glancing down at my robe. “I can’t face him right now.”

We wait in suspense for what feels like an eternity but is probably only ninety seconds. Then my phone buzzes again.

It’s a photo.

I stare at it for a full five seconds before my brain processes what I’m seeing. Brody, clearly in his bathroom, wearing nothing but tight black boxer briefs, one hand resting casually across his stomach while the other holds the phone. His face is partially cropped out, but you can see enough to tell he’s sporting a slightly embarrassed grin. The photo highlights everything I’ve been trying not to notice about my neighbor—broad shoulders, muscular chest with just the right amount of dark hair, abs that looked like they’ve been carved from marble, and thighs that...

“Oh my,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away.

“What? What happened?” Sarah demands. “Did he send something? What did he send?”

“He sent a picture,” I whisper, unable to find my normal voice. “He’s in his underwear.”

“WHAT?” Sarah practically screams. “Send it to me!”

“Absolutely not!” I clutch the phone to my chest like it’s a state secret. “That would be a violation of his privacy.”

“You literally just described it to me,” Sarah points out. “Besides, he sent it knowing you’d see it. That’s different from you accidentally sending yours.”

“Still no,” I say firmly, though I can’t resist taking another peek at the image. Sweet heaven, those hockey thighs are something else entirely.

“Fine,” Sarah huffs. “At least tell me if it’s good. Scale of one to ten.”

“It’s...” I swallow hard, heat spreading from my face down my neck. “It’s a solid fifteen.”

Sarah whoops so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “I knew it! All those years of hockey training don’t lie. Is he...proportional?”

“Sarah!” I hiss, though I find myself glancing back at the picture. The boxer briefs leave little to the imagination. “I am not discussing the size of my neighbor’s...attributes.”

“That’s a yes,” Sarah says smugly. “So what are you going to say?”

I stare at the screen, at a complete loss. What is the appropriate response to your hot neighbor sending you an underwear model pose after you accidentally sexted him? Emily Post had definitely not covered this scenario.

The phone buzzes with another text before I can decide.

There. Now we’re even. No need to feel embarrassed at the gala. Though I still think yours is better.

And to be clear, this doesn’t have to be a thing. I just didn’t want you feeling awkward. We can delete these and pretend it never happened if you prefer.

“He says we’re even now,” I report to Sarah, a strange giddiness bubbling up inside me. “And that we can delete the pictures and pretend it never happened.”

“That’s very mature,” Sarah says, sounding disappointed. “Boring, but mature.”

I bite my lip, considering my response. The old Elliot—cautious, burned, protective—would absolutely take the out he’s offering. Delete the picture, pretend this morning never happened, and maintain careful boundaries with the attractive man next door.

But the new Elliot—the one who bought black lace lingerie on impulse and is tired of playing it safe—has other ideas.

I think I’ll keep it for now, if that’s okay with you. Only fair, since you’ve got mine. Though I’m afraid this means I’ll be thinking about those abs when I’m supposed to be networking at the gala.

His response comes so quickly I know he must have been staring at his phone.

Only fair. I’ll be similarly distracted. See you at the gala, Elliot. Looking forward to it more than ever.

“Well?” Sarah prompts. “What did you say? What did he say?”

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