Page 111 of Best Served Cold

I’ll be waiting for you.

I still feel off as I drive to Rob’s apartment. Nervous and guilty andwrong. But I’m also deeply curious about what hisapartment looks like. I want to see it, and to see inside of him. To know him. I want…

Things I have no business wanting, even if it’s starting to seem like he might want them too.

I park the car in the underground lot, surprised by how nice the building is. They’re loft apartments, the kind that probably cost a bundle to rent. I ascend the stairs but pause before knocking, because he’s singing.

Dear God.

I’ve always appreciated his voice—throaty and low andverysexy—but this isn’t one of his usual angry or sad songs. It’s…beautiful.

Like sunshine and fire.

It’s her I desire…

I want to soak it up and internalize it, so it can play in my head while I go about my day, my own personal earworm.

I find myself pressing my ear to the door.

I don’t fully register the sound of the stairwell door opening across the hall until I notice a teenage kid skulking in with shifty energy. His eyes widen when he sees me looking like a weirdo with my ear pressed flat against Rob’s door.

I pull away so abruptly I almost trip. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Are you a stalker?” he asks, hanging back near the stairwell door.

“No. I’m an invited guest. Were you out drinking and smoking pot?”

The look on his face says it all.

“I’m guessing you weren’t supposed to do that,” I say as the music inside cuts off.

The kid gives me a dark look. “You’re a narc?”

No. More like I know where that kind of thing can lead. I’m tempted to warn him, but I plant my feet and say, “You could get into big trouble creeping around at night.”

If I’m a hypocrite for saying it, so be it.

“And you could get into big trouble listening at people’s doors. I’m not going inside until I know you’re not a stalker.”

Holy crap. I did not need another thing to go wrong with my day, but I nod my acceptance of the teenager’s terms and knock on Rob’s door. Seconds later, it swings open, revealing Rob in a purple T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that deserves an award. My lips part in surprise. Did he wear that shirt because we’re up to purple?

“Do you know this woman?” the teenager asks sternly, pulling his shoulder-length blond hair back into a loose ponytail.

“Yeah,” Rob says, with a slow grin spreading across his face. “This is my friend, Sophie.”

“She had her ear pressed to your door. That’s a red flag, my man. And then she tried to bribe me into silence.”

Rob looks like he’s holding back hysterical laughter. Meanwhile, my face is burning.

“Thanks for looking out, but I like red flags. Have a good night.”

Rob tugs me inside and shuts the door behind us before pushing me against it. My breath catches in my lungs.

“Look at you, Pollyanna,” he says with an amused curl of his lips. “Feuding with teenagers. What’s next? Are you going to declare war on Dottie’s Wise Women Group?”

“Stop,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I was embarrassed. He caught me in the act.”

He runs his fingers through my hair and then dips them behind my ear. My nerve endings practically purr in delight.

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