Page 6 of Keeping the Score

I take a deep breath. I know it’s a cognitive distortion that not getting my laundry done is a catastrophe. I know how to challenge that thought. My therapist will be proud of me for questioning myself.The world won’t end if I don’t wash my floors today. I’m holding myself to an unreasonable standard.I can do this. Especially for Andi.

I’m even wearing one of my tamer suits tonight—navy blue, with brown brogues. I had to add some fun with my shirt—red and blue paisley—and solid red tie. I don’t care what people think about how I dress, but even a selfish prick like me knows tonight is about Andi.

At least my hair looks good.

I grab my phone, wallet, and keys and head out.

And stop dead in my tracks upon seeing the woman standing at the elevator.

I guess I’ve never seen my neighbor like this before. After a rough few post-divorce months when every time I saw her she was wearing baggy sweats or pajamas, she’s been looking better. She mostly works from home and dresses in casual clothes. She also volunteers at an animal shelter and wears jeans and T-shirts for that. She has a banging body, when it’s not shrouded in sweats, and tonight… that body is unmistakable. She’s not just a snack, she’s a whole goddamn meal. And I am here for it.

I mean, as a friend.

The sleeveless red dress hugs her curves, and when she turns to face me, the front of the dress is wrapped across her, leaving an opening above the knees that reveals those absolutely stellar legs. Her pouty lips match the color of the dress—my favorite color. Her glasses are absent, showing off tawny brown eyes and long eyelashes. Her caramel-colored hair doesn’t look much different—it’s always in a loose wavy style that brushes her shoulders—but the whole package is giving Little Caesar’s Pizza—hot and ready.

“Hi.” She smiles and gives me an up and down look that I might think is checking me out except for when she says, “Thank God you’re not wearing the plaid suit.”

I heave a sigh. “You have no faith in me.”

She grins. “Of course I do. I’m just kidding.”

“Bust my balls, sure.” I smooth a hand over a lapel. “I look great and you know it.”

“I suppose.”

“You also look decent,” I say with a quick appraising look that isn’t necessary because I already took in every detail of her appearance.

“Decent. Thanks for that effusive praise.”

I grin and push the elevator button. “You’d look even better in my bed.”

“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes and it’s cute.

“How’s my hair?” I tilt my head.

She studies it. “It looks fine.”

“Fine.” I shake my head. “It’sperfecttonight.” I may have a slight obsession with my hair.

The car arrives out front of our building just as we do, and I open the back door and help Andi in, getting a flash of leg as a reward.

It’s about a twenty-five-minute drive to the hotel in Midtown Manhattan where the dinner’s being held.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she says on the way, as I try to ignore the scent of her perfume that fills the car—sweet, almost like caramel, with a light flowery note as well. Sexy.

“Okay. What is it?”

She presses her lips together briefly then says, “Trevor is going to be there tonight.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Why?”

“His new girlfriend is in the business.”

“Right.” I remember hearing this when they split up. Andi actually worked with the woman Trevor left her for. So fucking shitty.

She nibbles her bottom lip. “So I really appreciate you coming with me.”

Yeah. Now I get why she didn’t want to go alone. Seeing her ex and his new woman has to suck. “Free dinner and drinks is never bad.”

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