Page 40 of Never After Us
Oh, this is good.This is so good.
There’s something wildly satisfying about flustering him.Like poking a bear—if the bear also had unfairly good hair, long fingers made for trouble, and the social grace of a man who hasn’t willingly smiled since the early nineties.
“Then, maybe you should stop acting allergic to joy,” I mutter, mostly for Ariadne’s benefit.
But Alec hears.
Of course he hears.
He turns fully toward me, bracing an arm on the balcony railing, staring like I’m the ongoing complication he keeps filing complaints about, but no one listens.
And my heart does a stupid little leap.
Nope.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I mentally grab my hormones by the collar and shove them into a timeout.
Across the line between our balconies, he narrows his eyes.“Some of us enjoy peace.”
“You live next to a child,” I counter.“That ship sailed the moment we unpacked.”
He mutters something under his breath—probably a prayer for patience or a curse directed at the sky—then returns to plucking random guitar strings with the energy of a man personally victimized by my existence.
Ariadne cackles.“Mara ...darling, your voice changed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You sound like a woman flirting through gritted teeth.”
“I’m not flirting,” I hiss.“This is survival.He started it.”
Ari hums skeptically.“Sure.And I only date emotionally stable men.”
I so want to hang up on her, but I don’t.
Alec glances over again, catching me mid-exhale, and raises one eyebrow like he can hear every thought I’m trying not to have.
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something.If he thinks I’m falling into whatever gravitational pull he has going on ...well, he can think again.
But my pulse?
My pulse didn’t get the memo.
Ariadne wheezes.“So I’m getting that you have a hot, grumpy neighbor?”
“I didn’t say hot,” I deny, but I’m definitely not lying because I never said he was ...even when he is.
“Well, he sounds very hot.”
Alec mutters, “You two do know I can hear every word, right?Maybe don’t have the phone on speaker.”
“Then thou dost complain far too much,” I proclaim, absolutely butchering Shakespeare on purpose.
There’s a pause.
