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“No. I’m being a bitter old hag,” Kieran corrected primly. “If I’m not getting some, neither should you. We need to start a Hot Sexless People club. We’ll be the founding members. We’ll have bingo nights—”
“We’re abstinent, not eighty.”
“Fuck that, Dyl. You and I both know bingo is a badass activity, and once you sit down for it, it’s the bomb.”
The doorbell rang again. I didn’t remember ordering a stage-five clinger.
“I gotta go.”
“Okay. Remember. No catching feelings.”
I hung up on the ridiculous man, shaking my head as I made my way to the door.
Me. Catching feelings. For Rhyland Coltridge.
Hell would become a ski resort first.
DYLAN
On the other side of the door was an Amazon delivery man holding a box—probably full of the new toys and books I’d ordered for Grav. Rhyland stood beside him, messing with his phone and looking like corruption in a sage-green suit.
“Sorry, I didn’t order this.” I pasted on an apologetic smile.
“Didn’t order what?” The delivery guy tilted his head sideways.
“A package of red flags.” I gestured toward my upstairs neighbor.
Rhyland barked out a laugh, clearly delighted to be the bane of my existence. He tucked his phone into his pocket and strolled inside—not before plucking the package from the clearly bemused delivery man and slamming the door shut with his foot. I followed him, narrowing my eyes at the nape of his neck in the hope he’d catch fire.
“Actually, I have something to give you too,” Rhyland announced, placing the Amazon box on the island.
“Not interested in your chlamydia, but thanks.”
“Lies.” His nonchalant grin stretched wider, revealing perfect white teeth. “You can’t wait for me to give you chlamydia and any other STIs I picked up along the way.” He shoved his hand into his front pocket, producing the key to Jimmy and tossing it into my hands. “In other news, your car’s driving like it’s brand-new.”
“Was it the spark plug?” I didn’t even know what a spark plug was, to be honest. I just wanted to participate in a grown-up conversation about something that wasn’t unicorns, fluffy animals, or Cocomelon.
“Among other things.” The bastard took a sip of my drink without asking, scowling at the mug. “That’s some weak-ass coffee. Anyway, I also changed the brakes, the oil filter, the alternator, the battery, and the water pumps.”
I blinked in shock. “Did you keep anything at all? The Little Trees air freshener on my rearview mirror?”
“Changed that one too.” He glided like a swan over water toward the fridge, flinging it open and peering inside. “No offense, but it smelled like the underside of toenails after you cut them.”
“You’re depraved,” I announced with a scowl.
He shrugged. “And you’re still interested.”
“Did you do this all by yourself?” I dangled the key in my hand.
“Yup.”
That seemed excessive for someone who wasn’t a mechanic. “And are you sure you knew what you were doing?”
He sucked in his teeth. “Guess we’ll find out.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”