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I t’s four days before my birthday, and I think I’ve finally built up the nerve to at least drive by Easton’s new house.

Oh, he got it, by the way. In fact, he loved it so much that he skipped the whole “rent-to-own” option and just purchased the damn thing.

Must be nice to have those kinds of funds at the ready.

Anyway, Madison was all too eager to fill me in on the details of her showing with the “superhot” hockey player.

After she gushed about how gorgeous he is—which, to be honest, made me a little bit jealous—she informed me that he loved the place up in Cave Creek and signed the purchase agreement right there on the spot out by the infinity pool.

Since the house is already furnished, he moved in the next day.

That was yesterday.

After backing my car out of my garage, I stop in the driveway and glance up into the rearview mirror.

If I’m really going to do this, it’s time for a pep talk.

“You got this,” I tell my reflection, my hazel eyes peering back at me with doubt as to whether or not this is really a good idea. “Hey,” I go on, forcing a smile. “It was in the news that he was picked up by the Bears, so if you just happen to drive by his house, it’s not like you’re really stalking him.”

Though it is kind of a little stalkerish , my inner voice chimes in.

“Oh, stop. It’s not like you’re casing the place.”

My eyes staring back at me tell me otherwise, so I stick out my tongue, then murmur, “Shut up.”

It is so time to go.

Maybe the pep talk wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

Ten minutes later, I’m driving around Cave Creek. I don’t even need GPS; I know this area as well as I do my own neighborhood.

After a few turns, I’m on the street where Easton’s house is, which thankfully happens to be barely inhabited.

As I drive slowly down the lane, I count only two other homes, and neither one is close to his property, which is at the end.

It’s not really a cul-de-sac, per se, but there is a bit of a turnaround. I circle around and come to a stop across the street from Easton’s house.

His place sits pretty far back from the road, which is good. It’s not like he’ll be able to see me out here, sort of stalking him at this point.

I breathe out a breath and kind of take it all in.

The house really is beautiful with its mustard-colored adobe exterior, dark wooden trim and beams, and clay tile roof.

The landscaping is pretty cool too. There are tons of small cacti and various other desert plants thoughtfully placed throughout his yard.

It’s funny ’cause when Easton and I were kids, we always used to talk about how we’d love to have a house like this.

And now he does.

Good for him.

As I sit idling, I start smiling. I truly am happy that Easton succeeded in something he’s always loved—hockey.

Okay, it’s probably time to go.

I mean, I’ve seen his house, so I know where he lives.

But for some reason, this isn’t enough.

I didn’t think I’d be up for something as bold as this so soon, but I am—I’m ready to see Easton in person.

Part of me is curious if he looks the same. In the hockey photos I found online, he certainly still appeared to be hot.

But there was always more to him than that. There was a certain kind of charisma about him. He was warm and engaging, and you just felt comfortable around him.

I wonder if he’s still like that.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I mutter.

God, I’m really talking to myself a lot lately. I know it’s because I’m nervous. Speaking my thoughts out loud sometimes calms me down.

I think it’s working today, but to be sure, I take a few sobering breaths.

Okay, good.

I’m ready.

After turning off my car, I get out, leaving my key fob and purse inside and keeping the car unlocked. It’s not like this is a high crime area, and besides, I’m only going to stop by and say hi.

Then I’ll be on my way.

If Easton questions how I know where he lives, I’ll just tell him the truth—that Madison is my friend, and she told me.

After crossing the street, I step onto his property and then walk up the driveway that leads to the front of his house.

Man, there are a million things running through my mind.

Things like…

Do my faded jeans, strappy sandals, and frilly floral top look okay?

I think so.

I was going for a chic casual look today.

Wait, why am I even worrying about this stuff?

“Whatever.”

Will Easton even recognize me?

Shit, what if he has a girl over?

He may not be married, but I’m sure he’s no monk.

Fuck, this could be so embarrassing.

Too late, though, seeing as I’m now standing at his front door.

Still, part of me thinks maybe I should just turn around and leave.

This is so weird.

Or is it?

I mean, we were once best friends. He may be happy that I’m looking him up.

Gulping down a big breath, I hold it in as I ring the doorbell.

And then, exhaling, I wait.

And wait.

And wait…

Several minutes pass, and no one comes to the door.

Damn it.

Easton must not be home.

So much for all my worries and concerns, huh?

This was all for nothing.