Page 25 of Doctor Neighbor

Buster turns to face me, his dark eyes intense in the soft glow of the balcony lights. "Yeah, about that."

I take a sip of wine, buying myself a moment to collect my thoughts. The memory of our unexpected encounter flashes through my mind—the heat of his skin, the urgency of our kisses, the way he made me forget everything else for those brief, passionate moments.

"I don't usually do that," I say, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "Jump my neighbors, I mean."

Buster chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "I'm not complaining."

The cool summer evening wraps around us, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere in the complex. I watch as a gentle breeze ruffles Buster's dark hair, fighting the urge to run my fingers through it.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I’m typically not very good at apologies, but I think I owe one to him and myself for my behavior lately. I’m better than that.

“Buster, I... I want to apologize for the way I’ve been since we ran into each other at the park.”

He raises an eyebrow but stays silent, waiting for me to continue—the guy who always seems to say way more than necessary exercises some unexpected restraint.

I’m sure he’s not sure what is coming since I’ve been coming at him with my multiple personalities ever since we ran into each other, the bitchy one being the most prominent.

"It's just... I've had a lot going on lately," I explain, gesturing vaguely with my wine glass. "And then running into you several times after so long—after feeling pretty pissed initially about the way things cut off so abruptly—only to find out we're now neighbors. It was like a perfect storm, I guess, culminating with me momentarily losing my mind a few hours ago.”

He looks forward, pursing his lips. “I don’t hate crazy people.” Another unnecessary comment. I don’t think he can help himself.

I pause, taking another sip of wine to calm my nerves. "I'd just gotten back from a pretty shitty meeting when you knocked on my door. I was upset and obviously not thinking clearly.”

“Obviously?”

Admittedly, that was a bad word choice.

“I meant, I don’t know… That was not the right word.”

Buster nods, his expression unreadable. "I get it. We all have moments where we act on impulse.”

Okay, maybe he has grown up in the five years or so since I’ve seen him.

"Yeah, well..." I trail off, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again. "I know I've probably been sending you mixed messages. One minute, I’m barely speaking to you; the next, I'm... well, you know."

He laughs softly, and I can't help but smile a little too. He takes a sip of his wine, and I marvel at the lines of his neck, his Adam’s apple, as he swallows.

He’s definitely beefed up in the years since I’ve seen him. The thought of running my hands over his washboard abs earlier sends a chill through me that almost makes this early August evening feel cool.

"I don't want things to be awkward between us," I break my reverie. "Especially since we're neighbors now. We’ve been down that road together, and it wasn’t…ideal. I think it's best if we…forget about what happened and start fresh. What do you think?"

I’m holding my breath, waiting for his response. Part of me hopes he'll agree, while another part—a part I'm not ready to acknowledge—wishes he'd argue against it.

I watch Buster's face carefully as he considers my words. His chiseled jaw tightens slightly and then releases as if he is biting down on something before he responds.

"I agree," he says, nodding. "It's probably best to keep things neighborly. I'd love the chance to start over and be friends like we were before. I really enjoyed our friendship, our banter.”

I feel a mix of relief and... disappointment? I push that feeling aside, focusing on our mature decision.

"I appreciate your willingness to be adult about this," I say, offering a small smile. “I promise to not be such a raging bitch every time I see you.”

We both laugh, and then he reaches out his glass. “Cheers to non-bitchy friends.”

As I look at him, bathed in the soft glow of the balcony lights, I can't help but feel a twinge of regret. His fitted t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and muscular arms, reminding me of how it felt to be wrapped in them earlier. The joggers he's wearing do little to hide his athletic build, and I find my eyes drawn to the muscular curves of his body.

I shake my head slightly, trying to clear these thoughts. This is appropriate, I remind myself. We will be running into each other more, whether we like it or not. It's better to establish clear boundaries now.

But there's no denying the attraction I feel. Why else would I have been so upset when he disappeared after our first encounter? A part of me wants to throw caution to the wind to see where this undeniable chemistry might lead.

---