Page 70 of Look, Don't Touch

“Water, please.”

“Ice, no ice?”

Again, the corner of his mouth tips up. “No ice.”

My smile is big and dumb. I nod and scurry down the singular hallway in my home before I make a bigger fool of myself. I set my coat and purse on the guest room bed. It’s the first doorway I pass. Also, its closets house all my overcoats and bags.

I pass my bedroom door and the bathroom, along with all the closets that line the corridor.

Plinko meows as I plop him onto his corner of the kitchen counter and refill his bowls. I whisper to him sweetly while I wash my hands and then fill two glasses with filtered water.

When I get into the living room, Arlo Judge stands in my favorite spot, watching the city tick by.

“You have an amazing view.”

“It’s even better during the day. I have my aunt’s pussy to thank for it.”

That jerks his gaze around. His lips are pressed into a line like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

It’s almost like I’m challenging him by saying the craziest shit. Like if I can get him to run, then I’ll be okay. Not too invested. Not too much lost.

I don’t want him to leave, though.

“It was a gift from one of her former lovers. When she was gifted another even nicer apartment in this same building, she signed this one over to me.” I hand him his glass and join him at the window, looking down at the landscape of lights. “Because of that kindness and a hefty client list, I was able to buy my office.”

“You two are very close.”

“As close as I’ll let her be.” I smile at him.

“Want to unburden your soul?”

“Not today. One horror story is enough. Though, yours takes the cake.”

“It’s not a contest.”

“Not one anyone hopes to compete in, for sure.” I turn toward him and lean my shoulder against the window frame. “You, Mr. Judge, are the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Way stronger than me.

“Arlo,” he corrects.

“Arlo.” I sip my water to keep my new addiction to smiling in check. “What’s your top pick?”

“I went ahead and ordered Nobu. Lobster shittaki salad with spicy lemon dressing and toro tamari truffles for you. Spinach salad with shrimp and wagyu tataki with ponzu for me. And shishito peppers with den miso to share. It should be here in thirty minutes since we beat the rush.”

Just like that, I’m in love.

Jokingly, of course. But just barely joking.

My free hand goes to my hip. My mouth waters. “How did you know my order and execute it perfectly?”

“It was the most worn menu and had tick marks by the items you favor.”

“It could have been anyone’s order.”

“But you don’t have just anyone in your apartment, and your aunt strikes me as an out-to-dinner kind of woman.”

“You’re scary smart.”

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