Page 16 of Sticky Situationship

“Will it?”

Suds multiply as I glance over at Zoe. “I just need to get over the finish line. Pass my boards. It’s what I want, what I swore I’d do after we lost my dad.”

Her lips press together. “I know, Lib, but let’s say it’s eight weeks from now and you get the email letting you know you passed. Who’s the first person you’d want to tell?”

“My mom.”

“Then who?”

“You.”

“Good choice,” she says with a smile. “But who’s next? Who’s your third person?”

Brock.Or at least, it was until a few nights ago.

When I don’t respond, she murmurs, “That’s what I thought.”

I shake my head, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat that feels as if I’ve been intubated. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. If he cared even a little he would’ve stopped by, but he hasn’t. Probably, because he’s out with hisgirlfriend.”

“Have you spotted a woman visiting him, even once, since he moved in?”

“No.” Not even his sister, who he’s close with.

“Did you ever hear anything from his apartment?”

I’m in full petulant mode now. “He probably went to her place.”

She tilts her head. “Was he gone a lot? Other than usual stuff like work and errands?”

No.I attack the mixing bowl with a sponge as if it’s committed a crime.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I kept tabs on him. Obviously.”

Zoe opens her mouth to respond, but she’s cut off by a sharp knock at the door. My heart ricochets in my chest, and she lights up brighter than a patient who’s just received a positive prognosis. But I know better than to get my hopes up.

“It’s probably Mrs. Peters again,” I mutter, wiping my hands as I head for the door. “I swear, if she’s got another mysterious rash…”

But after I unlock the door and swing it open, I realize how wrong I am. Behind me, Zoe squeaks as my jaw drops. Because, standing in the hallway, holding a Tupperware container in one hand and a bakery box in the other, is not Mrs. Peters. It’s Brock. His hair is mussed as if he’s been running his fingers through it, and his familiar face is missing that confident, playful grin he usually sports. In fact, he looks rather…vulnerable.

“You’re not Mrs. Peters,” I say, stating the obvious because it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

“And I don’t have a rash for you to examine,” he quips.

“That’s a relief.”

We stand there for a few seconds, the air between us humming with an electric charge I want to deny, but can’t.

“Hi,” he finally murmurs, in a delicious, low tone that sends a shiver down my spine.

“Hi,” I breathe.

“Libby,” he says, inching closer, “I… Can we talk? I want to clear up some things and apologize for the other night.”

“She’s free,” Zoe pipes up behind me, already grabbing her coat and laptop. “Why don’t you come in? I was just leaving.”

I could kill her. But she ignores the blistering look I shoot her way and instead, offers Brock a wide smile. “Zoe Meyer, Libby’s best friend. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Zoe—” I start, but she’s already slipping past us and heading down the hall.

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