Page 3 of Love on the Waiver Wire

“You’ve done that what? Three times now? You’re going to get yourself locked out and in trouble one of these days, Isla.”

Rolling my eyes, I take a sip of wine before placing the glass back down on the sheet covering my floor, busying myself once more with toning my canvas. “I know, I know. It’s not going to happen again. I just hate that the doors lock themselves, you know?”

“I just worry about you. And I miss you here, if I’m honest.”

I moved into this apartment three months ago, and I’m still getting used to it. Bought and paid for by my brother, I don’t pay a thing; not that I don’t try to give him what I can.

“I know. I miss you too. Do you want to come over sometime next week and we can watch dumb movies?”

“Hell yeah,” I can hear the smile in her voice, and it relaxes me a bit. “We still have a couple of episodes of The Housewives to get through.”

I wince, tossing my head back. “Oh, I thought you were catching up on it yourself,” I grit out, chuckling guiltily.

“Fine. I won’t subject you to it. I’ll just watch it here, all alone.”

As we finish our conversation, I start thinking, not for the first time, what I would do without Mila. My best friend since we were kids, we’ve been attached at the hip for most of our lives.

Which is why we both took it hard when I moved.

And I did feel guilty. I didn’t have to move. But I also needed a bigger space to work on my art, and living here, with harbor views, isn’t really a bad gig. I asked my brother if she could move with me, and he said yes.

She loves her little house and decided to stay. She just visits me… often.

When my canvas is completely coated with a thin layer of deep orange, I sit back and stare at it, trying to figure out what exactly I want to paint today. I have a small gallery showing in a couple of weeks, and I’ve been determined to put out my best. I’ve been looking for a big break.

After years of painting and being told I’ll only get opportunities because of my brother, I’m done listening to the noise. I want my big break to be because of my work, even if I give my brother full credit for being the reason I can follow my dreams in the first place.

As much as I give him shit, he’s one of my biggest supporters, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when he offered to help me financially so I could focus on making that dream happen. He wanted it almost more than I did.

But no ideas are coming to me today.

Groaning, I uncross my legs, getting off the floor. Wiping my hands on my overalls, I cross the room to my oversized couch, flopping down before twisting to look out the large floor-to-ceiling windows behind it. The sun is almost set, the water glistening below.

I still can’t believe I get to live here.

A moment later, my doorbell rings, and I cross my fingers and toes hoping it’s finally dinner. I adore the little Italian place down the street, but they take a million years sometimes.

Opening the door, I catch the delivery man just as he’s about to set the bag down on my doormat. I smile at him, thanking him before snatching it right up.

“Do you know who lives next door?” the man asks, chuckling a little.

I pause. “No, why?”

And that’s when I hear it.

“No, you’re not fucking doing that, Owen. You’re not taking him, don’t even start!”

“You can’t tell me who or what to take, man.”

“I can and I will.”

“Rock, paper, scissors for him?”

The voices are muffled, but we can hear as clear as day.

The delivery man shakes his head, continuing his trek down the long hall away from me. I wait until I hear the elevator ding before heading back inside, placing my food down on my counter,grabbing my keys,and heading next door.

There are certain hours I’m allowed to use Leo’s key, and this is not one of them. Anything past 6 P.M. is a danger zone. Luckily for me, I know he doesn’t have a girl over.

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