Page 29 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

“I should go,” she says finally, setting down her empty glass. “Another early morning tomorrow.”

“Right.” I stand when she does, and suddenly, we’re too close in the narrow space between chairs. Her breath catches as she looks up at me, and my hands itch to reach for her.

“Thanks again for dinner,” I manage.

“Thank you for the company.” She takes a step back, but her eyes never leave mine. “‘Night, Luke.”

I nod my goodnight, not able to find my voice.

I watch her walk away, every step feeling like she’s taking a piece of me with her. At her door, she turns back, our eyes meeting across the distance. For a moment, I think she might come back, or I might go to her. The air between us feels electric with possibility.

Then she gives me a small, sad smile and disappears inside.

I stay on the deck long after she’s gone, nursing my wine and wondering how something can feel so right and so impossible at the same time. Eventually, I head inside to bed, though I know sleep won’t come easily.

Not when I can still smell her perfume on the night air, still taste the wine we shared, still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between us.

The next day I don’t catch even a glimpse of Lila. She’s already working when I get up, and by the time her shift is over at the bakery, I’m in the studio until late. When I finally get home, she’s already sleeping, or at least it appears she is sleeping as the lights in her apartment are off. Instead of sitting on the deck, which is my norm, I head on to bed. It surprises me how unsettled I feel not having seen or heard from her. She’s so close, right next door, yet it feels like we’re still miles away.

The next morning, I’m still thinking about Lila. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice her until we literally collide on the front porch. She’s apparently just finished a morning run, face flushed and breathing hard, while I’m heading out for mine.

“Oh!” she gasps as my hands automatically grip her waist to steady her. Her palms land flat against my chest, and for a moment, we’re frozen like that, hearts racing for reasons that have nothing to do with exercise.

“Sorry,” I manage, but I don’t let go. I can’t let go. She’s wearing one of those sports bras and tight running shorts that should be illegal, and her skin is warm and slightly damp under my fingers.

“My fault,” she breathes, looking up at me through those impossibly long lashes. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

‘Neither was I’, I want to say. ‘I haven’t been paying attention to anything but you for weeks now.’

Instead, I force myself to drop my hands and step back. “Isn’t this normally your day off?”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “But Jenny and I swapped. I’m working her mid-morning shift.” She then glances down at my outfit.

“Right.” I adjust my baseball cap, pulling it lower. “I should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the beach.

“Of course.” She moves past me, and I catch the scent of her shampoo mixed with salt air. “Have a good run.”

I watch her turn, not able to take my eyes off her lush heart-shaped backside in those shorts. My body is still humming from our brief contact. When she glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring, I quickly look away and jog down to the beach.

The sand is firm near the water’s edge, perfect for running. I push myself harder than usual, trying to outrun the memory of how she felt in my arms. The steady thud of my feet against the sand matches the rhythm of my thoughts: can’t have her, want her, can’t have her, wanther.

A few early morning beachgoers are out, but no one recognizes me in my running gear and dark glasses. It’s one of the reasons I love these morning runs—just another guy trying to stay in shape, not Luke Sterling, rockstar with a girlfriend I don’t want and a complicated life.

I push myself even harder, running until my lungs burn and my legs shake. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Lila’s under my skin, in my blood, taking up residence in parts of me I thought were locked down tight.

Five miles turns into seven, then ten. By the time I circle back to my house, I’m drenched in sweat and no closer to figuring out what to do about any of this.

The sound of a car door slamming makes me look up. Crystal’s cherry red convertible is parked in my driveway, and she’s leaning against it in an outfit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

“There you are, Luke,” she calls out. “Daddy wants to see us for brunch.”

And just like that, reality comes crashing back. This is my life—obligations and deals and keeping up appearances. Not early morning runs and homemade dinners, and the way Lila’s eyes sparkle when she really smiles.

“Let me shower first,” I say, climbing my steps.

“Of course.” Crystal checks her perfect manicure. “But hurry. You know how Daddy hates to be kept waiting.”

I glance toward Lila’s apartment one last time before heading inside. Through her front window, I can see her moving around, getting ready to leave for work. She looks up, just for a second, and the sadness in her expression hits me like a physical blow.

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