Page 40 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

“The way Luke Sterling kept looking at you.” She raises an eyebrow. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.” I wipe down the counter with more force than necessary.

“Oh my God, he’s the guy in the band that texted you—“

“We’re neighbors. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, your ‘neighbor’ is headed this way.”

I turn to see Luke in the doorway, devastatingly handsome in the soft kitchen light.

“Lila—“

“Jenny, can you take these leftovers out to the car?” I hand her the containers, ignoring Luke. “I’ll finish up here.”

But when Jenny leaves, the kitchen feels too small, too intimate. Luke steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne.

“Congratulations on the tour offer,” he says. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you.” I keep my voiceneutral and professional.

“Lila, come on—at least look at me.”

I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll remember everything—the kiss, his hands, the way he made me feel like I was burning alive.

“I can’t do this right now,” I say, trying not to sound desperate. “Please, Luke—I’m working.”

I make it to the doorway before his voice stops me.

“I’m trying to end things with Crystal.”

My heart stutters, and my steps falter, but I don’t turn around. “Trying?”

He sighs, “It’s—“

“Complicated,” I finish for him. “Yeah, I know.”

I walk away with a sad little smile, my heels clicking on the marble floors, trying to convince myself the ache in my chest is just professional pride in a job well done.

But we both know that’s a lie.

Fourteen

Luke

I’ve been sitting at my keyboard for an hour, but nothing comes. No melody, no progression, just memories of Lila in that stairwell and later in Pixie’s kitchen three nights ago, looking everywhere but at me. Damn, what was I thinking, cornering her like that? Telling her I wastryingto end things with Crystal? As if that would mean anything to her. As if she’d want to hear that from me while I’m still tangled in this mess.

“Real smooth, asshole,” I mutter, getting up from my keyboard.

Now, all I can do is give her space. She deserves that much.

The problem is space feels impossible. We live in the same duplex, separated by nothing more than a thin wall. Every time I step outside, I half expect to see her tending to her herbs on the front porch or sitting on the back deck with a cup of coffee.

I’ve allowed her to avoid me since the dinner party, which is harder than it should be. And the truth is, I miss her. Not just the tension or the heat between us, but the ease of it—the way we used to talk, sitting out on our deck, laughing over nothing and everything.

I need to fix this. Even if I can’t have her the way I want, I don’t want to lose her as a friend.

The sound of car doors closing draws me to the window. Lila’s pulling grocery bags from her back seat, looking soft and casual in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair’s pulled up in a high ponytail, exposing the curve of her neck where I’d run my lips over her that night at the charity.

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