Page 12 of The Best Wrong Move

He’ll recognize my voice right away.

I consider just slamming the door again, but out of sheer panic I add a horrible British accent to my voice before responding.

“Checked in today!”

Oh my God, I sound like Eliza Doolittle.

When he doesn’t say anything right away, I dip my chin down even lower and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t recognize me.

“Right.” He pauses. “This place has been empty since — um, well, anyway, that doesn’t matter. I’m just having a little get-together tonight out back. I didn’t realize someone would be here when I planned it. Sorry. We’ll keep it down.”

He has friends here? Already? How?

Cologne wafts through the crack in the door. His signature scent. The one that clung to everything he touched in our apartment after he left. Spicy juniper and sandalwood.

If he already has friends on the island, what if he has a date coming tonight, too?

My mouth goes dry when I think of him having another woman here. I don’t think I’m mentally strong enough to listen to Rex fucking someone else through that shared wall.

These walls better not be as thin as my patience.

“Okay,” I squeak out. “Thanks.”

He starts to go, but turns back just as I’m about to close the door.

“You’re welcome to join too, if it’s going to be a bother.” He adds a softer tone to his voice. “This shared deck thing is kind of weird. I didn’t realize it had that when I booked this place. I don’t want to monopolize the whole thing. We can also just head down to the beach, if that’s better for you?”

I swallow hard and nod.

“Okay. Won’t be too late. Sorry again.” He gives a little wave, scrunching his face into a concerned smile. I’m sure he thinks whoever moved in is acting absurd, hiding behind a hat and sunglasses when the sun has already gone down.

After he disappears into his unit, I close the door, resting my forehead against it until I feel the latch click shut.

This is exactly why I didn’t want a shared rental. I can’t focus on doing anything — especially writing — while my neighbor, aka my ex, is holding a party onmydeck. Just the sound of his voice a few feet away has already pulled apart that deep-rooted feeling in my gut. The one that hasn’t gone away in a month.

I slide to the floor with my back against the door. Feeling just like I did after Rex left me back in New York.

Alone.

And deeply annoyed.

I wistfully stare at my prosecco bottle sitting on the counter, mostly empty. I wish I had a long straw so I could just suck down the rest of my prosecco without getting up.

I drum my fingers against the floor as jet lag hits me like a ton of bricks. I’d like to just pass out right here, then wake up tomorrow to find out everything about today was just a bad dream.

But before I can launch myself into a full-blown pity party, the light on Rex’s side of the deck switches on.

I stay slumped on the floor while he appears.

Fluffing up patio pillows and wiping bits of sand off the seat cushions. Prepping for his ridiculous party. Looking downright cheerful about it.

As quietly as I can, I start tiptoeing my way around the townhouse, turning off all the lights until the entire unit is pitch black. Then I grab what’s left of the prosecco bottle before settling back on the couch, my bucket hat still pulled down over my face, just in case.

If I have to listen to my ex throw a party right outside my very expensive vacation rental, then I’m at least going to get my money’s worth and spy on the bastard.

Chapter 9

I wake up the next morning with a fresh headache from hell.

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