Page 60 of Five Stolen Rings

…Still a lone wolf, or has she worn you down?

I snort and shove my phone back into my pocket, because his question doesn’t deserve an answer. Then I turn to Stella, who’s still trailing one finger over my shelves. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back in messy waves, and it makes some idiotic part of me happy that she’s not worried about how she looks here. She’s dressed simply in dark jeans and a white sweater, but it’s incredibly appealing on her.

Lone wolf aside, I have to admit—I can see why Nate the Philandering Moron was interested.

And at this thought, another hot wave of fury washes over me, momentarily drowning out all my anxieties about what Stella might or might not learn about my feelings.

She was fired from her dream job because she tried to accept the advances of a man she didn’t know was married, and he just happened to be the company’s son. It’s so supremely unfair that I want to punch someone—Benny, or maybe Nate the Philanderer, or both would be even better.

But now she’s going to look for a new job, and she’s not an alcoholic, and I had the absolute pleasure of seeing her try to climb out of my bedroom window. Maybe some good has come out of today, and I find my lips tugging into a smile.

“See anything good?” I say to her.

“Yeah,” she says, a smirk on her face as she looks over her shoulder at me. She holds up the book in her hand—Christmas Shopaholicby Sophie Kinsella. “What’s this?”

I shrug, feeling a little defensive. “Book club.”

She just smiles.

JACK

When Stella and I were kids, we tried to make a blood pact to be friends forever.

It didn’t work. We both started crying. But I’ll remember that evening forever, because of how I felt—a buzzing excitement like something monumental was about to happen, and the feeling that nothing would be the same after.

Everything was exactly the same after. I don’t know why I felt that way.

But I do know that I feel the same way right now, and it’s throwing me off. Every muscle in my body is tightened, adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I’m not even doing anything; I’m just standing here, watching Stella drift aimlessly around my living room.

Focus,I tell myself,and get this woman out of your apartment before you do something insane like tell her all your secrets and then ask her to love you?—

“Whoa,” I say, startled, my eyes poppingwide.

Stella hears me; she turns around and raises her brows at me. “Sorry, what?” she says.

My fingers curl around the edge of the countertop so tightly my knuckles are probably white. “Nothing,” I say, even as my eyes are glued to her, drinking her in, cataloging everything I see—the way she moves, the way she tilts her head as she looks at the bookcase, the way her clothes hug her curves.

She looks much better in my space than a pet cat ever could?—

Good grief.

“All right,” I say loudly, and I’m talking as much to myself as I am to her. “Time to go.”

I wave at the front door, none too politely, and Stella nods, sighing.

“Yeah,” she says, running one hand through her hair. “I should probably go feed Maude’s animals anyway.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say—and I swear, the words are out of my mouth before I even have time to think. I clap my hand over my mouth so hard it hurts, but of course it doesn’t work; my offer still hangs in the air between us.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat in the most dignified way possible. “I spoke without thinking.” My voice is gruff, and I think my face is probably turning red, but I go on. “I willnotbe coming with you.”

Stella’s brows quirk as she ambles slowly toward me. “Okay,” she says slowly, giving me a strange look. “That’s fine. You should get some good sleep anyway. Do you work tomorrow? Doctors probably don’t get time off for the holidays, right?”

“I work tomorrow,” I say with a sharp nod while I mentally kick myself. The Stella Effect is particularlystrong this evening, or maybe I’m particularly susceptible, weakened by prolonged exposure and the memory of her halfway out my window, legs flailing like an upside-down turtle?—

“Are you getting enough sleep?” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her gaze is critical as it sweeps over me, taking me in. “Do you get enough to eat?”

Definitely not. “Of course,” I say.

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