Page 100 of Crave Thy Neighbor

I’m pissed at myself for even thinking about this at all.

We weren’t supposed to get involved, and I definitely wasn’t supposed to get attached to her. But every time I look at the date, a little more panic sets in. She’s leaving soon, and I don’t fucking want her to.

I hate that I don’t want her to.

When forty-five minutes pass by, I figure it’s time to go in. I can’t hide out here forever.

The elevator is slow, but the stairs are even slower, so I take those. By the time I finally hit my floor, it’s almost ten, and I’m sure Maya is likely already in bed.

It’ll be the first night we haven’t spent together since we started this thing.

Maybe that’s for the best though.

Maybe we need the space. The perspective.

Maybe a pause is what we need to ensure we’re not getting too caught up in each other.

Dean is wrong. I’m not in love with her. I’m infatuated, addicted to the sex.

That’s all it is.

I push open the door, making sure I’m as quiet as possible. Sam’s already in bed for the night, and I don’t want to wake him.

I don’t want to wake Maya either.

The apartment is noiseless as I toe off my boots, then stop in the kitchen for a glass of water.

I guzzle it down, refilling it once more before padding down the hall to my bedroom.

Maya’s door is open, and I can’t seem to stop myself from peeking inside.

She’s on her side, facing the door.

And she’s staring right at me.

She doesn’t move, and I’m pretty sure she stops breathing altogether as her eyes find mine.

I itch to go to her. To bury my face in her neck and roll her on her back, finding my place between her legs that feels like heaven and a sin all at once.

But I don’t.

Instead, I roll my shoulders back and turn for my bedroom.

I don’t know what’s louder—the click of my door or her gasp.

17

Maya

I don’t know what happened the night Nolan came home late, but whatever it was, something changed.

One day everything was fine, and I even thought we had shared something special. Then nothing was good again.

Nothing has been the same for days. He barely looks at me and hardly says a word. I still haven’t even had the chance to tell him about the apartment being available earlier than expected. He’s been avoiding me, and it’s exhausting. I am more than over it.

This morning when I got up to make breakfast, his bedsheets were cold, which meant he was long gone.

I tried to push the haunted gaze I saw on his face out of my head and focus on taking care of Sam, but it’s been hard. He was late for school again today—the third time in as many days—and as I pulled away from the school, I promptly received an angry call from his principal about his repeated tardiness.

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