The Last Person

“Who loves reading.”

“Yes. Books are life,” I declare with a sharp nod.

“No. Books are what people use to escape life, to learn things that will help them achieve success, or to find new ways to cope with life, but life is what happens outside the bound story. Life isn’t the letters on the page, it’s what inspires those words.”

“See! If you could bring this kind of insight to book club, then I wouldn’t have had to kick you out.”

Eric angles his body toward mine. “I didn’t realize I had officially been removed from the club.”

“Uh … yeah. You’re out.”

“For being honest? Is honesty not the best policy?”

“Compassion should trump honesty when the honesty is an opinion and not a fact, like a doctor delivering a cancer diagnosis. They can infuse as much compassion as possible, but the truth will hurt. It’s also necessary.”

“What happened to debating a good book? Isn’t that part of the discussion?”

“Fine.” I set my cup aside and cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s discuss the things you said. It’s not repetitive and redundant. And it’s definitely not sophomoric.”

“The dialogue is above average, but the narration is clumsy and disconnected.”

“There’s a ton of description!”

He shakes his head. “Purple prose. Too much showing instead of telling. The book could double in dialogue and cut out half of the filler shit, and it would be a better story.”

“Seriously? What makes you such an expert?”

The stupid smirk. Gah! I hate it.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ve just read a lot of books.”

I blow out a breath, sending my long bangs away from my face.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Cut the cute crap.” I glare through narrowed eyes, my grip on my coffee cup tightening.

“Fine. You’re fuckable when you’re mad.”

“You’re crude and a total loser for not buying my coffee since you’re nothing more than an entitled asshole.” I jolt to standing, hiking my bag over my shoulder. “And stop looking at me like that!”

“You’re beautiful too.”

I roll my eyes and growl, stomping out the door.

The rest of the day everyone crawls under my skin until I’m forced to apologize to my coworkers before leaving work. Freya greets me with a huge grin when I walk into our two-bedroom loft, tossing my keys on the gray quartz island.

“Why the look?” I mumble.

She sets her phone on the sofa and sashays to the opposite end of the island, eyeing me with a suspicious smirk the whole way. “Look what our new neighbor dropped off.”

I glance at the card in her hand, taking a few steps closer before snatching it from her hold. It’s a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Finn’s Café.

“He must have slid it under our door before I got home. Here’s the note.” She hands it to me.

I read it.

Anna,

Thanks for hosting book club. It was the most donnish experience I have enjoyed in a long time. Think of this as a hostess gift. Regards, Eric.

“He’s hot and clearly generous.” Freya fans herself.

“He’s obnoxious and a spoiled rich kid.”

“No. You don’t get to be pouty because he was critical of your book pick. He’s one person. Everyone hated my book pick, and you didn’t see me unfriending anyone because of it. I think you’re pissed because you’re attracted to him. And now that he doesn’t share your taste in books, you can’t imagine riding his big, rich cock. Your disappointment is understandable, but don’t let it get in the way of a good thing.”

I try but fail to keep from grinning as she animatedly makes her case by stroking her imaginary dick.

“You don’t know that his cock is big. And my attraction to him doesn’t matter because I’m not getting involved with someone who lives in my building. And … I don’t care that he has terrible taste in books. I don’t. Really … whatever. I’m over it.”

“Good idea. Get over it, and then get under him.”

I scrunch my nose. “You get under him.”

“I’m engaged.”

I grab a bag of popcorn from the cabinet next to the fridge and toss it into the microwave. “You’re engaged to a man you’ve never met. And he keeps making excuses for not moving here. Seriously … are you going to have an online wedding and consummate your marriage with a string of dirty texts or via video chatting?”

“I’m so disappointed in you.” She tips up her chin. “I thought you were more of a romantic than that. A cheerleader for the underdogs.”

I hand the gift card to her. “I’m your biggest cheerleader. When your Latino lover arrives … coffee is on me.”

She smirks, picking up the gift card and sliding it into her pocket. “I did provide the wine.”

Chapter Four

I make it two weeks without seeing my new neighbor. Granted … I’ve had to find a new place to get coffee. Avoiding him near the bike racks has been total luck.