Crazy in Love

So smug. I roll my eyes. “Same difference.”

“If it’s different, then it’s not the same. Technically.”

I rolled my eyes too soon. Now would have been the perfect spot to interject that reaction. Fortunately, the door swings wider, and Nick claps him on the shoulder. “Ready to go?” When the wall of a man moves out of my way, Nick sees me and smiles. Natalie definitely scored with that one. “Hey, Tatum. Natalie’s on her way downstairs. Go on in.”

“Thanks.” Since they’re blocking the entrance, though, I wait for them to exit first.

Harrison steps onto the stoop beside me, and we stand there awkwardly, too couple-y feeling for my liking. “What?”

“Just waiting for Nick.”

“Let’s not make this weird, okay?”

“Too late, I suspect,” he says, nudging me gently in the arm with his elbow.

Nick holds the door open for me, and I’m quick to exchange places with him. If I don’t get away from Harrison soon, I have a feeling my eyes will be on a constant rolling loop. Taking the door in hand, I wave with the other. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“Not without you,” Harrison replies.

“Just like old times.” Nick chuckles as he trots down the steps of his brownstone. “See you later.”

Harrison looks back from the sidewalk. “Hey, Tate?”

So close to getting the door closed . . . I know he calls me that just to piss me off. I open the door just wide enough to peer out again. “What?”

“I like your hair.” He winks and then gives me that smile that got me in bed the first time. “You look good as a blond.” Damn that delicious grin.

I shut the door and lean against the back of it. Closing my eyes, I try to bleach my brain of that stupidly handsome face of his. He tried to apologize once . . . but was smart to back off after that. Too little. Too late.

“What are you doing?”

My eyes fly open to see my friend coming toward me. I push off the wood door and wave off the crazy emotions Harrison Decker stirs inside me. It honestly makes no sense why I care at all. I need to forget him like he forgot about me back then. “I ran—”

“In Jimmy Choos?” Curiosity angles Natalie’s brows as she looks at my shoes. “Are those new?”

“Fresh off the display. Only one pair in Manhattan and I scored these babies.”

“Babies,” she says with a softened smile. She suddenly hugs me like she didn’t just see me yesterday or the four days before that. My best friend since birth is the most happy-spirited and hug-loving person I know. “Miss me much, Nat?” I joke, wondering why she’s so sentimental today. I hug her back just as tight. Two peas in a pod.

“I did, actually.” She takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the newly renovated, four-story townhome. “Word on the avenue is that my next-door neighbors are putting their house on the market after they finish the renovation. I think you should look into it.”

Her design and décor are a stunning testament to her impeccable taste, and I might add mine since I helped make a lot of the decisions. “I can’t afford a townhome on the Upper East Side, especially the way the market is right now.”

She nods toward the kitchen. “I’m starving. Hungry?”

“I just ate lunch—”

“How about something light?” There’s an unusual nervous edge in her tone.

“Where are they moving?”

She pulls a fruit and cheese platter from the fridge and sets it on the island between us. Natalie is the only person I know, besides her mom, who would have a handy-dandy cheese platter ready to go just in case company stops by. She replies, “Connecticut. Dolores is pregnant with her third baby, and they want land. They bought an old farm they’re redoing on some acreage.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Her current home is going to be gorgeous. I saw the designs this morning.” She pops a grape in her mouth as she gazes off into the distance. Her fingers tap against the cold stone of the counter, and I notice her lips twisting to the side. Her nerves are palpable, the frenzied energy contagious. What is going on with her today?

“I think I’m hungry, after all.” Taking a piece of brie, I pop it into my mouth and set my Birkin bag on the floor. She doesn’t miss the bag, as I knew she wouldn’t, and cocks an eyebrow at me before tugging open the door to the wine fridge set in the large island. “New bag?”

“New guilt bag.”

“You have enough of those to fill a penthouse on Park Avenue.” She smirks. “Or the townhome next door.”

“Nice try, but I’m not selling my bags. Though I might be swayed, depending on the size of their closet.” I laugh. “The bags need a closet of their own.”