The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

I scratched a nonexistent itch on my cheek and decided to give up and instead bake something for my two new neighbors.

After running to the store to fill my fridge, I spent the next hour in the kitchen, putting a whole lot of neighborly love into some tiramisu.

The sun was just skimming the tops of the skyscrapers when I stepped out of my apartment and knocked on the door at the end of the hall.

My first neighbor was an older lady wearing a Hawaiian-themed muumuu. She squinted at my smile, as if it was so bright it hurt her eyes. Her gaze drifted to the plate in my hand.

“Cake?”

“No, tira—”

“It’s been ages since I’ve had a piece of cake.”

She grabbed the plate from my hand and shut the door in my face.

Well. Not exactly the welcome I’d been looking for, but it could have been worse. Though, everyone knows, when you look on the sunny side of things it begins to rain.

The only other neighbor on this floor lived right across the hall from me. I knocked, smiled brightly, and as the door opened, it slipped off my face like the ice cream on a little kid’s cone.

The dirty fed’s narrowed gaze fell from mine to the plate I cradled with two hands.

Well played, Ace, well played.

Was Allister supposed to be my babysitter until he returned to Seattle? It seemed I was everyone’s joke, but I wasn’t going to let this sour my mood. I was almost a single woman, after all.

I lifted the plate, finding my smile again. “Cake?”

He looked at the dessert, then drew his icy gaze back up to mine. “Are you high?”

I pursed my lips. “Unfortunately, no.”

His eyes swept the hall over my head, as if he thought I might have brought a mariachi band or something as equally ridiculous along. It was then I realized he didn’t know I was his neighbor. Interesting.

His voice was full of impatience. “Why are you here, Gianna?”

I frowned. “Are you saying that, after everything we’ve shared together, I can’t bring you some dessert?”

He ran a hand down his tie, his gaze coasting to the two other apartments in the hall. I could hear the wheels turning in that clever brain of his.

“And here I was,” I muttered, “telling everyone who’d listen that you and I are an item.”

His eyes settled on my door. He ran his tongue across his teeth in thought.

“I’ve already made it Facebook official. I won’t change it back, Christian. The amount of jealousy coming in has brought me closer to world domination than I’ve ever been.”

I knew the moment he figured it out—the mat in front of the door, saying, “Welcome, Bitches”—might have given it away. And it was oh so painfully clear he was not happy about being my neighbor. In fact, it looked like he’d sucked on something sour.

“Don’t tell me you lounge around in a tie, Officer. Goodness, I don’t even wear pants.”

The sudden anger radiating from him gave me the strong urge to back away slowly until I was in the safety of my apartment. I was beginning to think this joke wasn’t all for my benefit.

He let out a sardonic breath as he processed this. Ran his hand across his jaw. Settled his fiery gaze on me. “Are you knocking on my door just to harass me, or do you want something?”

“I want a decent welcoming for one. The muumuu next door was seriously lacking.”

“I’m not eating your cake.”

Frustration rose in me. Didn’t anyone have respect for dessert around here?