Chapter Five

Maren

One month later

Everything looks unfamiliar when I wake up. The sun is coming in from the wrong side of the room, my feet hang off the wrong side of the bed. I pat the space beside me before opening my eyes, grateful to find it empty.

Then it all comes back to me. I'm at Nina's house, in the smallest room in existence, and here for the unforeseeable future.

I'd stayed in my apartment up until the very last minute, relishing my solitude until the day all tenants were to vacate the premises. Plus, it helped Nina get used to the idea before I moved in. She hadn't been thrilled about giving up the room that was supposed to be her closet, but of all my possibilities for my next home, she was the best choice.

With a bunch of asterisks, that is. I mean, she is Nina. But having a sloppy roommate who occasionally steals my stuff is better than being homeless.

And I'll never be that again.

I'm still sore from yesterday's move. I've never been one for exercise beyond a brisk walk, so carrying box after box down the stairs was a workout I was not conditioned for. Thank goodness for Claire's boyfriend. Ethan and his buddies took care of the heavy stuff while Claire and I handled the lighter fare. Nina was working at Insomniacs while we moved, but she probably wouldn't have helped anyway.

My treasured orange couch and dining room table were donated to a non-profit for the shelterless. Hopefully they would be a welcome addition to someone's much-needed home. I donated most of my clothes too, since the closet in my new room is behind a single door. Pots and pans, dishes and silverware, cooking utensils…all gone. Nina said they weren't necessary, since her grandmother's house had all these things.

I couldn't keep them if I wanted to. Between her grandmother's old furniture and Nina's clothes and belongings covering every surface, there just wasn't space. And the room I'm in now? It's large enough for me, a bed, a few favorite outfits, and all my guitars lined up on the wall.

I feel kind of like I did the first day I moved into my apartment. I don't have the same awe at having my own place…because I don't…but I definitely have the same amount of things to my name—practically zero.

As for Mac? I think of him every day. Mostly to think of all the ways I could unalive him, or maybe just give him a violent case of Montezuma's revenge. I hope he's miserable in his mansion, haunted by all the "choices" he's made that have ruined innocent people's lives.

But in quiet times, I remember the way he kissed me. How he looked at me. How he felt pressed against my body. Sometimes when I'm alone at night, my swirling fingers undoing the ache in my core, I think I can even smell him.

I haven't dated since that night. It's only been a month, so I'm hardly a saint. But in the past, I at least had Brock to fill that space, and no thank you.

It's more than that though, and I can't deny it. The connection we shared was something I'd never experienced before, and now I'm unsure I'll ever feel it again. That's what hurts the most. I let my guard down with him. I saw someone I trusted. And just when I entertained the idea of this going beyond that night, of maybe even being something that had lasting power, I learned that I never really knew him at all.

I obviously can't trust myself around guys. So, for now, I'm swearing off all men and focusing on me.

Also focusing on how I can make Nina's house feel more like a home, because goddamn, that girl has clutter.

I roll out of bed, stretching my aching muscles before padding down the hall to the kitchen. Nina's dirty dishes are all over the sink, and I push them aside as I search for the coffee pot. Eventually I locate it in one of the cabinets, along with a canister of coffee. I pour a generous amount of grounds in the filter, fill it with water, then flip the switch and wait until I'm holding a steaming cup of coffee in my hand. I look in the fridge and see that Nina prefers dairy to my usual almond milk. I decide a creamy cup is worth the stuffy nose the dairy will give me, and finally enjoy my first sip.

Heaven.

I look out the window of my new neighborhood, each sip breathing new life into my tired body, when I notice someone outside in the dim morning light. I peer closer, my eyes widening at the sight of his bare feet and naked chest. Oh goddess, this is Naked Coffee Guy! Nina has been talking about this guy all month long, so much that I feel like I'm seeing a celebrity. From far away, I can make out the dark shading of tattoos that snake up his arms and splay across his chest. He moves with purpose, no sign of discomfort as each bare foot lands on the rough asphalt. As he approaches the front of our house, I can see the steam rising off the top of his cup of coffee, which he sips periodically as he walks. But now that he's closer, his features become clearer. Specifically, his long beard.

A beard I've run my hands through, have dreamed about for a month. A beard that's been the star player in so many of my late-night solo fantasies.

Holy fuck. It's Mac.

It hasn't even been a full day in this neighborhood, and he's here, wrecking my sense of home. Yet, as horrified as I feel about his intrusion, my core flutters with excitement, as if she's finally going to get some.

"Down, girl," I mutter. But I can't look away. The muscles in his chest flex with each step, and his perfect washboard abs are like a ladder down to the bulge filling out his loose shorts. His arms are massive, and I can just imagine what it would feel like to run my hands along the hills and valleys of his biceps while he leans over me, lifting my legs, thrusting…

"Oh, I see you've met Naked Coffee Guy," Nina says, peering past me. I jump back, surprised at her cat-like entrance. "I thought I'd missed the show."

We both watch him stroll past our house, hiding behind the curtains anytime it looks like he'll peer over at the kitchen window. I note the movement of curtains at the house across the street, and same with the one down the way. The guy obviously has a fanbase. For a moment, I forget myself, feeling a bit of haughty pride that I've kissed this Viking god, and they all wish they had.

Then the final details of that night slam into me, and I feel angry all over again. I push away from the window, offering Nina the better view of Mac's backside retreating down the street.

"He's all right," I say, and Nina whirls around, a look of shock on her face.

"Maren, I'm beginning to think you hate men as a species. That man is not just all right . He's fine as fuck. You wish you could nab a hottie like that instead of wasting your time on guys who manage your rent, then kick you out of your home."

I snort into my coffee, and she grins like she's said something funny. I know she's referring to Brock, but she has no idea how ironic her words are. I obviously have a type. I like men who screw me financially, not just literally.

I know I can't tell Nina about Mac, especially since I now know he's our hot neighbor. But I can tell Claire. And I do when I'm at Claire's house after my barista shift, an hour before Finn is supposed to come home, which gives us free rein to talk openly .

"He's Naked Coffee Guy?" Her eyes widen, and I can tell she believes this is good news, even though she knows he's a dipshit.

I'd told Claire about Mac early on, once I'd secured a place at Nina's house. I knew once Claire found out my lease was ending, she'd offer me a place in her home. And sure enough, she was ready to pack up her craft room and give it to me. While living with Claire and her family would be infinitely more fun than living with Nina, I couldn't put her out like that. Claire was a highly sought-after book swag artist, and that craft room was her livelihood.

While she finally accepted the fact that I "chose" Nina over her, she couldn't get over that magical night I'd shared with Mac—even though he'd fooled me into thinking he was some insightful, down-to-earth charmer. Oh, he was charming all right.

"You see? It's fate, Maren." She takes a bite of the pastry I brought her, this time a Danish with sweet cream in the middle. "Wow, that's good. I'd have to buy looser pants if I were surrounded by these all day."

Ethan strolls in and nabs the pastry from her hands before she can take another bite, then takes his own huge bite.

"Hey!" Claire tries to grab it back, but laughs as he pulls it out of reach. See, that's the difference between Claire and me. She laughs when someone messes with her food. I'd stab them with a fork.

"Here, you can have his," I say, mock glaring at Ethan. He shrugs, then grins, his mouth full of Danish as we protest the grossness. He's all sweaty after his workout, and leans his soaked chest against Claire as he kisses her.

"Ew," she squeals, but I can tell she likes it. Reason #433 why I can't move in here. I'd have to see their cuteness every day while I'm doing my best to swear off men.

Even though the man I'm swearing off is now about to be my every morning eye candy.

But I'm happy for my friends and their serendipitous love story. They met for the first time the night Claire graduated high school. I'd been in the thick of my addiction at that point, and the terrible friend that I was, I abandoned her at a party where she knew no one while I got high in one of the bathrooms with some forgettable guy. I still feel twinges of guilt over that, but if I hadn't, she wouldn't have met Ethan. Then she wouldn't have gotten knocked up and had Finn, who I swear is only the best kid in the world. Thing is, Ethan never knew since they didn't speak after that one night. It had been a masquerade party, and they both played into the whole mystery thing by never revealing their faces, let alone their names. It was both weird and romantic .

The good news is, I redeemed past Maren's mistakes by introducing Ethan and Claire just last year. Ethan is Nina's cousin, and she had the brilliant idea to set him up with someone dependable and kind—in her words, boring —since the women he usually chose were more beauty than brains. But Claire is both beautiful and brilliant, and she had also chosen to live the spinster life rather than subject her son to a revolving door of men. Like Claire's mother had done to her.

Neither one of us knew that Ethan was Finn's real father. Now, they're this disgustingly happy family…and I couldn't be happier for them.

Except right now, when they're being super cute and in love, and I'm still nursing a sober girl hangover thanks to my dilemma and new nemesis—super star real estate agent Mac Dermot. Even just the sight of his mug on the freeway billboard makes me want to gag.

Okay, maybe it makes me lust a little too.

"So, how are you going to handle Naked Coffee Guy?" Claire asks when she finally comes up for air.

"Wait, I obviously missed something." Ethan makes himself even more comfortable at the table.

"Don't you have work?" I ask him.

"When you own the bar, you make your own hours." He smirks, kicking back, waiting for me to fill him in.

"He's this guy who walks around shirtless and without shoes every morning in Nina's neighborhood, carrying his cup of coffee," Claire shared. "He's also the same guy that Maren almost banged the first time she met him."

"No, I didn't almost bang him," I corrected her. "I was actually making plans to not bang him in hopes of a second date when the bomb was dropped."

Claire tilts her head at me. "I don't know, though. It's not like he knew he'd just sold your home."

I know this. I mean, the guy was probably just doing his job. But it doesn't change my living situation. Knowing he had a hand in the sale, I want nothing to do with it.

"It doesn't matter. This was the only rent controlled place in all of Sunset Bay, and no other rents even came close. He had a hand in selling this place with practically no notice, leaving us all to scramble for a place to live."

"But at least you have Nina, right?" Ethan asks. I shoot him a glare as he feigns innocence with a shrug. "All right, Nina is difficult, but she's also very thoughtful and kind. You only know her as coworker Nina. Wait till you get to know my cousin on a more personal level. I swear you two will be best friends before you know it."

"No she won't. That spot is mine," Claire says, shoving his arm. He laughs, then gets up.

"And that's my cue to get ready for work." He leans down and kisses Claire's cheek, then leans down and does the same to me while I roll my eyes. "See you tonight?" he asks me.

I nod, giving him a cheesy thumbs up. I have a gig tonight at Hillside, one of my favorite places to perform. One, it's fun to work at a place where you know the ownership, and two, it's where I got my start performing live. I now have a small following of fans that frequent Ethan's outdoor bar, ensuring my Hillside performances always have people singing along.

Finn's school bus pulls up, and we watch as Ethan forgoes getting ready as he trots outside. He runs to his son and throws him over his shoulder while the kid struggles. I've never seen so much joy on Finn's face in all the years I've known him.

"He really loves his dad, doesn't he," I murmur. Claire looks at me and smiles, her eyes a little misty. She laughs, wiping away the moisture before any tear has a chance to fall.

"Sorry, I'm such a sap. But yes, sometimes I have to check to see if I'm awake because I can't believe how happy I am. Then there's this small part of me that tells me to be cautious, because nothing this good can last forever."

"That's bullshit," I say, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leans her head against me. "You and Ethan were always supposed to meet." And I mean it as I say it, but I hide the part that feels a little wistful.

Where is my someone?

"What kind of coffee do you think Naked Coffee Guy drinks?" Claire muses, then winks at me. It's almost like she's reading my mind. I nudge her just as Finn follows Ethan into the house, ensuring I have to choose my words carefully. Claire knows I judge guys on the type of coffee they drink because it also gives me a clue to what kind of lover they are. Too milked down, and they probably left their backbone at their mother's house. Strong and dark, and I may not see the light of day for weeks, if you know what I mean. And no coffee at all? Probably a douche. Case in point…Brock woke up every morning with a Red Bull.

"Be good, ladies," Ethan warns with a wink before heading to the shower. He obviously heard Claire's question.

"Auntie Maren," Finn says, throwing himself at my waist as I brushed away any thoughts of…coffee. Claire grins at me over Finn's head, and I stick my tongue out at her.

"I brought you something sweet at the kitchen table," I say, and Finn releases me and scrambles for his seat, tearing into the bag to find the last Danish.

"After homework," Claire says, snatching it just before he takes a bite.

"Aw, Mom!" he whines .

"Yeah, you're no fun, Claire Bear."

Finn grins a toothless smile but relents and gets his homework out.

"So, any coffee guesses?" Claire hisses, pulling me from the kitchen so we're out of earshot.

"Probably a vanilla milk," I guess, and Claire laughs, shaking her head.

"Come on. I remember the way you talked about this guy, even when you were your angriest. He's got to be a dark roast kind of guy. I mean, how did he look walking your neighborhood this morning?"

Like fucking Thor. Just thinking about him, and I'm feeling squirmy and well aware of my month-long drought.

"He's a straight up espresso," I tell her.