“I don’t mean to pry. I was just curious.” He double-parks his car and flips the hazard lights on. With the narrow road, he won’t be able to sit here for long.

“Thanks for the ride.” I rest my hand on the door handle.

“Amelia . . .” He sighs, and his fingers thread through his hair.

“Don’t worry, Davis. I get it. You’re the boss, and I’m the employee.”

“It’s just—”

I place my hand in the air. “Just let it be. I understand.”

A small smile crosses his lips. “We can be friends,” he suggests.

My fingers grip the handle, and I yank the door open. “You and I both know that can’t happen. Let’s keep the line drawn clear in the sand. You don’t step over to my side, and I won’t waver over to yours.” I finally leave his car, making my escape.

I don’t turn around when I reach my door. My keys fumble in my shaking hands.

Get it together, Amelia.

I release a breath when I find the right key, and the lock clicks open. Once I’m in the lobby, I contemplate checking my mail, but I just want to go upstairs and grab a frozen Snickers bar, chalking this night up to a disaster, much like the rest of my life. My hand is about to press the elevator button when strong hands whip me around, and my back slams against the hard metal of the mailboxes.

Davis’s lips claim mine, and he lifts me. Meeting the tongue that filled my mouth just a half-hour ago, I allow myself to feel the warmth of him. His hips pin me, and my back scrapes along the etched steel. My fingers run through his soft, dark waves while I tighten my thighs around his waist.

Much too soon, I’m brought back down to earth, and my feet touch the floor. His chocolate-hue eyes peer down, and his forehead rests against mine.

“You owe me a date,” he softly says, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll be here, in the lobby, tomorrow at two.”

My knees weaken, and if he lets me go, I’m sure I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor, never to recover.

“Good night, Amelia.”

The next thing I hear is the clicking of the front door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Todd

If Shawn weren’t walking right next to me, I’d scream to release the aggression flowing through my veins. Fuck me. I’ve pushed Noodle into Davis’s arms. He’s a better man than me, one who can offer her everything I can’t, with his cars, his house, his bank account. On top of that, I’m not sure he’s a bad guy. Other than that stint with Heather, he’s clean. That could have been a rumor, though. She likes attention.

“Will you hire me when you have your own restaurant?” Shawn nudges me.

“You have it made at CHOPs. Why would you leave?” I stuff my hands in my pockets for warmth from the chill in the air.

“I like Davis and CHOPs, but I have no control. Shit, if I need to comp a meal, I practically have to fill out a twenty-page inquisition.” Shawn’s phone rings in his pocket, and he pulls it out. His eyes glisten. “Hey, honey. I’m on my way now. Really? Okay, I’ll be there soon. Love you, too,” he says before tucking it back into his pocket. “My little girl has a fever, and my wife sounds exhausted.”

I pat his shoulder, standing at the top of the stairs to the subway. “Daddy duty calls, huh?”

He huffs. “Yep, but this job is worth the headaches. See you.” He waves and jogs down the steps.

I watch Shawn’s back until he disappears. I’m only delaying my next step. Jim’s probably halfway to obliteration, and I don’t really feel like being lectured on my life goals. If I ignore him and go home, I’ll obsess about him sleeping on his back—or worse, roaming the streets naked.

I glance back at CHOPs one more time. My throat chokes on my saliva as I think of Noodle being in there with Davis with his hands on her body—the body I’ve recently imagined myself touching.

If only my shit baggage wouldn’t get in the way of that . . .

She’s better with him anyway.

I’ll have to keep telling myself that.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I’m dragging up the stairs outside my foster parents’ house for the second time this week. This time, no one’s waiting outside for me, but the television is blaring through the screen door. If I have an ounce of luck, he’s already out cold.

The candles Carol loves emanate the smell of vanilla as I step through the squeaking door. The house hasn’t changed since I left a year ago. Jim’s old, torn-up recliner sits right in front of the television next to the table he eats most of his dinners on.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise when he stumbles through the kitchen archway. My body trembles from the amount of anxiety he gives me.

“You came?” He wipes his hands down his stained white T-shirt.

How can I blame Carol in this moment?

“I did.”

I gather the beer cans cluttering the floor. He plops down, and the recliner practically tips backward from the force of his body.

“Did you know? You probably did. You two were always so sneaky, sneaky.” One side of his lips curls up in disgust.

Jim never was a fan of showing affection.

“I see you found the liquor store.”

I crush the aluminum cans in my hands instead of throwing them at his head, like I’d like to do. Jim has been sober since before I moved in here, but I knew it wouldn’t last long with Carol leaving him. She must have realized it, too, and that’s why she asked me to check in on him.

“Don’t act like you’re better than me. You’re not.”

I hear the recliner fly up, followed by the click of another beer can opening behind me.

“I’m not. Is drinking going to bring her back, though?”

I leave him while he watches some Law & Order episode that he probably doesn’t understand because he’s obliterated. I stop in the doorway and see the burned spaghetti sauce splattered on the white stove and pasta sprawled along the floor. He tried to cook.

“It will numb me. You know what that’s like, don’t you?” He leans against the doorframe and watches me clean his mess.

“Just go back in there and sit down.” I don’t even bother to look at him.

“Come on, son.”

My whole back stiffens from that one word.

“You know what it’s like not to allow yourself to feel.”

I should have figured he’d jam that knife as far down as he could get it.

Jim had no patience when I first showed up here. I was a quiet and reserved boy who figured I’d be shipped away before breakfast the next day. I didn’t want or care to get to know either him or Carol. He resented the way I made Carol cry. Being a grown man now, I don’t blame him. I was a prick who was scared shitless of what this house would entail.

“That was fifteen years ago, Jim.” I place the dishes in the sink and wipe the sauce stained on the stove.

“Where’s your wife, your kids? Hell, you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

I inhale and exhale a deep breath before I turn around and possibly go ballistic on him. He doesn’t know shit about my life, and the last thing I need in this moment is to hear his rambling. I’m half-tempted to hand him a case of beer myself just to end this torment.

“Let it go. It’s not my problem that Carol left you.”

I peer into the refrigerator to grab some things to make him something to eat. Judging from the noodles and sauce everywhere, he couldn’t stand straight to cook a meal for himself.

He plops down on a kitchen chair, and I wait for the next set of emotions to pour out of him.

“Why did she?” The abrasiveness in his voice lessens.

I actually feel bad for the guy.

“I think you’ll have to answer that question on your own.”

I’m attempting to keep my judgments to myself. I mean, I’m not a perfectionist at any form of love, let alone the true form. I have no idea how it is when you want a happily ever after with someone.