Covet Thy Neighbor

he added, “Seth, your parents cost you a lot of good things in your life.” He inclined his head, and his expression was serious enough to make my heart stop. “Don’t let them cost you this too.”
    I avoided Michael’s gaze. “What happens if it doesn’t work out?” I gestured toward my building. “We live across the hall from each other.”
    Michael shrugged. “So you just quietly pass in the hall like you would with any other shitty neighbor.”
    I glared at him. “You really think it’d be that simple with an ex?”
    “Probably not. But I’m guessing it won’t be much less awkward if you guys are just passing in the hall with all this tension and shit between you.”
    Or if we keep dragging each other to bed, even when it’s probably not a good idea. “Fair point.”
    “Just talk to him, take it a day at a time, and for the love of God, don’t fuck this up.”
    I laughed. “I’ll try not to.”
    “Good. Anyway, I have to get to my other patients. Keep me posted.”
    “Will do.”
    “All right. Tell Nathan to set you up two weeks from Monday.” Michael picked up his clipboard. “But if it gets too painful, I can get you in sooner. And check into some of that ergonomic equipment, would you?”
    “Will do.”
    “Liar,” he muttered.
    We both laughed. Then we hugged briefly, and he left the room while I put my shirt and shoes back on.
    He was right about Darren. Of course he was. I barely knew Darren, but I could see myself wanting more from him than sex and friendship. We just clicked too well, and I couldn’t ignore that. Logically and intellectually, I knew that.
    It wasn’t the logical and intellectual part of me that was terrified of getting involved with Darren, though. And that part was certain the only way I wasn’t getting hurt was if we just stayed friends. No matter how much I wanted him.

Wednesday was one of those days. Enough cancellations to put me in the red for the day. Malfunctioning equipment. A moody business partner.
    And to top it off, a pissed-off parent threatening to call the cops because I’d tattooed his sixteen-year-old son. Like it was my fault the kid had an absolutely bulletproof fake ID and looked like he was twenty-five. I was damned careful when it came to minors, but I wasn’t a fucking psychic.
    By the time I finished my last appointment at quarter past seven, I was done. Time for a beer, some mindless television, and an early night. Good thing I didn’t have much of a commute, or I’d have been a poster child for road rage.
    In fact, as I leaned into the open refrigerator, pondering what might accompany that much-needed cold one, it dawned on me that I was way too fucking wound up for a drink. Alcohol had a tendency to amplify moods like this, and I didn’t need that shit tonight. Not when my neck was already tightening up so bad I was half-tempted to ask Michael if he was game for a house call. Maybe he could have a beer, and I could have some acupuncture.
    Quiet footsteps passed by my door out in the hall and tightened every already-tense muscle in my upper torso.
    A door opened. Closed.
    I swallowed.
    Darren was home. On the other side of this wall.
    I stared at that wall. Tried not to hear the echoes of the nights we’d spent on the other side of it. Or think about how much I’d kill for a rematch.
    Because we couldn’t do that. Better to stay just friends, I reminded myself. Just friends. I could totally handle that. Couldn’t really be much more than that, anyway. Deal-breakers and all of that shit. Even if he was witty. And hot. And intelligent. And fucking amazing in bed. And . . . and . . . fuck.
    Just friends. Just. Friends.
    Forget booze and acupuncture. After five days of avoiding Darren and going out of my mind because I didn’t want to avoid him, tonight was one of those nights when I needed something a little stronger.
    Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my old gray parka and headed upstairs to the roof. The bricks were still damp from the recent rain, and the night smelled wet. Judging by the slightly pungent ozone in the air, there’d be more rain soon.
    Robyn and I had left some lawn chairs up here ages ago, and she’d fortunately had the foresight to cover them with a tarp. I pulled one out, made sure the seat wasn’t wet, and set it next to the concrete railing. Then I dragged over the plastic table, set it in front of me, and sat.
    As I reached into my coat pocket, I glanced at the door. Al didn’t