“What the hell, Yvette?” Ox bent down, trying in vain to keep their argument at least a little bit private. “We’ve been over for months. You haven’t let me in your bedroom since June. We have been roommates and you know it. You jerk me around and create all these scenes? This is the last straw. I’m done.”

“Don’t call me Yvette! And don’t pretend like you’ve been going without,” she hissed. “I know exactly what your appetite is.”

“I do not cheat on my girlfriends.” And he’d had blue balls for months because of it. Ginger would wind him up, turn him on, and then piss him off. He didn’t know what she got out of it, but he was finished trying to figure it out. She was a bad habit. One he’d been needing to break for months.

“I am not your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ox stood straight. “Bullshit relationship definitions and all that. We’ve been living together for a year. Get the fuck over yourself. I didn’t cheat on you. Frankly, being your man is too exhausting. I don’t have time for anything but you and work.”

“And your precious mommy, don’t forget about—”

“Are you talking shit about my mom?” Ox bent down and got in Ginger’s face. He’d had it with the drama. “My mother? Who tried to treat you like a part of my life until you pissed her off one too many times? You do not talk shit about my mom, Yvette.”

“Stop calling me Yvette.” Her beautiful mouth was twisted and mean. “I should never have told you that.”

“Don’t worry. After today, I’m going to forget all your names.”

She smirked. “You wish.”

Ox folded his arms over his chest. At any moment, she was going to bat her eyes and remind him of those times over a year ago when she’d been hilarious and fun and easy to laugh with. That Ginger had lasted as long as it had taken him to move in. Though it had been her suggestion they share the apartment over the shop when the lease on his apartment had been up, she’d changed completely once they were in the same space.

She let a touch of hurt creep into her eyes. “Ox—”

“Don’t. I’m done. I’m fucking done. We are not right for each other. I admire the hell out of your talent, and I hope you get your shit together and figure out whatever hang-ups are messing with your head, but I do not want to be in a relationship of any kind with you. I don’t want to work for you. I don’t want to know you.”

Cut her off. Keep her out. She’d figured out his buttons, and he was tired of feeling guilty about leaving her.

What he needed was a nice quiet girl like the one across the street. Book Girl was probably steady and dependable. She’d have a smile on her face in the morning and make him coffee just to be nice. She might even have a sense of humor. She’d like his mom and his mom would like her. He might be bored to death, but at least he wouldn’t worry about his bodily safety after he fell asleep at night.

Of course, that was never the kind of girl he went for. Because he was an idiot.

He glanced over his shoulder at Book Girl. Poor thing was staring out the window just like she had the week before when Ginger had started another fight. She was probably wondering what kind of lunatic neighbors from 7th Avenue she’d been stuck with when she’d bought Betsy’s nice shop on Main Street.

“I’ll leave your stuff by the front door,” Ginger said. “I want you out.”

“Fine.” He was still staring at the bookstore. He’d seen people moving in and out all week. He’d been curious. Of course, watching them had spun Ginger into another jealous tirade. “Leave it by the front door and I’ll get it.”

“Good!” Ginger whirled around and stomped back into Bombshell.

A few minutes later, Russ walked out. The man was a friend; he was also Ginger’s employee. He was an artist who also ran the office, and he was clearly conflicted. His hooded eyes had a hangdog expression and there was sweat on his forehead.

“Hey—”

“Don’t.” Ox held up a hand before Russ could say anything else. “I’m not gonna make a big deal about it. I’m relieved more than pissed.”

“What are you gonna do? Go back to the ranch?”

“I don’t know.” He bent and picked up a pair of jeans. “For now. I’m sure my mom and Melissa could use the help. But I don’t want to live in my sister’s house forever. I’ll find a place.”

“You think your clients will come with you?”

Ox had already grabbed the small book where he kept his client list. “Most of ’em, but I gotta find a place to set up, you know? Anyone have space right now?”

Russ scratched the dark stubble on his chin. “I don’t know, man. I think everyone’s pretty full. Jolie’s has four guys. I think Sacred Heart is full too, but I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks.” Ox picked up a shirt and took an undershirt from the helpful—and amused—pedestrian crossing the sidewalk. “Let me know. For now I gotta go get some boxes from Book Girl over there.”

“The girl in the bookshop?” Russ narrowed his eyes. “You’re moving up.”

“She offered me some boxes,” Ox said. “That’s all. Ginger’s imagining things.” Not that he hadn’t been looking, but everyone looked, right?

“Book Girl looks sweet, man.” Russ blew kisses at him. “I know what kinda sweet tooth you got.”

“Shut up, Russ.”

“Sweet tastes extra good after you’ve had that much sour.”

Ginger opened a window upstairs and yelled, “Russ, am I paying you to talk to unemployed deadbeats?”

Russ rolled his eyes and walked back in the shop while Ox raised his hand to Ginger in a one-fingered salute.

Moving on, Miles Oxford. Moving on and moving up.

Hopefully.