Tathan’s shiny Lexus is in the parking lot at our apartment building when I get off work, the silver paint gleaming in the setting sun, parked next to Casey’s car.

Casey usually stays the night with me on Fridays since Bryan works the night shift on the weekends.

I’m inside the lobby with its air-conditioning blasting my face. I check my mailbox, and sure enough, he’s taken my mail, again. I want to remind him stealing someone’s mail is a federal offense, but I’m sure to a guy like him that wouldn’t matter. I’d call the cops, but he’d probably wink, and the officer would let it go. Or my luck a female officer would show up, and he’d invite her in.

Instead, I ask the receptionist who usually ignores me. “Excuse me, Ms., can you tell me how someone could get into my mailbox?” I hold my keys up, dangling them in the air. “My mail is missing nearly every day, and my neighbor takes it.”

Ripping out her earbud, the girl behind the counter stares at me like I’m speaking a language she doesn’t understand. “What?”

I frown, knowing I’m not getting anywhere with this gum-popping twit. “Never mind.”

Making my way upstairs, I pound my fist on Tathan’s door and almost die when he opens it. He’s still wearing the jeans from earlier only the shirt is gone. It’s everything I can do to, one, not run my fingertips over the muscles popping out, and two, not stare, but when he turns his back, I do wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth and follow him inside.

“Where’s my mail?”

He gives a small grin, rubbing the back of his left hand down the side of his jaw. “Where’s that dog of yours?”

“Haven’t freed him yet.”

“I set your mail over there.” He points to his dining room table.

Okay, so he’s making me get it myself. Probably so he can trap me inside and tie me up. Not that I’m against that sort of thing. I’d probably let him tie me up at this point. Sadly.

I’m not sure what to expect when I step foot in the apartment as I’ve never been inside before. We’ve lived next door to each other for months now, and this is my first adventure inside.

Not gonna lie, I half expected to see whips and chains around the room or maybe an X-rated room like Jade as well as a box of porn on the counter, but no such luck.

He’s actually normal.

Lining the walls of the entryway are family photos of him and his brothers. Even some of Aldon and him when they were younger. The more I look around, the harder it is to remember why I hate him.

Earlier today, I googled the symptoms of Chlamydia in a female so I could repeat them to myself whenever I have a lapse in judgment, like now. I try to repeat them, but I can’t seem to recall even one of the symptoms.

Casually, I glance around the apartment, which is exactly the same layout as mine, but still seems different. His furnishings are modern, with cool spa-like colors on the walls. It’s somewhat relaxing with the framed black-and-white photos everywhere.

Immediately, I recognize the style of them. They have the same markings as the ones in the office at work, the same ones in the coffee shop, and the same ones in the foyer of our apartment complex.

The photographer Casey’s trying to land. This Elliott Warren is literally everywhere I look.

Though I have no reason to be annoyed with this Elliott guy, I’m annoyed at how everyone worships his photography. Nobody is that good at taking pictures that the whole city has to treat him like he’s the Paris Hilton of the photography world.

I’ll admit hating this guy has more to do with the fact that everyone loved my ex-boyfriend in high school. Everyone. Even my dad thought he was the greatest. And look how that turned out. It was awful. He was lying, deceitful and a bastard.

“Not you too,” I groan. “Everyone is obsessed with Elliott Warren. I mean Christ, you’d think the guy was a member of the Beatles or some shit.”

Tathan smirks and looks up at me with a contemplative expression. “Hmm. . . well, he’s good at what he does. Don’t you think?”

“Pft. . .” I wave my hand around. “Overrated if you ask me.”

He lets out a laugh that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, or a cough, can’t be sure, but it surprises me and makes me smile. It’s adorable and has me wanting to stay and banter longer, but I must go for the sake of my will. If I stay longer, he may weaken me.

“He has Chlamydia,” I repeat this several times as I walk toward the door, but unfortunately, I say it out loud.

“Who has Chlamydia?” He smiles, looking at his phone and then at me as if he can’t quite figure me out.

Believe me, dude, I can’t even figure myself out these days.

I ignore him. “I better go before Casey decides to sign me up for eHarmony.” I motion to the door.

She has a key to my apartment and I know damn well she’s trying to marry me off. Since she got engaged, it’s become her mission to find me a guy to marry, like she wants me to suffer with her.

“Night, Amalie.”

God, why do you have to talk so sexily?

“Yeah, you too.” I smile, trying to be nice for once.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I look forward to getting my mail every night from him. I don’t even ask how he gets inside my locking mailbox to get it. Pathetic, I know. I’ve only just begun this plan, and I’m already falling for my manwhore neighbor/cubicle partner from hell. It’s like I’m a glutton for punishment, or worse, like I’m trying to become the president of his Crush Brigade. God, help me.

As I expect, when I make my way inside my apartment, Casey has my laptop open and is creeping on my Facebook page.

I knew I should have logged out last night. Shaking my head, I walk toward the living room to put my mail on my counter, never bothering to look at it.

Oliver practically attacks me as soon as I’m through the door. All body wiggles and snorts and trying to get me to pet him.

Casey twists her head, grinning, which makes me nervous because whenever she acts like this, it’s because she’s done something she shouldn’t have. Like signing me up for eHarmony or Match.com. She’s done it four times, and every time I’ve deleted the profile she created for me.

As I step closer, the nerves creep over me. My page is up on Facebook, and she’s looking at the notifications in the upper right corner of the screen.

I’m going to kill her. That’s it. No need for her to get married because she will be dead. “Did you—?” I look at the notification she’s focused on.

Tathan Madsen has accepted your friend request.

What.

The.

Fuck.

She can’t be serious.

“Say what?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Casey’s eyes widen, scanning my apartment and never landing on my face. “I went to click on his name, and it pressed the button to friend him.”

Bull. Shit. She’s trying to defend herself with a lie. I know this because Casey can’t lie. If she does, she won’t look at you. And look at her now, eyes roaming.

“Casey Ann McDaniel!” Stomping over to her, I slap her shoulder. “What have you done?”

She pushes a glass of wine she poured for me in my direction, knowing this would be my reaction. “I’m sorry?”

“Casey.” I moan, throwing myself on the couch and flopping my arms over my face. “The friend button isn’t anywhere near his name. That wasn’t an accident, and now he’s going to think I like him.”

She makes a snorting noise. “Because you do.”

I don’t answer her because I’m too busy thinking about how to fix this. That certainly explains the grin when I was over there.

Goddamn it. That’s just fucking great. Now he’s gonna think I like him. There goes any plan I had to make him miserable. I can’t do that if we’re Facebook friends. “How do you cancel that?”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I jab my finger offensively at the screen. “Unfriend him.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You like him, admit it. There’s no harm in being Facebook friends with him and look at his page, the dude’s deep.”

Deep? Not likely.

“I do not like him.” As much as I don’t want to, my eyes drift to the screen and his profile page plastered with photographs of sunrises. Son of a sucker. “I hate. . . him.” Christ, that was damn near painful to say.

As always, Casey sees through my lies and rolls her eyes. “Sure you do.”

Screw her and her logical points.

As I contemplate my next move, I drink a glass of wine with Oliver on my lap. But as hard as I try to avoid the screen, I crack and stalk Tathan’s Facebook page and all his pictures once Casey is asleep and not there to watch me drool over my neighbor.

He has a ton of photos. The man is a photo whore. Tons of selfies of him and his brothers and sunset pictures from all over the world. Not kidding, there’s one from Egypt. Fucking Egypt.

I do notice he has photographed sunsets from a hill in Phoenix I recognize as Camelback Mountain. I hike it all the time.

Scanning through each one, it’s clear he’s a family man, passionate, and has one special spot, just like me where he goes, and nothing else matters, but his thoughts.

Damn it. I knew it. He’s a nice guy.