The store I ordered my new furniture from said to expect delivery between 2 and 4 pm. It’s 4:15 when two guys in their mid-twenties knock on my door and greet me without an apology for being late. They take one look at the staircase that leads to my room and shake their heads. “We can leave them out front for you,” one tells me, a smirk pulling on his lips. It’s Friday, so close to the end of their work day, and I can imagine how perfect it would be to dump my shit on the front lawn and bail out early to the nearest pub. I almost allow them to do just that so I don’t have to speak to them or be around them for longer than I have to. I already miss the solitude of my room, and it’s only been forty seconds since I left it.

Even if they did leave my furniture, I couldn’t carry it all up on my own. Bradley’s gone home for the weekend, and Miles isn’t due back for another week. I guess I could always ask the girls next door. But no. I’d rather dislodge my eyeballs with a crowbar. So instead, I find myself pointing behind me. “You can access it from out back,” I say, my voice stronger than my confidence. “The stairs are straight and the doorway’s wider.”

“Whatever, man. Just show us where to go.”

I lead them to the side of the house, past the girls’ place, willing myself not to look in there, and point to my stairs.

On our final trip to the truck and back, the girls’ sliding door opens, and I cringe when Milky (that can’t be her real name) steps out, barefoot, wearing nothing but her semi-see-through underwear and an open robe. The delivery guy who’s stayed silent the entire time hisses out a “fuck” and drops my sofa to the ground. I curse, too, not because of Milky, but because he may have just damaged my brand-new shit.

“What’s going on?” Milky asks through a yawn, her hair a mess, but everything else about her made of most guys’ wet dreams.

“Just doing our jobs,” sofa-dropper says.

I urge them to get back to work—in my head, not out loud—and offer a lip-tilt to Milky when her gaze meets mine.

After giving the guys a tip they don’t deserve, I wait until they’re out of my room before grabbing my tools to assemble the desk that’d been delivered. I hear voices downstairs, Milky and the guys, mainly her talking and them laughing, and I should really go down there, tell her to cover herself up, that it’s not appropriate. But that would mean talking to her, and I can already feel the blood rushing to my face at the thought of it. Besides, I’m not her dad. It’s not my place.

I tear open the box, pull out the instructions of mainly picture diagrams and get to work. I don’t get far before there’s a knock on my balcony door. Careful not to put a screw out of place, I get up and stride over there. Milky’s standing on my balcony, unchanged from her disheveled state, a clay bowl holding three strange rocks in her hands. She smiles, baring her perfect teeth, and shoves the bowl at my chest. I grab onto it quickly, so it doesn’t fall and smash to pieces. “It’s for you,” she says. “Well, for you and your friend. It’s a housewarming present.”

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Thanks” is all I come up with.

She giggles, her breasts bouncing with the force, and I look away, my cheeks flaming wildfire right in front of her. Then she flicks the brim of my cap, loosening it from my head. “You’re cute.”

I blink.

“You got a girl?”

I shake my head, using one hand to hold the bowl, the other to adjust my cap. The provocative girl in front of me oozes confidence, something I should be used to. All Christa’s friends were just like her: self-assured and sexy in their own eyes and the majority of the people around them. But Christa’s friends lacked substance. Not that I’m judging Milky as that. I don’t even know her.

And now I feel like an ass.

“My sister got it for you,” she says, “Andromeda—she’s into all that shit.”

“Shit?” It comes out a whisper.

She tugs her robe around her, finally hiding her body, and points to my hands. “Like crystals and magical healing or whatever. I can get her to come around when she’s home. She can tell you what they all mean.”

I stare. Blink. Stare some more. Then I shake my head. Stay silent.

Milky giggles again. “You sure you don’t got a girl?”

Dropping my head to hide my blush, I deliver another head shake and pray the sweat on my palms doesn’t ruin the clay bowl.

“What about your friend?”

I look up, slightly composed now that the attention’s off me. “Bradley?” I smile.

“Wow. Your smile...”

Aaand I’m back glaring at the fascination that is my feet.

“You know most guys pay to see me naked. For you, I’d wave the fee.”

My gaze shoots up, my eyes wide, jaw unhinged.

She all-out laughs, hugging her stomach. Then she waves. “Tell Bradley I said hi.”