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I shot her a glare. “It’s about my neighbor.”
Both women waited, not moving a muscle.
I sucked on my margarita until I gave myself a brain freeze, then groaned with my head in my hands for a while. “We kind of…kissed,” I admitted to the table.
A sharp intake of breath from Sophie. A whistle from Abigail, and she spoke first. “Was it good?”
I shifted my hands so they covered my face, then split my fingers open so I could look at them. “He made me come.”
“From a kiss?” Abigail shrieked, then slapped her hand over her mouth. A few people glanced over, and we all crouched down in the booth.
“We might have done more than kiss.”
“Did you…” She made a gesture like she was a teenage boy with an overdeveloped sense of humor.
“No. We just…he just…touched.”
“Oh my gawd.” Abigail leaned back and took a slug of wine. “I’m in shock. Does this place have a defibrillator?”
Sophie’s eyes were wide. “Are you okay?”
Abigail lifted a hand. “That is the wrong question, I’m afraid. The correct question is what the hell happened? I want a second-by-second recap.”
“You’re not getting one,” I told her. “I don’t even know how I feel or how it happened. I came home to this demolition notice on my door.”
“What?” they both exclaimed.
I dug through my purse and brought out the crumpled sheet of yellow paper I’d retrieved from the floor outside Sebastian’s apartment. “This was tacked onto my door when I got home.”
They peered at the notice. Abigail met my gaze. “And then you confronted him, and he put his hands down your pants.” She arched a brow.
“Well…yeah.”
Her lips twitched.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Do not laugh at me right now.”
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
“It’s not funny.”
“No one said it was.”
I glared at Abigail, then groaned as I massaged my temples. “It was a mistake. I know that. I’m just…confused. And angry. He’s trying to kick me out of my home.”
Sophie inhaled, and we both glanced at her. She arched her brows at me, a softness entering her eyes. “Are you sure that’s what he wants? He doesn’t seem like that much of a bad guy to me.”
“Based on what?” Abigail asked, skeptical.
“He got her a coffee,” Sophie said. “You don’t figure out what someone’s favorite coffee is and go out of your way to get it unless you’ve got some kind of heart.”
“Did he go out of his way, though?” Abigail asked. “You told me he stops in nearly every day. Seems like it was very much on his way, and we shouldn’t give him too much credit for one measly coffee.”
“Whatever about the coffee,” I interjected. “What am I going to do about my home?”
