Tonight, as in every night over the last week, he glanced up at Courtney’s balcony half a block before he reached home. And tonight, as in every night for the last week, he was disappointed. She hadn’t come out on her balcony once since the night of the lasagna.
But she was at home most nights. He usually arrived after dark, and her living room lights shone through her French doors like a beacon guiding him safely home and unleashing a deep longing for something more than his lonely apartment. But today her windows were dark, leaving him oddly adrift. Where was she at eight thirty on a Monday night?
The answer came to him as he started up the stairs. She was probably having dinner with her friends at the Jaybird. He hesitated midflight. The Jaybird was a short walk. It wouldn’t break any rules for him to go down there for a drink. Plus he could really go for one of the Jaybird’s Swiss burgers.
He jettisoned the idea. Ambushing Courtney at the Jaybird would be stupid and immature. If he wanted to have a conversation with her, he’d have to cross the hallway and knock on her door.
He climbed the rest of the stairs and entered his apartment.
So it wasn’t like some place out of a magazine. It was still comfortable, and he hadn’t spent much money on furniture. He’d even gotten creative over the weekend—buying some slate-gray paint and rolling it on the long wall as an accent. He liked it. And it gave him a sense of pride that he’d done it himself instead of calling up some chichi decorator.
He paused a moment, just inside the door, taking it all in.
He should enjoy it while it lasted. Because he knew darn well Mom had not given up. One day he was going to step inside his front door and feel like he’d walked into someone else’s world. When would Mom—and Aunt Pam, who was clearly egging her on—get out of his life?
Short answer: never.
But for now, his apartment was neat and tidy, the way he liked it. And best of all, Ghul came racing out of the bedroom to greet him as if the cat had missed him while he was away.
He dropped his briefcase and snagged the cat for a quick cuddle and a scratch behind the ears. Ghul wasn’t all that into affection though. Not like Doom, who’d moved in next door. Or more precisely, the cat who had been stolen from him.
The thought annoyed him for some reason, and so did his empty refrigerator. He grabbed a beer and ordered a pizza and then fired up the fifty-inch flat-screen TV he’d bought over the weekend. He flipped through several channels and settled on the Nats game, which was tied in the bottom of the fourth inning.
He collapsed on his couch. Waiting.
Waiting for the pizza man to arrive. Waiting for the Nats to score. Waiting for his father’s respect. Waiting for Mom to swoop in with fabric swatches. Waiting for real life to begin. Waiting for Courtney to come home.
Dammit.
Courtney wasn’t going to bridge that gap between his apartment and hers, was she? If Matt wanted her, he’d have to go after her. But how could he do that honorably? He’d never lied to any woman about his intentions, and he wouldn’t lie to Courtney.
Of course, he’d been perfectly happy to let women lie to themselves. But Courtney didn’t do that sort of thing. Courtney was always so honest with herself.
Restlessness consumed him. He popped up from the sofa and paced the length of his living room a few times before he threw open the French doors and stepped onto his balcony. The midsummer sun had finally set, leaving the world in twilight.
Dammit. He wanted to cross the divide between them. He wanted to feel Courtney in his arms and sink himself into her body. He also wanted to talk to her and share things with her. He wanted her to trust him. And he wanted to trust her.
But none of that would ever happen if he stood here waiting for it. In fact, nothing in his life was going to happen if all he ever did was wait around for it.
Chapter Fifteen
Courtney should have stopped after her second Manhattan. If she had, her walk home would have been less harrowing. She could have floated along on a buzz instead of stumbling a tiny bit.
And she would have been better prepared for what awaited her at home in the form of the ridiculously handsome Matt Lyndon lounging on his balcony with a long-necked beer in his hand.
If she’d been sober, she could have ignored him or even pretended that she didn’t see him. But no. Her brain was semi-pickled, and so she stood there looking up at him and said, “Hi,” and then giggled like an idiot.
He leaned on the railing. “You’ve been drinking,” he said, his eyebrow doing its thing.
She stumbled slightly because looking up messed with her balance. “Did you take lessons?”
His mouth tipped into a smile. “I took a lot of lessons. Which ones are you talking about?”
“The one where you learned how to do that thing with your eyebrow.”
He chuckled. “No. Everyone in the family does that. You should see my father. It’s very intimidating.”
She nodded. “I’m going up now. Have a nice night.” There. She’d been adult. Polite. Now all she had to do was make it to her apartment in one piece.
She dug in her shoulder bag, searching for the key that would open the building’s outer door. Damn. Her keys were in here somewhere. She shook her purse, satisfied by the metallic jingle. She stumbled sideways a little. Damn, it was dark out here.
She squatted down and rested her purse on the pavement as she dug deeper. She almost fell over
