new neighbor? He certainly acted like it. And the Maserati fit the profile of someone who’d just bought a whole building for himself.
She willed him to look up, to see her, but he didn’t. Not that he would.
No one bothers to see me up here. The benefits of being invisible meant that she could spy with abandon.
The new neighbor was gorgeous, with a capital G. And had more money than God if he was going to live in that building all by himself. Lincoln Park real estate was anything but cheap. Just ask Chance the Rapper, who lived two streets over. Not that money alone really spoke to Chloe. Sure, she wouldn’t mind having more of it, but her Korean dad and Irish mom raised her with Midwestern values. They told her to work hard, keep her head down and not be flashy.
A strand of her nearly black hair fell into her face. She blew it off her sticky forehead and fumbled with her tank-top spaghetti strap that kept falling off her shoulder. She watched as the new neighbor directed the movers, as they unloaded the truck—a big gray sectional coming first, as they maneuvered it into the open door across the way.
At least I’m not moving a couch wearing a jumpsuit in this heat, she thought, fanning herself and taking a sip of her now-lukewarm soda.
A few minutes later she saw them maneuver the same couch into the third-floor living room. She realized then she could see the entire living room, the fireplace, a bit of the kitchen and even, when the bedroom door was open, a little of that as well. And now the shades were up and she saw movers walking about the space below. She watched the new neighbor in the alley pick up a few boxes himself, his biceps rippling beneath the weight. What kind of billionaire lifts his own boxes? Now Chloe’s curiosity was piqued. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe that wall of muscle was the billionaire’s personal assistant? Yet something told her no. It was the way he carried himself. This man was in charge, and not just of the move.
The intriguing man disappeared into the staircase. Chloe’s phone dinged then, an incoming message, an email alert. She absently went to get her phone, and scrolled through her messages. Spam, actually. She dismissed it and returned to the window, noticing that the mystery neighbor popped up at the top floor and walked the boxes into the living room. Doesn’t hurt to watch, does it? Not that they’ll see me anyway.
He hadn’t noticed her, and yet she was close enough to see his forehead start to glisten a little with sweat. For once, she was glad of her invisibility cloak. Now she could see his face a bit better as he stood at the window, looking down. He took off his sunglasses and wiped his forehead, and she could see his eyes weren’t brown. Blue, maybe? Or green? Hard to tell. He swiped at the bead of sweat on his temple.
Wish I could wipe that off...with my tongue, she found herself thinking, and then giggled to herself at the ludicrous idea as she clutched her phone in her sweaty palm. Where did that come from? It had to be because she was newly single, she figured. Suddenly, everybody was a possibility. As she finished off her can of soda, she watched the new neighbor dump a box in the living room and then run an arm across his own sweaty brow. Then, to her utter surprise, he whipped off his tee.
Oh...my. Hello there, sexy. She hadn’t seen such an amazing chest before except on the giant posters of her gym. He had abs, yes, and that amazing little vee stretching down into his low-slung khakis. His well-defined pecs and chiseled arms seemed like they should be wielding a hammer.
She also noticed this bad boy had tattoos. A big one across his right arm and shoulder. What was it? She couldn’t make it out. She pulled up her phone’s camera and then zoomed in, trying to get a better look. Was the tattoo part of a wing? She wasn’t sure.
Okay, what bazillionaire lifted his own boxes and had tattoos? Chloe shook her head. The new neighbor was all kinds of mystery rolled into some serious eye candy. He patted his face with his own shirt, and Chloe felt like she’d suddenly been taken out of time. Everything she watched seemed to be on a slow-motion reel, even as her sexy new neighbor grabbed a bottle of water and took a deep swig. She watched his Adam’s apple bob and suddenly wished he’d dump the whole bottle on his head.
What’s wrong with you? This isn’t a male revue, for goodness’ sake. Chloe tried to mentally shake herself, but she still sat at the window anyway, transfixed. She clutched the phone in her hand. Should she take a picture? She was tempted. Then the dazzling neighbor moved away from the window and out of sight.
Dammit. Where did the bad boy with the abs go?
She pushed forward, trying to see, and her spaghetti strap slipped again from her shoulder. She wore no bra, since it was too hot for one in her opinion, and the fabric of her shirt slung dangerously low, but she didn’t pay it any mind. She was too focused on getting one more glimpse of her Nordic god neighbor.
Where had he gone? She couldn’t see him at the windows anymore. The door to the roof creaked open then, and she saw him head out on the slate tile of the patio. Now he was even closer, a perfect place to take a picture. Should she? Her friends would never believe such a hunky man had moved in. And what if he was famous? An actor, maybe? From Chicago Fire or one of the dozens of regular shows that filmed in downtown Chicago?
She held up her phone, debating whether to take a shot, when he suddenly glanced up and their eyes met. For a second, she froze from sheer shock. Surely he wasn’t actually seeing her. Nobody saw her up here. But he gave a slight nod of his head, a little smile, and she realized he had seen her. He held his hand up in a wave.
Horrified, Chloe scrambled to hide her phone, but the sudden movement sent the smartphone slipping out of her sweaty grasp. She watched helplessly as her phone—brand-new—toppled out of her open window. She leaned out of the window, but it was too late. Her prized possession was taken by gravity. It flipped downward to the alley below, missing his shiny new Maserati by inches, landing between it and the moving truck with a sickening crack on the asphalt.
She glanced back up at the neighbor, who seemed surprised, but was watching her—not the phone. He was transfixed, frozen, and that was when she realized—too late—she was hanging out of her window, practically falling out of her tank top, the fabric so low she was flashing the man her nipples.
Chloe, mortified, pulled up her shirt, ducked away from her window and retreated to her kitchen, her heart pounding.
That’s just great. Throw your phone out the window. Flash the neighbor. Maybe he’ll throw you some Mardi Gras beads.
The heat of embarrassment burned her cheeks. Maybe he’s gay and doesn’t care. At least, she could hope for that. After a few minutes, Chloe felt like an idiot standing barefoot in her kitchen. She wondered if he was still there. Carefully, she tiptoed from her kitchen, and then kicked herself. He can’t hear me, she scolded, and tried to catch a glimpse far from her window. But when she looked out, she didn’t see the bad boy anymore. She slunk closer to the window, trying to hide herself behind a side curtain. Nope. The deck below her sat empty except for the potted plants.
Then she remembered her phone, dropped four stories onto the ground below. She needed that—it was her lifeline!
She didn’t have time to change. What if someone stepped on it? What if someone stole it? She roused herself out of her stupor and moved to her front door. She jammed her feet into flip-flops and headed for the staircase. She swung open the back door ready to jump into the alley and nearly collided with...her new neighbor.
He was holding her mangled and decidedly cracked phone in his hand. “Uh... I think you dropped this?”
Standing
