“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

“Let me come up?” He tucked his phone into his front pocket. Straight to the point. Not can I but let me. No How have you been? Or Sorry about that time I crushed your heart to dust or even How is Daisy, the Aussiedoodle I gifted you for Christmas, even though you told me you were allergic to dogs no less than three times, and your friends now dub her Assholedoodle for her tendency to piss in people’s shoes?

I clutched the lapels of my thin summer jacket, furious at myself for the way my fingers shook. “I’d rather not. If this is about you screwing your way through New York, you’ve got the wrong address. You can checkmark my name.”

Summer heat bled from the concrete, curling over my feet like smoke. The darkness of the night did nothing to dim how hot it was. Manhattan was sticky, bloated with sweat and hormones. The street buzzing with couples and shark packs of tourists, rowdy coworkers, and college kids up to no good. I didn’t want a public scene, but I wanted him in my apartment even less. Know the expression If anyone can have it, I don’t want it? That applied to his body. After we’d broken up, it had taken me weeks to rid my bedsheets of that singular Chase Black smell. He’d followed me everywhere, like a dark cloud with a bellyful of rain. I could still feel the fat swell of tears behind my eyelids when I thought about him.

“Look, I know you’re upset,” he started, his tone guarded, like he was entering a negotiation with an undomesticated honey badger.

I cut him off shakily, surprised by my own assertiveness. “Upset? I’m upset about my laundry machine breaking down. About my puppy chewing her way through the crocheted blue poncho I bought last winter, and about waiting for the next season of The Masked Singer.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but I held my hand up, waving it for emphasis. “What you did to me didn’t upset me, Chase. It devastated me. I don’t mind admitting it now, because I’m so over you I forgot how it even felt to be under you.” I barely took a breath before spewing more volcanic arson his way. “No, you’re not coming up. Whatever you have to say to me”—I pointed at the ground beneath me—“this is your stage.”

He ran a hand through his hair, so black and soft looking it made my chest tighten, eyeing me like I was a ticking bomb he had to diffuse. I couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed, remorseful, or exasperated. He seemed like a mixture of all three. I’d never known what he felt, even when he was deep inside me. I’d lie there, looking into his eyes, and see my own reflection staring back at me.

I crossed my arms, wondering what had prompted his visit. I hadn’t heard from him since we’d broken up six months ago. But I had heard from Sven, my boss, about the women Chase had brought back to his penthouse in the aftermath of our breakup. My boss lived in the same glitzy Park Avenue building as Chase. Apparently, the latter hadn’t been crying himself to sleep.

“Please.” The word twisted in his mouth uncomfortably, like it was made of gravel. Chase Black was not accustomed to asking for things nicely. “It is a rather personal issue. I’d appreciate not having your entire street as an audience.”

I fished for my keys in my little clutch, stomping my way up the stairs. He was still on the first step, his eyes burning a hole through my back. The one time he looked at me with anything but frost, and I was completely immune to it. I pushed the building entrance door open, ignoring his plea. Funny, I’d always thought it’d feel divine to dismiss him the way he’d dismissed me. But right now, my feelings swirled among hurt, anger, and confusion. Triumph was nowhere in sight, and glee was miles away. I was almost past the threshold when his next words gave me pause.

“Too scared to give me ten minutes of your time?” he challenged, the smirk in his voice like a stab in my back. I froze. Now I recognized him. Cold, calculated. Playfully ruthless. “If you’re so over me and not at all tempted to be under me once we get upstairs, you can go back to your blissful, Chase-free existence after I say my piece, no?”

Scared? He thought I was scared? If I were any more immune to his charms at this point, I’d actively throw up at his sight.

I swiveled, jutting my hip out, a polite smile on my lips. “Cocky much?”

“Just enough to get your attention,” he deadpanned, looking awfully like a man who didn’t want to be here.

What is he doing here, anyway?

“Five minutes will do, and you better behave.” I pointed at him with my clutch.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He put a hand on his chest mockingly.

“At least our hopes are aligned.”

That drew a chuckle out of him. I fled up to my apartment on the second floor, not bothering to glance behind me and see if he followed. I tried to sort through the reasons he was here. Maybe he’d just gotten out of rehab for treating his destructive sex addiction. We’d only dated for six months, but during that time, it had been pretty obvious Chase wouldn’t rest until I had carpet burns all over my back and walked wonky the next day. Not that I’d had any complaints at the time—sex was a part of our relationship that had worked well—but he was an insatiable tomcat.

Yes, I decided. This was probably a part of his twelve-step recovery process. Make amends with those he’d hurt. He was going to apologize and leave, and we’d both have our closure. A cleansing experience, really. It would make starting things with Ethan even more perfect.

“I can practically hear you overthinking,” Chase grumbled, ascending the stairs behind me. Funny, he didn’t sound apologetic at all. Just his usual jerk-face self.

“I can practically feel your eyes on my ass,” I ping-ponged flatly.

“You can feel other parts of me on it if you’re so inclined.”

Don’t stab him with a steak knife, Maddie. He is not worth the prison time.

“Who’s the guy?” He yawned provocatively. There was always a devilish edge to his words. He delivered everything in a deadpan manner, a touch of irony to remind you he was better than you.

“Gee. Wow.” I shook my head, huffing. He had some nerve asking me about Ethan.

“G-Wow? Is he a rapper? If so, he needs a makeover. Tell him about the Black & Co. Club. We’re running a fifteen percent promotional discount on personal-stylist services.”

I flipped him the bird without turning around, ignoring his dark chuckle.

We stopped by my door. Layla lived opposite me, in the other apartment that had been converted into a studio when our landlord had cut his property bang in the middle. Layla had been the first to move to New York after we’d graduated. When she’d told me the studio apartment in front of hers was going to be available because the couple had moved to Singapore, and the landlord preferred a tidy resident who paid on time, I’d jumped on the opportunity. Layla was a preschool teacher by day and a babysitter by evenings to supplement her income. I found it difficult to remember seeing her not holding a toddler in her arms or doing cutouts of letters and numbers for class the next day. Layla plastered a word of the day to her door each morning. It was a great way for her to talk to me even when we weren’t talking to each other throughout the day. Over the years, I’d grown attached to Layla’s daily words. They were companions, little signs of a sort. Predictions on how my day was going to be. I’d forgotten to look at it today in my haste to get to work.