Speaking of my vibrator, I kick off the blankets and toddle into the living room. A quick perusal shows that Jake picked up in here a little bit. The pillows from the sofa are stacked, one on top of the other, and the vibe is resting on the coffee table. All of that is going to need to be cleaned. With sanitizer.

But as I stare at it, heat floods me as I remember how he wielded it. Like a pro, if there is such a thing. But if he’s not going to be around to use it, then I’m definitely going to need batteries, although I doubt that a fully charged vibe is ever going to make me feel as good as Jake did.

“Hi, Jason. Did a package get delivered to me yesterday?”

“I’ll go check, Ms. Graham.”

I busy myself with breakfast while I wait.

“Yes, came late. Must be after I left or I would have brought it up for you.”

Doubtful, I think, and rude to blame our night doorman. More likely it came during the day and Jason was just too lazy to bring it up, or at least figured that the crazy lady in apartment 3-D wouldn’t notice. But who cares? Again, I’m not going to let these little pebbles in the bottom of my shoe ruin my day. There’s a pain in my chest and yes, some regret that I woke up alone this morning. I mean, doesn’t everyone like morning sex?

I slap the spoon on the counter and shake the granola into my bowl a little too frantically. Granola? This is a morning that calls for sugary cereal. I sweep the granola into the trash and pour a heaping serving of marshmallows and chocolate crunch cereal. Too bad I can’t sweep my memories of Jake, damn him and his talented dick, into the trash with the granola.

I slam the cabinet door shut and shove a handful of cereal into my mouth.

A hot chocolate and two pounds of sugar later, I’m ready to tackle my manuscript, so that I can stop avoiding Daphne’s increasingly frantic emails. I can see by a quick review of my inbox that she’s reaching alarming stress levels. Her subject lines are now all caps and are using more exclamation points than should be allowed in any correspondence that doesn’t have to do with the New York Times list or a movie option.

Jake’s good loving along with my mild irritation at his absence spurs some creative organ in my lizard brain, and the words fall out of me. I can barely type fast enough to capture them all. I don’t leave to eat, drink, or even pee. It’s not until my stomach growls some five hours later that I look up from the screen.

My back and neck and shoulders protest when I push away from the keyboard. Sitting in one position is turning me into a hunchback. I’m going to have to use the treadmill desk for the rest of the day. In the kitchen, I hear the rhythmic bleat of my phone. Picking it up I see I’ve missed several text messages, but none of them are from Jake. “What the hell” leaps to mind, but I stamp it back down because I don’t care. I. Don’t. Care.

God, if I cared more, I might crush the phone in my hand, if that were possible. Taking a deep breath, I respond to Daphne’s first, because I’m afraid if I don’t respond I’m going to give her a coronary.

Me: I was writing. Am writing. You’ll be happy.

Her response is immediate.

Her: I’m having a heart attack over here. The managing editor was in asking when I could expect the ms. I can’t keep lying to him and telling him it’s soon if it is not going to be soon. We can’t move the publication date of this book. All the co-op is paid for. The bookstores are expecting it. (1/2)

(2/2) You’ll be ruined if you miss the date.

Me: Thanks for the reminder. I know. I’m going to finish. I promise. I’ve never let you down and I won’t start now.

I know she wants to write something further, so I block her, temporarily, so I won’t have to see her constant admonishments. After I eat this sandwich I’m going to dive back into the cave and—

And there’s a knock on the door. The phone rings at the same time and the face that pops up is Oliver.

“It’s me, Oliver,” he says from behind the door. “I’m alone,” he adds.

I hesitate before walking to the door. Jake is absolutely right, I would feel more comfortable if there were cameras and I could see who is at the door without actually going up to it. As it is, because I can’t see, I’m still nervous. Because it’s Oliver I only have to give myself a five-minute pep talk to open the door as opposed to the usual ten- to fifteen-minute one that ends up with me walking into my bedroom and putting a pillow over my head.

“Sorry,” I apologize as I let him in. “I think I’m still on edge from the clown.”

“Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t want to open the door after that clown showed up in front of mine either.” He gives me a one-armed hug and raises a deli bag. “I brought lunch.”

“You are the best cousin ever.”

“I’m your only cousin, Natalie.” He places the bag on the counter while I get the plates. “I was coming home late last night and saw your lights on. I knocked and, well, I could tell you were busy.”

My cheeks turn rosy as I guess at how he could tell I was occupied. “Was I really loud?”

He looks away. “I could, ah, tell you were enjoying yourself.”

Now we’re both blushing. I busy myself with rearranging the plates and forks.

“How much do you know about this guy?”

“A lot.”

“Like what?”

How could I share with him the things that Jake had told me? They seemed too intimate and precious to be repeating. I might not know what his favorite food is or what he enjoys doing during his spare time, but I know that he knows what it’s like to be afraid, to be different in ways that Oliver will never understand.

“Important stuff,” I say to keep things vague. Oliver looks skeptical. “What does it matter?” I ask.

“He could be taking advantage of you. I’m happy that you’re not alone, but we don’t know this Jake guy.” Oliver takes a huge bite of his sandwich.

“He must be decent, or why would you have hired him?”

“Hiring someone to investigate a potential problem isn’t the same as knowing him enough to feel comfortable about him dating your cousin.” The side of his mouth quirks up and a long crease appears. His fatal dimples don’t have the same effect on me that they do on other females, though I’m not immune to the charm.

Reaching over, I squeeze his forearm. I’ve learned that his biceps have no squeezability. “You’re the best and I’d say that if I had a dozen cousins.” I take a bite of the ham sandwich he brought me. “But I think Jake is a good guy.”

“If he is so decent, where is he now? Shouldn’t he be here eating with you instead of me?”

It takes effort not to look toward the bedroom. “I don’t ask a lot of questions about your personal life because it’s none of my business, but also because you don’t have the best relationship track record. And while you aren’t as bad as the tabloids make you out to be, you are hardly an angel.”

He scowls. “I don’t have time for a real relationship right now. You know my focus is on winning. So I look for women who want the same thing. To sleep with a winner.”

“God, Oliver, you are more than a football player.”

He shrugs me off as if it is unimportant. “Look, I’m not going to be an asshole about it. Just know I’m concerned. Plus, if I need to beat his ass up, I will.”