Still, he keeps that damn pic. I snatch it up, hands clenching around the frame. Part of me wants to rip it apart and remove her from our lives forever.

Where are you? I bought your beer, asshole, pops up on my phone.

Sorry. Unexpected errand, I reply to Aiden.

And you told ME not to be late. What’s your ETA?

Leaving the frame and my dad in the bedroom, I head back to the kitchen, halting at the mess. Empty beer bottles, takeout containers, and dirty dishes litter the table and countertops. I close my eyes, wishing it would magically disappear. Of course it doesn’t. Shit. I plop down at the table and fire off a text: Something came up. See you tomorrow.

He sends a flurry of pissed-off messages. I ignore them. Dad comes first.

Chapter 4

GISELLE

With a kiss to my cheek, Topher lets me out at the curb, and I pad over to the stoop of the brownstone, an old three-story building with a spacious apartment on each level. With lots of charm and close to Vanderbilt, it comes with the perfect landlady.

Dressed in her orange-and-purple muumuu, Myrtle stands on the sidewalk, her Yorkie, Pookie, sniffing at the one tree we have. Sixty and the closest thing I have to a bestie, she plucks a joint out from behind her ear and lights it. Mostly it’s for her horrid migraines, but she gets it illegally, and it worries me. Pink lipstick outlines her lips as she takes a deep drag. A former model forty years ago in New York, she married a middling movie producer, eventually divorced him, and moved to Nashville to pursue a country music career that never panned out. Now she owns the building and writes poetry, some of it published.

With a grimace at my bare feet, she says, “Prince Charming?”

I plop down on the third step. “Charlie was an alligator-wearing weasel.”

“Ah. The emu?”

“We didn’t get that far, and I was afraid to ask. I need some wine with a side of Ragnar Lothbrok. You up for a Vikings binge session?”

She takes a toke. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“How’s your head?”

“Better now. How did the advisor meeting go?”

Dread inches up my spine as I tell her about my meeting at Vandy. “He isn’t going to recommend me for CERN, he isn’t happy with my teaching methods, and my work last semester was not impressive.” I sigh as the words fall out. He’s not wrong about last semester.

She lets out a wave of smoke, and I inhale the smell. “I’m still waiting on the next Vureck and Kate chapter. Is she going to escape the ship?”

I’ve been writing a sci-fi novel for the past five months. A romance, of all things, although the writing didn’t quite start out like that—it just sort of happened. Science has been the center of my world since I discovered Einstein in elementary school, but writing is a way to vent my frustrations. “He’s finally given her clothing after scanning her for disease, but now he’s locked her in an antigravity chamber, and she can’t cross the threshold. She needs to disable the control pad to escape. Haven’t figured out how.”

“Loss of power on the ship?” she offers. “His pet snake slithers into the chamber with the tools to get her out?”

“Because a snake can carry tools.” I smile.

“It’s an alien snake. Give him little fingers.”

I jerk out my phone and take notes. “Maybe. Or the big guy is tormented in his sleep, since he has a murky past, and he sleepwalks up to her prison, opens it himself—”

“Because he secretly wants to bang her—only he hasn’t acknowledged it. Just give the purple alien a big dick. Size does matter; I don’t care what Cosmo says.”

I grin. “She pops out and makes a run for it, and he grabs her, and they fall to the ground. His seven-foot muscled frame lands on her, and she’s soft and silky, and he’s never seen a female form the color of hers . . .” My voice trails off as ideas flash in my head, and when I glance up, she’s smiling wryly at me.

“Your eyes light up when you talk about them. There’s an artist inside you.”

Ha. I sigh, stuffing my phone back in my bag. “My classmates would think my writing is ridiculous.”

“Ah, you care what people think. My old age gives a fresh perspective, I guess, but if you want to be happy, do what makes your heart fly. Every breath you inhale must be meaningful. What do you really want, Giselle?”

I don’t know. Not anymore.

Her words settle inside me, twisting around. Now that CERN is gone, my career goals feel uncertain. What will I do now? Graduate. Teach. Research. Sure, but is that all? What about love and my dreams of a family? When it comes down to it, physics is all I have left, the only thing I trust, and that life stretches in front of me, empty. That tight feeling in my throat rushes back.

Pookie pees, then runs over and jumps in my lap.

I stroke the dog’s hair, plucking at the pink barrette on her head. “I’ve made so many bad choices lately—Preston, ugh, what a disaster. At least physics won’t disappoint me.” My voice cracks, surprising me, a testament to my very bad day. “I had an argument with Devon.”

“Oh dear. You hate confrontations. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out,” she says, sitting down next to me, and I recount the date with Rodeo, then reenact both sides of the minifight between me and Devon. Sometimes it’s torturous, especially for those bad things you’d rather forget, but I have an eidetic memory, where I remember almost perfect mental images as well as auditory occurrences and other sensory recall. I’ll never be able to forget how Devon smelled and how he felt when I was pressed against his chest. Hard chiseled muscles, the scent of summer and delicious male. I sum it up with, “I had a good old-fashioned hissy fit and stormed out. It’s Jack’s fault, but now Devon sees me as someone he needs to protect.” I scratch Pookie under the chin. “Every time he looks at me, he’s thinking about my virginity. He’s wondering what’s wrong with me. Explains the gaze at the wedding.”

She pats my hand, her mascara heavy on her lashes as she juts the joint at me. “You look like you need a toke.”

I grin.

“You’re already getting a contact high. Might as well. Opens the brain waves for free thinking.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I need my brain cells to stay focused at the moment.”

She laughs just as my phone buzzes. I groan at the caller, Mama, and press straight to voice mail as I stand up. “Maybe next time. A daughter’s duty calls.”

Setting the dog down at her feet, I study her face. “I didn’t ask about your day. How was it?”

She twirls her bejeweled hands. “Fuse box in the basement is on the fritz. Something electrical. Garbage truck never showed. Pookie crapped in my kitten heels. The usual.” She wets her blunt by pinching it, then sticks it back behind her ear as she ambles behind me to the wide front door.

“Nothing exciting, huh?”

She grimaces. “If you’re asking if I talked to Mr. Brooks, I did not. His bald head and wrinkled lips can kiss my petunia.”

I throw my arm around her. Mr. Brooks was her long-term boyfriend until they broke it off around the same time Preston and I ended. We’ve commiserated together ever since.

“Sorry.”