"The girl next door," he bit out, eyes pinching closed in what looked suspiciously like a plea for patience.

Though honestly, it couldn't have been even a full minute since she'd first darkened his doorstep, so, seriously, what was with the attitude? Sure, she'd been looking. But the door was open. And he'd been the one stripping in front of it.

"Mmm-hmm...okay, or...umm...girl downstairs, really. But either waya"

His jaw ticced twice. "Christ, I don't need this."

Maggie's wide-eyed stare shifted from the six-foot-plus stretch of hard-cut, stubble-rough, and overtly-hostile male braced against the door frame, down to the seemingly benign plate of cookies and back.

Was she missing something?

Only then the guy raked a hand through the damp mess of his hair and blew out a strained breath. "Look, Apartment Two. Whatever you're offering, I'm not interested."

Maggie's chin snapped back.

No. Way.

"Whatever I'm offering?"

The hard slant of his mouth and pointed jut of his chin were as much as he had to say on the subject. More than enough to make his meaning clear.

Her mouth gaped as disbelief and outrage kicked off a turf war deep within her chest.

Did this knuckle dragger actually think hea?

And worse, was he suggesting shea?

Not in this lifetime, bub.

Sure, the guy wasn't an eyesore. He had a built-tough body going on with all the hard-packed and high-definition to boot. But so very special? So irresistible Maggie figured her best bet for getting a jump on the competition was to make her move...with cookies at nine on a Sunday morning?

Uh-uh.

And to think, she'd felt bad for him lugging all his crap up the three flights on his own. But yeah, didn't that make perfect sense now.

What a dick.

"So we're clear, the only thing on offer here, Apartment Three..." Maggie tucked the milk into the crook of her elbow and folded the plastic wrap back from the plate, infusing the air around them with the pure essence of melted chocolate, toasted oats, and the rich buttery goodness of a family recipe so sacred that only three people in the world knew it.

Helpless under the aromatic assault, the jerk-off's eyes went briefly unfocused before dropping to the cookies.

Selecting the biggest one, Maggie lifted it to her mouth and bit, chewing with deliberate relish before cracking the lid on the milk and taking a long, slow swallow.

Satisfied when the muscles of the guy's throat worked up and down, she re-covered the plate. "...is my suggestion you look over your rental agreement regarding noise pollution and turn your music down. Or at least close youra"

The door swung shut in her face.

Unbelievable. But at least she didn't need to waste another breath on the jerk.

"He actually called you aApartment Two'?" Ava Meyers, Maggie's best friend and fellow abstainer in all things relationship, shook her head, her mahogany shag catching in the light breeze and blowing around her face. They were settled in on their favorite bench with the usual Sunday assortment of accumulated mail, magazines, electronic devices, and what remained of the cookies. "Like you didn't merit an identity beyond the female occupying space beneath him."

Maggie scrolled through headlines, her snit too distracting to commit to any one bit of news. "Ford says he's in marketing. Freelance. And he's from New York, I think, renting month to month, so maybe we'll luck out and he'll be gone by September."

"Month to month? Weird. Why?"

"Your brother. You ask."

Ava let out an indelicate snort. Ford was...distracted. That they'd even gotten this much information was a minor miracle.

Picking through the cookies, she added, "I love it that he thought you were putting a move on him, though."

"I know. Because that's so me," Maggie snickered. "Scoping out the meat market twenty-four-seven."

Talk about a headache she didn't need. Not when at twenty-seven, her life was pretty well perfect just the way it was. Stable. Secure. On track. Built on a rock-solid foundation of priorities any guidance counselor would swoon over. Maggie had completed her education, had savings and a financial plan, a solid job managing the Shrone Gallery and her boss's cosmic blessing to buy into the business as a partner hopefully within the next year and eventually buy her out. Add to that, the friendships that "completed" her in ways no romance could...and she was good.

The whole ever-after business? She didn't have time for it.

Correction: She had plenty of time. It was the inclination that was lacking.

Maggie tipped her face to the sky, basking in the warmth of June's sunshine and her contentment with the lot life had given her. Sure, there'd been dues to pay. There always were. But it was because of those rough patches that she was able to fully appreciate this tranquil little corner of Platonia she'd carved out for herself, where her circle of friends reigned supreme and the forecast always called for good times. Constancy, support, and reliability.

Chance of romantic strife or bitter betrayal raining on their parade? Zero.

Yeah, Maggie was satisfied with her life, exactly the way it was. Period.

"So, hey," Ava drawled from beside her. "Obviously Apartment Three was a total weenie and I'm not talking about him. But do you ever look around and...you know...wonder?"

"Hmm...about what?" How to reduce her carbon footprint? Whether the new Italian place was as good as everyone was saying? If her buyer for the Stovitz oil was serious about a second piece? If she'd be able to get Hedda to sit stillaand not in a meditative statealong enough to discuss her buying in? If her parents would finally relax and believe she was capable of taking care of herself?

Ava squinted, her mouth turning down in distaste. "That."

Maggie followed her friend's gaze to the red-checked cliche in action nestled into a shady corner of Wicker Park. And blinked. Twice.

"The couple?" she gasped. Then checking herself, she let out a laugh. Because, no way.

Ava didn't date any more than Maggie didawhich meant only under the most dire of circumstances. And unless Maggie had missed significantly more than she'd realized this morning, these were not them.

"I...yeah, I'm pretty sure...I'm serious. I think maybe it's time I stopped shutting down every guy who asks me out and startaI don't knowaopening myself up to the possibilities."

Eyes cranking around a beat before her head, Maggie gasped. "Whaa?"

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Except that sour look of disgusted resignation on Ava's face as she frowned across at the picnic set for two told Maggie...it was happening. Her friend was serious.

"What's going on? I mean, where's this coming from?"

Picking at the crumbs from a half-eaten cookie, Ava slumped deeper into the park bench, looking in that moment more like a sullen teen than the coolly confident, ball-busting lawyer she played in real life. She shook her head. "Everything's so perfect now, you know?"

Yeah, Maggie did know. Hence the confusion.

"But what's it going to be like in ten or fifteen years?" She let out another heavy sigh. "The guys, Sam and Fordathey're idiots."

"Of course." The best kind. Ford was Ava's older brother, their landlord and the odd nut behind the number one phone and tablet app on the market, Hibachi Catapult. And Sam Farrow, general man-whore and go-to guy for all things fix-it, was their oldest friend. Maggie loved them like family. Together Sam, Ford and Ava were her core group of go-to friends. All romantically impaired with their own individual brand of relationship dysfunction.

And it worked. Only apparently, Ava didn't think so.

"Some morning in the not-too-distant future, one of them is going to notice a few hairs on his pillow and an extra quarter inch of forehead where it hadn't been beforeaand he'll decide it's time to stop sleeping his way through Chicagoland and set up house with some nice girl. And because neither of them are trolls and both have next-to-zero standards, whichever one it is will be married in less than a year. Six months max before the other goes lemming and follows suit. They'll have kids and dogs and hockey practice at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings and clay models of the solar system due for the science fair to finish on Tuesday nights. And"aAva swallowed and took a breath, shaking her heada"they'll take their wives to weddings instead of us."

Maggie coughed, choking on the thought of the last wedding she hit without Ford. The stilted small talk and smarmy expectation gleaming in her date's eyes. God help her, she never wanted to go there again.

But seriously..."Ava, the guys are not getting married."

"Not today, but you know the girl Sam's been seeingaBethanne? She told me she thought they were getting serious."

Not likely. "Bethanne's delusional."

"Yeah, I agree. But one of these days...one of these girls..."

A beat passed before she went on.

"Look, Maggie, I'm not talking about anything drastic. Just taking a chance once in a while. Giving someone else a chance for a change. Who knows, maybe finding out what it feels like to have a guy look at me the way those two look at each other. I mean, they seem happy," Ava offered, sounding less enthused than resigned. "In love."

"Blindly so," Maggie agreed. And that was the crux of it. Maggie already knew what it was to have a guy look at her like he'd do anything to stay with her forever. And no doubt, it was a heady thing. But there were risks inherent to that kind of ardor. Once a person experienced it, there wasn't a lot they wouldn't do to protect it. Like lie. To their partner. To themselves.

Arms crossed at her chest, Maggie gave the picnic guy a thorough once-over.

Sure, he seemed sort of harmless, with the whole goofy smile and I'm-so-putting-myself-out-there eyes. But he could be anyone. He could be an embezzler or top chef at the Meth Emporium. Oh yeah, he probably planned to reform. Turn over a new leaf. Be the man his girl deserved. But would he ever tell her what he was into? Not if it meant there was a chance he'd losea Stop.

Ugh. She didn't want to be that person. The glass-half-empty girl who wouldn't let anyone else believe it was half-full.

She wouldn't be that person.

Angling closer on the bench, she leaned in shoulder-to-shoulder with Ava. "I think it's great you're opening yourself up to the possibilities. and I'll support you one hundred percent. But I'm just wonderingaand I don't want this to sound like I think it's going to be a problem or anything, butayou don't actually like anyone. Ever. At least not in a more-than-friends way."

"Right."

"So, umm, how are you planning to get around that?"

Ava outlined the rough plan she'd come up with: A single, mandatory date each month, where she gave the guys who met her criteria a chancearegardless of whether they floated her boat or not. And if she missed a month, she suffered a consequence. Some penalty stiff enough to ensure she didn't just blow it off.

"Nice. You've got to make it something that'll really hurt, though, so you can't slack. And tie up all the little loopholes you'll be trying to wiggle through too." Hey, this was kind of fun. "Make rules about what constitutes a legitimate date and going out with the same guy over and over when you know it isn't going anywhere. Tough love and all," Maggie snickered, maybe enjoying the idea of Ava not making her monthly quota a little too much.

Ava finished her cookie and then wiped her hands together, brushing off the crumbs. "Agreed. So you think this is a solid plan?"

Blehh, but whatever. If Ava wanted to get her date on, who was Maggie to stop her? And it would be a riot to watch. So working up some captain-of-the-Cheer-Squad enthusiasm, she beamed. "Totally. It's a fantastic idea!"

Honestly, there was no excuse for not seeing what was coming next. But reading the writing on the wall had never been Maggie's strong suit. Especially when it came to the people closest to her.

"I'm glad you think so." Ava grinned back at her, the glint of steel in her eyes unmistakable. "Because we're making a pact, and you're doing this with me."

Hell.

Love stories you'll never forget.

By authors you'll always remember.

eOriginal Romance from Random House www.readloveswept.com.

end.