“Be careful,” he finally says.

I blink. What is he warning me of? But then he turns and walks away.

I stand there, staring after him for a few long seconds before turning on my heel and huffing down the sidewalk.

Jude is a mystery I’ve long wanted to unravel. He’s hiding something. I know he is.

But more disturbing to me is how much I want to spend time with him. How much I actually enjoy the banter.

He’s dangerous to the safe little bubble I’ve built. One poke, and it could pop.

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Time of My Life Sneak Peek!

Belching. Someone is belching. Ugh, why is it so loud?

I roll over, pulling a pillow over my head. A pounding bass vibrates into my skull, shaking the walls. My pillow is not an effective barrier.

What is that?

Did he say hocus pocus?

Is someone in my apartment? They broke in just to pass gas and play music at excessive levels?

Is it my alarm? Oh, no, it’s Monday.

I jerk up, already reaching for my phone to kill the noise, plucking it from the charging cord.

Wakefulness weaves its fingers through my sleepy mind. My heart thumps along with the music.

I stare at the blank screen. I barely slept last night. It took me forever to fall asleep, worrying over my meeting today, trying to think through every potential response and outcome. My dreams were full of everything that might possibly go wrong, from missing my notes to arriving late to showing up naked.

The memories fade as reality rushes in to take its place.

My phone is dead.

“That’s not my alarm. My alarm didn’t go off,” I croak to the empty room.

The music is still thumping.

I stare at the dark phone screen. I always leave it charging to avoid this exact scenario.

“Oh, no. No no no no no.” I rush out of bed, forgetting the cell phone mystery, skidding into the kitchen to stare at the clock on the oven.

It’s nearly eight.

“This isn’t possible.”

Someone bangs on the door. Maybe the world is ending. That would be good. If there’s some kind of disaster situation—a building fire, a tsunami incoming, aliens invading the planet, maybe—that would be the perfect excuse for being late for the most important meeting of my existence.

I swing open the door, but no one’s there.

“Hugo! Come on, man, it can’t be that bad.”

I peek around my doorjamb. I don’t want anyone to witness me in this state, no makeup, my hair a dark mass of chaos, not to mention the bright blue ducky pajamas, a gift from my sister Eloise. But I can’t help staying to witness…whatever this is.

A portly middle-aged man with thinning hair in a bright red robe stands in front of the door next to mine. I don’t know his name, only that he resides in the apartment across the hall from mine.

I generally avert my gaze to avoid small talk when I happen to pass any of the other residents in my building, so I don’t know much about any of them. Based on the masculine laughter—and other noises that sometimes penetrate the thin walls—I know my next-door neighbor is gay. But that’s as far as it goes. I’m not good at small talk. Or any talk.