But when I look up at him and he has a smile on his lips that lights up the freaking elevator in a way an elevator shouldn’t light up, I hate him.

On the spot.

For being everything I’m not. For being everything I’ll never have. For being the have when I’m the have-not. He’s all perfect with what I can assume are his skinny models decorating his side while I’m far from it with reindeer antlers and curves and extra padding that doesn’t go away when I shimmy out of the coat I have on.

That’s my assumption anyway.

Because men as perfect as him should be illegal.

“Me?” He coughs the word out.

“Yeah. You,” I accuse as I rub the top of my head in the same fashion that he is.

“What did I do?”

“You’re just”—I point my finger at him and wave it back and forth but verbally fumble over what to say next.

“A shit day?” he asks as if he cares.

“A shit day? A shit day?” I screech. “Try going to the bank to pull out cash only to find out that your boyfriend not only decimated your account but then sent you a Dear John letter via text. Oh and the cherry on top of that? My rent is due by the first of the month and now the money to pay it is in his pocket and not mine.”

He hisses in mock sympathy. “You sound more angry than upset.”

I shake my head feeling more relieved than anything. “The break-up has been coming. The stealing my rent money, not so much.”

“Brightside? The prick’s no longer in your life.”

I glare at him and the cute little smirk he has on his lips. “From the bank, I drove to the train station only to be rear-ended by some asshole on the Expressway.” I suck in a deep breath of air and know that he doesn’t deserve a single bit of this ire I feel or have a clue of the role he’s playing in my catharsis, but I continue anyway. “Then . . . I slip outside on a patch of ice—freaking go down for the count—and I swear to god I still have ice in my panties.”

“There are so many comments I can make on that one—frigid, Ice Queen, cold kitty—but I’ll keep mum so I can be on my best behavior,” he says and I hate the way the playful tone of his voice and the boylike angle to his head makes my body react in the most visceral of ways.

It’s the close quarters.

It has to be.