My semidecent mood sours as I open my door to retrieve my morning paper and glance across the hall. Now that I’m not being woken up from a dead sleep, I can admit that I was a jerk, although I believe I had a reason to be. Especially if Rook is keeping a pretty pet in his team-issued penthouse.

I’m about to go back inside when I notice my neighbor’s door is ajar. My first inclination is to ignore it, since it really isn’t my problem . . . but then I entertain several possible reasons as to why the door is open:

The hot train wreck from last night got lucky with the code and ransacked the place.

Rook stopped by to make use of his sidepiece.

Rook’s wife somehow found out about his lover and decided to murder them both in the middle of the night.

If it’s option A, then someone in security is about to be out of a job. But if it happens to be option B, and I catch Rook in the act, I could use it to my advantage. If it’s option C and there are dead bodies in the penthouse, the hallway will eventually start to stink.

I slip the paper between the jamb and the door of my apartment to prevent it from closing all the way and pad across the hall. While I’ve seen a fair amount of blood thanks to on-ice accidents, dead bodies are a whole different story and something I’d rather not be subjected to. But in this case, a fresh body is better than one that’s been hanging around for a few days, so really I’m doing my civic duty.

I knock on the door, and it creaks open several inches. I wait a full fifteen seconds before knocking a second time. When no one answers after another half minute, I peek inside and take a look around. No pool of congealed blood stains the floor. No obvious body lying anywhere. So I don’t have to call 911 yet.

I listen for sounds of human occupancy, namely moans of pain or pleasure, but all I get is the whir of the air conditioner, so I call out, “Hello?” loudly. Still nothing. I really hope no one is dead. I enter the penthouse. It’s exactly the same as mine layout-wise, but it’s missing any personal touches, making it feel sterile, like a show home. Everything is pristine and untouched, so his guest hasn’t ransacked the place, and there’s no indication of foul play, although the latter might be more likely to be found in the bedroom, where the dirty deeds happen.

I shout, “Hello?” again but still don’t get a response, so I continue toward the bedrooms. I’m halfway down the hall when a door swings open and the woman from last night appears. She’s definitely in one piece. One freshly showered, towel-wrapped piece. A second towel is wrapped around her head. She looks a lot better this morning—less like last night’s strung-out head case and more like . . . sex wrapped in black terry. She’s athletic but curvy, the perfect balance of strength and femininity. Not waify and breakable. I’m annoyed by this observation.

“What the hell!” she shrieks when she sees me.

“The door was open.” I raise my hands and also my gaze from where the short towel barely caresses the top of her very bare thighs. I bet if she lifts her arms I’ll get a money shot.

She clutches the top of her towel, dragging it higher. Despite the internal battle to keep my eyes on her face, they dip down without my permission, checking for flash. I can’t decide if I’m disappointed by the lack of it.

“So you thought you’d let yourself in and creep on me while I’m taking a shower? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” she yells while flailing her free hand.

I force my eyes back up to her face. “I’m not creeping on you. I knocked twice and said hello three times. Like I said, the door was open, so I was checking to make sure there weren’t any bodies that needed removing.”

“Bodies?” She makes a face. “Are you serious with this—” She shakes her head and waves a hand in the air, like she’s erasing my words, or maybe trying to erase me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. There’s obviously something wrong with you. You need to leave before I call the police.”

Man, she gets worked up fast. Although I suppose I can see why she might not want a strange man in here while she’s naked and wrapped in a towel.

I raise my hands in a show of surrender and take a few cautious steps backward down the hall toward the front door so she doesn’t make good on that threat, but I can’t resist needling her. “Maybe I should be the one calling the police. You show up here in the middle of the night and make yourself at home like you own the place, but I know the guy who’s supposed to be living here, and he’s not even in town.” This is half bullshit. I have no idea if Rook’s in town or not this weekend. For all I know, he’s hiding out in one of the bedrooms.

“How do you—” She slashes a hand through the air while advancing on me as I retreat toward the front door. “You know what? I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re the one breaking into my apartment.”

“It’s not your apartment.” I nearly knock a lamp off a side table as I back my way through the living room.

“Oh my God! Get the hell out! I’m in a damn towel. I was in the shower. There are no bodies, as you can damn well see.” She motions around the spotless, mostly empty room, still advancing as I get closer to the door.

“Maybe you were showering away the evidence.” Now I’m messing with her. I don’t know why. Possibly because she’s so worked up. Maybe because I’m irritated that Rook seems like this golden boy, when he’s just another asshole. “Who are you here with?”

“No one. I’m here alone, just like I was last—” She clamps a hand over her mouth but drops it just as quickly. “I have company on their way here right now. You need to get out.”

I step back through the threshold so I’m in the foyer and not the apartment anymore. “I was checking to make sure you were alive and hadn’t been turned into a knife block. I’m also not the least bit interested in taking advantage of the fact that you’re alone.”

“You made that quite clear with the boner-killer comment last night, but thanks for reiterating it.” She pushes at my shoulder, aggressively this time, so I fake stumble back a couple of steps. “And why the hell would the door be open in the first place? I closed it last night, right after you were done insulting me.”

“Did you see yourself last night? You were Queen of the Hot Mess Express.”

“Do you ever shut up?” she shrieks as she shoves me with even more force. I have to admit, she’s pretty strong for someone so small.

This time I stumble for real and bump the edge of the glass-top table. The giant vase of flowers threatens to tip over for a few seconds. Thankfully, it stays put. I don’t feel like explaining a pile of broken glass to security. I straighten and run a hand down my chest, an action she follows raptly, like a hungry puck bunny. Maybe she’s a legit stick chaser. “You’re welcome for making sure you weren’t murdered in the night.”

“Buy a pair of pants!” She slams the door, but it doesn’t close. Instead it bounces back open. “And a shirt!” She flips me the bird and slams the door a second time.

It bounces open. Again.

I smile and wave as she reappears. The towel has unraveled from her head and fallen to the floor, revealing a tangled mass of long . . . powder-pink hair? It had been tucked into a beanie last night, so it was hidden.