“Please don’t rub it in,” I grumble. To Shane, I say, “If you’re expecting a welcome parade, you’re shit out of luck. My new goal is to find a way to live my life without ever bumping into you.” “Good luck with that.” Shane’s dark-brown eyes flicker with humor. “Because my new goal is for us to become best friends and spend every waking hour together. Oh, hey, actually. I’m throwing a party this weekend. We should cohost. Keep both our doors open and—” “No.” I stab my index finger in the air. “Nope.
