Her fuchsia-painted lips tighten into a line. “I’d already lived here for years when Hayden bought it. The fact that he ended up being my landlord is total coincidence.”

“So move out and find a better place.”

An even harder edge enters the set of her mouth. Pure bitter stubbornness. “Why should I be punished for his B.S.? I was here first, and I’m not going anywhere when I didn’t do anything wrong. It’ll take a lot more than one annoying asshole to push me out of my own home.”

Okay, okay , I think, nodding at her a few times. Defensive much?

My impression of the real Hayden is nothing like what Roxy said when I first moved in. Sure, he’s a horn-dog and he seems kind of immature, but he’s fun, and I can’t deny his eye-candy appeal. I almost giggle when I remember him trying to get into the downward dog position. What harm could there be in just hanging out with him? Is his laid-back playfulness really nothing but a Jekyll-and-Hyde act, lulling me into a false sense of security? Or could Roxy just be overreacting?

When I asked Hayden for the dirt on him and Roxy, he flat-out refused to go into it, which just makes my imagination run wild. Is Roxy the villain of that story, I wonder, or is Hayden? I try to dismiss the thought. Real life is rarely so cut-and-dried.

But my curiosity about what relationship they had is still driving me nuts. Roxy is so insistent that Hayden doesn’t “do” friendships with women, so if they ever were friends, Hayden must have let his lust get in the way somehow.

Are they ex-lovers? For all I know, she could be his sister. I kind of hope so. For some reason, the thought of Hayden sleeping with this woman bothers me, even though his sex life is none of my business. Even though I shouldn’t care whether or not Roxy, with her inflatable boobs and pancake makeup and a beach body way nicer than mine, is his “type.” Because if she is, I most definitely am not—with my closet full of suits and no-nonsense bras and panties.

I put down my wineglass, shaking my head. What’s wrong with me? Just thinking of Roxy like that makes me feel like a huge bitch. She went out of her way to befriend the new girl on the block, came over here to share wine she bought with her own hard-earned money—which she probably had to pick out of her butt crack after a long night of dancing—and here I am being catty.

Other women are not the enemy , I remind myself. But I can’t shake this territorial feeling. Hearing her badmouth Hayden pisses me off, and not just because it implies that I’m too dumb to realize I’m walking into a trap.

Screw it. At the risk of opening a can of worms, I ask, “So, just what is your deal with Hayden, anyway? What happened to make you hate him so much?” If Hayden won’t satisfy my curiosity, maybe Roxy will be interested in dishing dirt. She certainly seems to have strong feelings in need of venting.

She goes very still, her hand halfway to tapping another cigarette out of its pack. I already regret my question a little; mixed in with Roxy’s expression of loathing, I catch a glimpse of something dark, like grief. Or maybe it’s shame.

Finally she mutters, “We used to date. Beyond that, let’s just say he made a mistake and tried to dump the consequences on me.”

So they were lovers. She must have been one of Hayden’s many one-night stands. Just another conquest. I sit back, taking a long drink of wine while I try to think of a response. Roxy’s vague answer hasn’t really cleared up anything, and I feel bad for asking her in the first place.

In the end, I can’t think of anything to say other than, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Worry about yourself, sweetie . . . I’m just trying to protect you.” Roxy reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, careful not to jab me with her talons. Her dark, glitter-shadowed eyes are deadly serious. “I don’t want to see another girl get hurt by that tool. He’s a man-child and he’ll drag you down with him. He’s the center of the fucking universe—all that matters is what he wants, and to hell with everyone else. You’re a smart girl on your way to a great career. Don’t let him distract you. Don’t let him weasel in between you and what you want out of life. Don’t let him convince you that his shit is more important than yours. And he’ll try, believe me. He has a way of talking up into down and black into white. Women do what he wants while thinking it was all their own idea.”

At a loss, I nod soberly at her. “Okay.” It’s not a promise to take her words to heart; it’s not agreeing with anything. Just an acknowledgment that I’ve heard her.

She and I finish the bottle of wine in silence. I still think she’s being paranoid. Whatever happened between her and Hayden, it poisoned the well pretty damn good. But where did that contamination come from in the first place? From her or from him? Sometimes breakups are nobody’s fault at all. Without hearing the whole story, there’s no way for me to know how much weight to give Roxy’s warning. Even a first-year law student knows how much personal bias can distort a testimony.

I shake my head with a wry sigh; I’m already thinking about this in terms of depositions, evidence, and judgment. I should just unplug my brain entirely, turn the conversation to lighter things, and enjoy my impromptu night off. And tomorrow, I may even ask Hayden when we can hang out again.

I’m not going to stay away from my friend just because his bitter ex told me to. I’m a grown-ass woman; I can handle myself, even with a guy like him.

But I still can’t uproot the tiny seed of doubt that Roxy has planted.