Is that a coaster?
Fighting my way through the crowd, mainly confused that my feet aren’t sticking to the floor, but definitely thirsty, I head toward my favorite place at any party—the kitchen. The huge island is already covered in various half empty liquor and soda bottles. My eyes scan the various cupboards trying to guess which one seems the most likely to be the home of some glasses.
Party or not, I’ve watched too many documentaries about the sea to use plastic cups. I tentatively sneak a look in one of the cabinets to find nothing but shot glasses.
Literally.
Not one thing other than shot glasses in an entire kitchen cabinet.
The second cabinet has bowls and, as I’m about to find out if the third cabinet is the right one, feeling a lot like Goldilocks, someone clears their throat beside me. “Are you a burglar?”
Looking around the cupboard door, knowing my face is definitely the color of a stop light, I take in the guy who just caught me red handed. I’m five foot seven, even taller in my stilettos, but he still towers over me. However, there’s something decidedly unintimidating about him. His biceps are fighting to escape the sleeves of his black t-shirt, the fabric is tight across his broad chest. His features are soft and there’s only a hint of stubble along his jaw; it’s like the delicacy of his face doesn’t quite match the rest of his body. His light brown hair is styled off his face and, when I finally settle on them, his sapphire blue eyes stare back at me, something unsure but intrigued swimming in them.
This is probably the most awkward way I’ve ever met a hot guy.
I give him my most innocent smile. “Is it a burglary if it doesn’t leave the premises?”
“Oh damn, I knew I should have studied law.” His lip quirks up in the corner, dimples appearing beside his mouth as he fights a laugh. “I think burglary is taking something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“What if the owner never finds out?”
“Well, if the owner never finds out then surely that’s just negligence on their part,” he says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. I try to keep looking at his face, not his bulging arms, but I’m weak. “What’re you looking for?”
He takes a step towards me, the strong smell of sandalwood and vanilla wafting towards my nose. He presses his hand against the door I’m still clinging to, closing it gently.
What am I looking for? “Glasses.”
“There are only plastic ones, sorry.”
“Do you know how much plastic ends up in the ocean? No one who lives here will ever know.” This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had about glasses. It’s possibly the longest conversation anyone has had about glasses, but I find myself thinking about what other kitchenware I can bring up to keep this going.
“So, this crime is for the sharks?”
“Well, not just the sharks. Fish, turtles, whales are all included.” His eyes close as he fights a smile, shaking his head. “Maybe an octopus or two. My good deeds don’t discriminate.”
Reopening his eyes, his hand lingers on the cabinet door for another few seconds before he takes a step around me and heads to cabinet six, opening it to reveal shelves of various mismatched glasses. “Don’t throw it at anyone or we’ll both be in trouble.”
Stretching onto my tiptoes, I take one with a Maple Hills emblem on it and a My friends went to LA pride and all I got was this glass one for Emilia. “You found those quickly. Have you burgled here before?” Stop talking, Aurora.
Placing them on the counter, I reach for the nearest liquor bottle, pouring its contents into what I’m calling my victory glasses. The helpful stranger slides a bottle of soda in my direction, opening the top for me and laughs. “No, I live here.”
Oh shit. His words catch me so off guard the soda bottle misses the rim of the glass, covering the counter in fizzy, sticky liquid. Double shit. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”
Before I even have chance to react, he’s mopping up my mess with a dishcloth and redirecting me away from the spreading liquid. “I’m s—”
“Don’t worry,” he says softly, stopping me before I can apologize again. “It’s just soda. Stand over there so you don’t get wet.”
I do as I’m told and watch as he produces a disinfectant spray, cleaning down the counter properly amongst the drunk and oblivious people still trying to make their own drinks. When he’s done, he grabs the soda bottle and carefully fills up both drinks, handing them to me.
“So you’re the one who dusts,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thank you . . . and sorry again.”
He leans against the counter “Sorry for breaking the stay out of our cabinets rule or for trashing the kitchen?”
Folding my arms across my chest, my lips purse playfully. “I don’t see a sign.”
This time he really laughs. A deep rumble in his chest that feels real and authentic. I watch the way he watches me, discreetly looking me up and down. His attention makes my body buzz and I immediately want more of it. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who would pay attention to a sign anyway.”
“And why is that?” It’s a loaded question. I know it. He knows it. The guys, who I assume are his teammates hovering close by trying to listen in, know it. “Answer carefully, we’ve got an audience.”
His brows pinch together as he turns to check behind him and, by the time he turns back to face me, the tips of his ears have turned pink. Our spectators scurry off, but it’s enough to have killed this guy’s confidence. I find his sudden shyness endearing. I’m used to being hit on, but I don’t think anyone has ever blushed in front of me. I want to find out what his first impression of me is. I want him to keep looking at me like he did thirty seconds ago. I want to murder his friends a little.
I’m about come right out and ask him, when a warm hand settles on my arm and Emilia appears from behind me. “I’m so thirsty.” She takes one look at Mr. Helpful and one look at me and grins at him. “Hi, I’m Emilia.”
He gives her a polite nod. “Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Russ.”
“Are you Jaiden’s Russ?” she asks, grabbing her drink and rolling her eyes at me when she reads the sticker.
He almost looks bashful as he registers what Emilia just said. Why are you so cute? “Uh, yeah. I think so anyway. I don’t think he knows anyone else called Russ.”
He rubs the back of his neck again, the hem of his t-shirt showing the tiniest slither of suntanned skin, and my horny brain malfunctions a little. “I’m Aurora,” I blurt out, borderline aggressively.
Emilia turns to look at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and embarrassment on my behalf. I opt to ignore it and guzzle my drink, letting the harsh bite of the vodka sting away the pangs of humiliation. Russ’ eyes are locked onto me as my cup lowers and he comes back into view.
His dimples are showing again.
Emilia clears her throat and I force myself to look at her. She’s staring at me like she’s definitely going to torment me about this later. “I came over to tell you that a game of drunk Jenga is starting in the den if you want to play.”
“Drunk Jenga?”
“They put dares on some of the blocks,” Russ explains. “Robbie and JJ like to make things interesting.”
Emilia tuts playfully. “I knew he’d be involved somehow. God knows what the dares are. Rory, I’ll see you in there?”
I nod and she disappears again, leaving me with my new friend. “How interesting are we talking?”
His lips quirk up again and, my God, there is no reason for me to want to make out with someone because of how their lips tug up, but the way he flits between confidence and uncertainty is doing something to me.