Her eyes widen, and she starts to shake her head no.
“I’ll turn around,” I offer. Before she can object, I take her dog’s leash out of her hand and walk away, giving her some privacy to take off her wet shirt and put on mine. We’re hidden off the beaten path between thick brush and big leaf maples, so she’s not in danger of flashing anyone.
After a few minutes, she calls, “I’m done, Josh.”
When I turn around, I struggle to keep my eyes in my head.
My shirt has never looked so damn good.
As she holds her soaking wet tank top and jog bra limply in her hand, her tits stick out, giving my shirt curves it never had before. Trying to ignore her high-beamed nipples that make me want to groan, I remind myself who she is—my attorney. Maybe.
But it’s better not think about her as a gorgeous woman who looks hot as fuck in my clothes. Better to change the subject.
“Do you live around here?” I ask as I help her maneuver toward the main path.
“Yeah, just over there.” She points across the park to a neighborhood of small bungalows a few blocks away. I’d actually considered buying one.
“We’re neighbors, then.” Now it’s my turn to point to my building, poking up a few blocks in the other direction. She gives me a small smile, and my pulse kicks up a notch. This girl and her smiles. They just do it for me. “Let me help you get home.”
She shakes her head, taking her dog’s leash from me. “I don’t want to put you out.”
I use my thumb to wipe a clump of mud off her beautiful face, and her breath catches a moment before her cheeks flush.
“It’s the neighborly thing to do.” I lean toward her and coyly whisper, “Besides, who will chase down Mad Max here”—I motion toward her dog—“if he decides to go rogue again?”
A laugh escapes her, and it’s bright and airy and does something weird to my chest.
“I could use a dog wrangler,” she admits.
I wink at her. “It’s my secret talent.”
A smile tilts her lips. “Among other things,” she whispers conspiratorially, her eyes casting down before shifting up to meet mine.
I laugh, only to hide a groan. Because I’d love nothing more than to give her a demo of my talents.
7
Evie
Embarrassment doesn’t quite convey the depth of my mortification.
I wipe out and land in a mud bath in front of Josh freaking Cartwright, my almost client and neighbor, who also happens to be one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.
Of course this happens the day I wear a tank top. I never run in revealing clothes. Sweats and baggy T-shirts are my preferred attire when I’m working out—because, hello, I have big boobs—but I desperately need to do laundry, so this morning I grabbed a tank top and yoga pants, and hoped it was still early enough that I wouldn’t run into any neighbors.
Epic fucking fail.
I swallow and brush my bangs out of my face.
“Thanks for the shirt,” I mutter. It’s one of those long-sleeved dry-weave fabrics that clings to my body. I suppose it could be worse. It could be white instead of gray.
I smile stupidly at Josh as I fight the urge to cover my chest. There might be women out there who are comfortable without a bra, though I’m not one of them. But if I cross my arms, that’ll only draw attention to my hardened nipples.
As if landing face first in the mud wasn’t bad enough, I had to change out of my bra because it snapped, leaving one boob flopping down while the other pointed upward. I suppose that’s what I get for buying it on a close-out rack.
So yes, now I stand with my wet undergarment, dirty tank, and the last shred of my dignity in my hand.
Staring at my shoes, I try to imagine other women in this situation. Angela would probably flaunt it. Kendall would laugh it off. And it’s not as though this guy is a stranger to nudity.
Speaking of…
I blink.
And blink again.
It takes a second for my brain to process that Josh is now shirtless, and holy crap, his body is incredible. Of course, I knew this based on his blog and from him flashing me those abs the other day, but having him hover near me half-dressed is overwhelming.
He’s tall and muscular but lean. And oh, my God, those shoulders. Broad and perfectly sculpted. Leading all the way down to some major forearm porn. If I thought he looked great in a suit, he’s stunning shirtless. No wonder his blog is a hit.
He smiles back, and I feel it all the way down to my knees.
“Glad I can help.”
What? Oh yeah, I thanked him for the shirt.
He kneels down to pet Chauncey, who flops on his back—in a grimy puddle—and rolls around. “Hey, buddy.”
Despite the filth that’s flying, Josh laughs and rubs my sweet, dumb dog on his belly.
“He was in a shelter for months, so now when he gets out, he does his damnedest to break free, even though he limps around the house. He shouldn’t be running at breakneck speeds, but it’s not like he listens to me.”
Josh turns his head to look at me as I talk. “So he’s a rescue dog? He’s an Australian shepherd, right?”
I nod. “My dad thought it would be safer if I got a dog. ‘Evie, it’s dangerous for a single woman living alone.’ You’d think I lived in a war zone instead of Portland with the way he talks.”
I roll my eyes, and Josh laughs. “Dads should be protective.”
Bracing myself on a tree trunk, I bend down next to Josh and wipe some of the mud off Chauncey’s speckled black and white snout. “Anyway, the shelter told me this little guy kept getting adopted and returned because he would tear up people’s back yards or rip up their shoes. They were going to put him down that day, and I swear he knew. He just huddled in a corner whimpering. It broke my heart. I decided then and there that I didn’t care if he dug a hole to Astoria in my back yard or ate my whole wardrobe, I’d never return him.”
Wobbling to a stand, I shrug. “He’s only eaten two pairs of shoes in the last few months. I can live with that.” My ankle throbs, but leaning on the tree helps relieve the pressure.
“Did you name him?”
“Yeah, but Chauncey is a nickname my dad gave him because he thought the name I gave my dog made him sound too big for his britches.”
Josh brushes off his sweats and stands next to me. “What was the original name you gave him?”
“No, you’re gonna laugh. It’s stupid.”
He holds his hands up. “It’s a cardinal sin to laugh at a beautiful woman. I would never do such a thing.”
My cheeks flush, and I look down, hating that I’m divulging something so silly. “I named him Chanticleer from—”
“The Nun’s Priest’s Tale.”
“Yes!” I grin up at him. “I don’t know why I loved The Canterbury Tales because it’s rife with religious corruption and class exploitation. But in high school, my AP English teacher made us rank the characters by wealth, and I spent weeks in the library doing research. For some reason, it stuck with me. And then I read this fantasy novel based on the story that totally made me fall in love with this dumb rooster, The Book of the Dun Cow by—”