Great. Missed called number twelve was coming in. My texts must not have been enough for him—he wanted to talk. I would have answered this one except I was almost to the address he’d texted me after the game. If he wanted to talk, I was fifty feet away from being face to face.
Also, great—judging from how quiet the sidewalks were in this part of Brooklyn, it was more night than it was dark. He was going to go all overprotective, big brother on me, and my patience was running on fumes.
Ellis had called me sometime in the sixth inning, informing me I needed to come in for a “quick” photo shoot. He’d caught word that one of the big Italian designers was shopping for a new face for their black label line. Ellis seemed to think my face was exactly what they were looking for, and he wanted to add a few more simple, European-type shots to my portfolio. I wasn’t sure why that couldn’t wait until Monday morning, but Ellis made it seem like it was make or break.
Like most things in this industry, it took longer than I’d expected and it was now pushing eleven. I’d wanted to go back to the apartment and crash, but I’d promised Soren I’d come tonight and that seemed important to him for some reason. Plus, Jane and Ariel were here and I had to make sure they didn’t get into too much trouble because, yeah. If trouble was lurking in the bottom of some puddle five blocks over, they’d find it.
This was an older part of the city from the looks of it, and all I had to do was follow the echo of music and laughter to find the right place. It was a chilly, early spring night, so everyone was stuffed inside the small house, but I noticed a shadow move beneath the porch when I passed through the opening in the fence.
“Please don’t tell me you walked all the way here from the subway station. Please tell me you took a cab.” Soren moved down the walkway to meet me, his face drawn up.
“Okay. I took a cab.” I stopped when we were a few steps from each other.
“Really?”
“No, I walked from the subway.”
“Hayden,” he sighed, thrusting his arms toward the street behind me. “I told you to call me when you were done at work so I could come meet you. Do you remember anything I told you about walking alone at night?”
“I do, but here’s the thing—what makes you think I’m safer if I’m surrounded by people versus nobody? Isn’t that counterintuitive?” I crossed my arms, staring at him. “If there’s no one around to do whatever harm you think I’m in danger of, doesn’t that make me safer than being caught in a swarm of bodies marching down the sidewalks?”
His jaw moved, probably from holding himself back. Soren and I were naturals when it came to bickering and pushing each other’s buttons. We weren’t afraid to challenge each other or call the other out, but he’d been learning impulse control where I seemed to be loosening mine.
“The people who hurt others don’t march down sidewalks. They hide in the shadows. You don’t see them until they’re on you, so next time, save me the heart attack and call me so I can come meet you. Got it?”
The warming in my veins started again. It was a familiar sensation when Soren was around. Brought on by usually anger or annoyance, it was also spurred by emotions I was less eager to admit to. This latest episode was probably a combination of a lot of things.
He was wearing a clean jersey hanging untucked over a dark pair of jeans. He had on his standard Converse and backward red ball cap. Even outside and a body length apart, I could smell the hint of his favorite soap on him. I could make out the light splash of cologne he must have put on for tonight. It was tempting me closer, but I needed to keep as much distance from Soren as possible.
“This is a party, right?”
His hands slid into his pockets as he shrugged. “So I’ve heard. I’ve been a little busy trying to look after my roommate.”
“It’s not your job to look after me. I’m a big girl.” Moving around him, I started for the house.
His footsteps followed after me. “Then stop acting like a child and prove it.”
“You first,” I snapped, pulling the door open and stepping inside before we could go any deeper into this heated topic.
Compared to outside, the packed house was sweltering. Bodies were everywhere—pressed into furniture, walls, each other. The space had easily exceeded its fire code maximum by a hundred bodies. I noticed Jane and Ariel toward the back of the living room, which was serving as a dance floor tonight. They were in the middle of a handful of guys wearing the same kind of jersey Soren wore, so they looked happy. Jane had said she wasn’t going home tonight until she’d cured her curiosity regarding baseball players’ supposed reputation of being good in bed. She claimed they knew they had to hit every base before thrusting for home plate, and that was where I’d tuned out.
Sweat was already starting to bead to the surface of my skin, so I untied my trench-style jacket and unzipped it. When I slid it off, I didn’t miss the way Soren’s head whipped toward me.
“What in the hell are you wearing?” He blinked, swallowing when his eyes reached where the hem of my dress fell.
“I didn’t want to take the extra time to change after the shoot, and Ellis said I could have the dress.” I smoothed my hands down the sides, not about to let my confidence waver from the way Soren was staring at me. And some others were staring now that I was moving through the room.
“That’s not a dress. That’s a tank top.” Soren fell in behind me instantly, shoving aside some guy who made an interesting noise when I passed.
“Oh, yeah, because the guy who lives in Levi’s jeans and Hanes T-shirts knows all about couture fashion.” I smirked back at him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling when he got in another guy’s face for checking out my backside as I passed.
“I might not know a damn thing about couture, but I know if you lean forward two inches, you’re going to be flashing the whole room your underwear.” Soren’s face went blank as he realized something. “Tell me you’re not wearing—”
“Do you see any lines?”
When his gaze lowered to confirm or deny it, his face drew into lines like he was being tortured. “Do me a favor and don’t lean forward two inches.”
I turned my head back around so he didn’t see the smile I’d lost the battle to. “So I shouldn’t do this?” I barely leaned forward.
The hem didn’t have a chance to ride up before his arm swung around me, pressing me against him to straighten me out. “Hayden, for the love of god. I don’t want to have to beat every ass in here for checking out yours.”