“I need your help, Paige,” my best friend said as soon as I answered.
Abandoning the stack of junk mail I’d been flipping through, I leaned against the dining table. Enchilada was snoring underneath it, dreaming about whatever tiny dogs dream about.
“Sure, Allie. What’s going on?”
She hesitated, making me wonder what kind of favor she had in mind. Allie was like a sister to me; she had to know there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.
“Cannon needs a place to stay,” she finally said.
Except for that.
Suppressing a sudden twitch in my jaw, I slipped off my heels and took a sip from my water bottle. Cannon? Share my tiny place with her geeky little brother who I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years? Awkward much?
I was a private person, and I valued my alone time. It was why I chose to have no roommates and no drama. This was not the news I wanted on a Thursday evening after a hectic day at work. Allie, Cannon, and I had been pretty much inseparable growing up, but after we’d moved on and left for college, I hadn’t kept in touch with him at all.
“I don’t know, Allie. My place is pretty tight as it is.” I lived in a six-hundred-square-foot duplex, and while I did technically have a spare room, its only furnishings were a lumpy futon and a writing desk. Just thinking about sharing this sardine can with another person made me feel stuffy, so I wandered into the living room to open the window. “Why can’t he stay with you and James?”
Allie hesitated for a beat, and I knew I wouldn’t like her answer. “James doesn’t think that’s a good idea. He and I have only just started living together. It’s a big step, you know?”
Funny how your decisions as a couple seem to line up with his wants more often than yours. It was just another reason on the growing list of why I didn’t like her new fiancé. But I didn’t want to get back into that swamp of a conversation again, so I merely offered a noncommittal grunt.
As she kept trying to persuade me, I idly watched a man approach along the sidewalk leading to my house. I lived in half of an old Victorian house a few blocks from the University of Michigan campus, so I was sure his destination wasn’t actually my house, but a girl could dream. Dressed in a black V-neck sweater, dark jeans, and boots, he was tall and muscular. His messy hair was cropped neatly on the sides, but long enough on top to grab during rough sex and hang onto for what would surely be the ride of my life.
I shook my head, shocked at my suddenly dirty mind. What the hell? Where had that thought come from? Lack of sex and being overworked, most likely. I pushed the thought away and tried to pay attention.
“His apartment was ransacked, and he’s basically homeless,” Allie was explaining, her tone pleading.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to stand my ground.
The guy outside stopped in front of my house and studied the house numbers. In my spot from the second-story front window, I stayed mostly concealed, peeking out from behind the heavy drapes.
Now that he was closer, I could make out green eyes fringed in thick black lashes, and a five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. He was perfection.
His mouth was etched into a firm line, his expression impassive. If you were going to get a read on this man, first you were going to have to work to get beneath his steely reserve.
“He’s in his last year of med school, and in just over two months, he’ll be moving away for a residency. It’d be stupid for him to sign a new lease. Please, Paige?”
Ugh. All right, already. I swore I could hear her puppy-dog eyes over the phone.
“Fine. Two months.”
Allie squealed her thanks, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Those long legs had started carrying the man forward again, and this time, right up my front steps.
Shit! He was headed for my door. My heart pounded faster, and my mouth went totally dry.
“I have to go, Allie.”
“Thanks, Paigey! I owe you one,” she sang.
I tossed my phone on the coffee table and hurried toward the door. As I went, I snatched a glance of myself in the hall mirror, and was relieved to see that I still looked pulled together from work. Black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, my blond hair tied into a long ponytail.
The confident series of knocks on my front door made my stomach flutter. My fingers curled around the doorknob and when I pulled it open, my breath caught at what I saw. If I thought he was merely attractive before, nothing could have prepared me for having him so close. He towered over me—at least six foot three, I’d wager—and had a muscular build that advertised hours of dedication at the gym. His scent was maddening. It wasn’t cologne. It was subtler than that, maybe bodywash, but it was crisp and masculine and mouthwatering nonetheless.
“Paige?” he asked.
Shit, even his voice was hot, deep and smooth and rich.
More importantly, Mister Sex-on-Legs knew my name.
I squinted at him, my mouth opening, then closing without a sound. Recognition clawed at the edges of my brain.