“Oh.”
Thick dark eyebrows drop over those eyes as he digs through the drawer that’s filled with a bunch of random things—pens, paperclips, small tools. Just watching him makes my palms itch to organize. They make dividers he could slide into that drawer and have a designated space for everything. This way when he needed a paperclip or a rubber band it would be there with its friends in its own little compartment.
“Cal said you’re paid up through December.” He pulls out a set of keys, looks them over, then tosses them back in.
December? That means Celia paid a year’s rent in advance. I make a mental note to ask her about that later. “I won’t be staying through December. Actually, I guess now is as good a time as any. I’ll be mov—”
“What’re you doing?” His gaze is zeroed in on my hands.
I look down and realize I’ve started to organize the mail into three separate stacks—one for unopened envelopes, one for opened, and one for garbage. “I’m . . .” Organizing. “Nothing.” I messy up the stacks and whisper, “Sorry.”
He glares at me for a few seconds longer, then returns to his search. “Here they are.” He tosses the keys to me only to have them hit me in the chest and fall to the tabletop at my belly.
His eyes settle on my chest. “Sorry about that. I thought you’d catch—”
“It’s okay.” I snag them off the table and cross my arms over my boobs to get his eyes back on my face.
It works and his gaze slides to mine but not before lingering a second too long on my lips. I hold back a shiver.
“What’s this big key for?”
“Your car.”
“I have a car?”
He squints.
“I mean, of course. My car. I just . . . it’s been so long since I’ve driven in my car, so . . .” God, is this room getting even smaller? I search desperately for a subject change. “You mentioned a break-in?”
“Yeah, I left you a message.”
“Right, but um . . .” I chew my lip, then clear my throat. “Was a police report filed?”
My question seems to irritate him judging by the firm set of his jaw. “Of course.”
“Does that happen there often?”
He slams back the rest of his beer and burps, seeming to love the way I recoil when he does. “Well, freckles, if you’re asking if people get their shit stolen around here the answer would be yes, but only dumbfucks who don’t remember to lock up their bikes or leave their wallets on the front seat of their car.”
I blanch at his condescending tone. “Are you implying that I’m a . . . dumbfuck?”
He shrugs and his glare tightens. “No, your door was locked. They got in through the window.”
“Did the thieves get anything of value?”
“Not that they had on them.”
“Did the authorities—”
“Do you always talk like this?”
I pop a hand on my hip and even though picking a fight with a hot guy is very much not something Celia would do, I do it anyway. “What’s wrong with the way I talk?”
“How many more questions do you have in that pretty head of yours?”
My mouth shuts, my mind goes blank.
He called me pretty.
I’m the twin who gets compliments on my eye color or my SAT scores. I’m the dedicated one, the one who would get a decent job, makes employee of the month, but I’ve never been called pretty. Celia and I are identical, but neither of us are spectacular looking. Our eyes are too big, our lips too full. But Celia has the expert-level makeup application skills to accentuate her everyday features and transform them to bombshell-worthy. Me? Other than the concealer to cover my freckles, I’m a blush and mascara girl. Blunt shoulder-length hair because it’s easier to manage, and my best features get lost within my underachieving beauty regimen.
I open my mouth to say just that, but then remember he thinks I’m Celia and slam it shut again.
“That’s better.” He tosses his empty beer and it soars a good ten feet before landing in the trash. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Right, well, if you don’t mind, me and my stinky unorganized ass are ready to throw some fish on the grill and get drunk.”
What is it with this guy? Maybe showing up on his boat is some kind of maritime offense?
I follow him out and the sun has completely disappeared and left a sprinkling of stars in its place. I pass the hunched-over man with the weird eye and give a quick finger wave. “Nice meeting you.”
“You be careful now.” He attempts to get up and help me off the boat, but a stern look from Aden sits him back down with a humph.
“I’ll walk you to the gate.” Aden steps off the boat and onto the dock as if there isn’t a foot of water separating the two. He offers me his hand, which is surprising after our heated interaction inside.
I take it and hold my breath while stepping off, making sure this time to steer clear of colliding with his big body. “Thanks, but I got it from here.” I slip my shoes back on.
“I’m walking you to the gate,” he growls, and again I wonder how I so easily piss this guy off.
I follow behind him trying hard not to check out the way his shoulder muscles bunch under the thin fabric of his tee, or the way his biceps stretch out the sleeve.
He hits a button on the gate, which releases the lock and swings it open. After I walk through I thank him but he remains in place.
“I’m good now. I have an Uber waiting.”
It wasn’t necessary to point out the car because when I peer back at Aden he’s glaring right at it. “You came in that?”
“Yeah.”
He blinks and seems to shake something off. “Be safe, Celia.”
I flinch at his calling me my sister’s name, then nod and scurry off before I say something else to upset him. Or worse, spill the truth.
I’m not Celia, and I need to pack and be on a plane to Phoenix before I slip up any more than I already have.
ADEN
“I’m tellin’ ya, the thing had to be close to a thousand pounds. My line snapped so hard the recoil threw my pole forty feet!” Avery’s booming voice drowns out the classic rock filtering from the jukebox speakers.
“Bullshit,” I mumble into my whiskey glass while the washed-up sailor to the right of me continues on with his fish story.
Others chime in, making this another typical night at the Office. Too many dicks in one room make for a lot of shit talk.