I’d just gotten through dealing with a man whose self-importance wouldn’t allow him to back down and leave me alone. And Doug had been a peon compared to the mountain-sized man currently pulling himself from the pool.
Sweet fucking Jesus.
I’d already seen everything before—every significant inch of him—and I was irritated as fuck to realize my memories had forgotten some of the best details. Like the overwhelming width of his shoulders. Or the bulk of his chest covered in dark hair. Or the size of those thighs encased in his swim trunks. Wet, tight swim trunks that left nothing to the imagination.
Holy hell, how was he stillthatbig after swimming in this cool night air?
I wondered if he even realized he had an audience. I was tucked away on the porch, and though it was fairly close to the pool, I could still get away with hiding. In fact, maybe I could slink back inside and not have to talk to him at all.
Making up my mind, I shifted with the intention to stand, but his voice stopped me cold.
“Enjoying the show, trouble?”
ATLAS
I normally didn’t give a flyingfuck what people thought of me and hadn’t for a very long time. It would have been difficult as hell to get through my life as the son of a rebel rock star, and then as a professional athlete, if I did. I wore that disinterest like armor, allowing everyone else’s thoughts and opinions to bounce off me. They didn’t matter. I didn’tcare.
So then, why the fuck had my last conversation with Sutton been playing on repeat in my mind?
The thing was, Iwasthat grumpy asshole. All the time, to everyone. Hadn’t given two thoughts about it before. It just came naturally. I’d faced enough loss and disappointment in my life that I no longer wanted to deal with the bullshit. So I treated all encounters as though they just weren’t worth my time.
But with Sutton, I couldn’t do that. She’d snared me, somehow, her very presence pissing me the hell off. Mostly because I still wanted her with the fierceness that had gripped me that night in Portland and refused to let go for even a second since.
That she was under the impression my reaction to her was because I hated her being here shouldn’t bother me. Especially when that was the infinitely easier explanation. It kept things simple. Helped reinforce that wall between us.
Because I sure as hell didn’t have room for complications in my life. Definitely not in the form of a tenant. And abso-fucking-lutely not in the form of Sutton Sinclair.
It may have taken her a while to notice me in the pool, but from the second she’d stepped out her door with the book she’d been reading this week, my attention had been locked on her. That was how it always seemed to be whenever she was around. She was like a homing beacon, constantly drawing my attention.
And I fucking hated it.
What I hated even more was how easily I seemed to be able to read her. Her pinched brow and pursed lips said she wasirritated about something—unsettled, even. Worse was the fact that I wanted to know exactly what had caused her to feel that way so I could fix it.
“Seriously?” she said, exasperation heavy in her tone. “I can’t even go outside without running into you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said flatly. “Am I bothering you by swimming in my own pool at the house I own?”
She huffed out a breath as I grabbed a towel to dry off. The cool air against my wet skin barely registered because I was so focused on the way her eyes tracked my every movement as I ran the towel across my chest and down my stomach.
“You’re just…everywhere,” she said. “No matter where I go, no matter what time, you’re there.Taking up all this…this…space.”
The way she spat the last word, I wasn’t sure if she meant that I was physically taking up space—which, yeah, I wasn’t exactly a small guy—or something else. Either way, it didn’t matter.
“I’m not going to apologize for taking up space.”
She threw up her hands, muttering to herself just loud enough for me to hear. “No, of course not. Why would he apologize foranything?”
Something was clearly bothering her…more than just me existing. And I didn’t particularly like that. Liked even less the fact that I cared in the first place. Why the hell should it bother me if this little tornado of trouble who tore into my life completely uninvited was upset?
Still, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m trying to read, and you’re annoying me.” She very pointedly looked down at the open book in her lap, not meeting my eyes. “That’s what’s wrong.”
It definitely wasn’t. She’d stormed out here like she was on a mission to forget something, and it wasn’t that book. But if this was how she wanted to play it, I’d let her.
“What’s got you frustrated?” I asked.
“It’s none of your business.”
