I opened the door, forgetting that I was wearing only a robe, a frown on my face, ready to tell my neighbor to get lost.
“What are you doing here?”
It was Lucas.
What the actual hell?
And he looked amazing.
Of course he did.
Was he capable of looking anything else?
In worn jeans and a tight fitting shirt, his tattoos stood out starkly in the dim light.
He was here. At my apartment. And he wanted to come in.
I should say no.
I should tell him I was tired and close the door, just as I had planned to do to Thad.
Letting Lucas Bradley into my home wasn’t a good idea.
And then I was opening the door and letting him inside.
And here I thought I was a smart girl.
“Uh, let me get dressed,” I said awkwardly, holding my robe closed, feeling way too exposed in front of him.
“Don’t bother on my account.” He winked at me and I all but ran back to my bedroom.
Shit. I needed to do laundry. I had nothing clean. My hamper was overflowing. I dumped it on the floor and started pawing through my dirty clothes. I finally found a pair of leggings with a grease stain on the thigh from dropping a chicken wing in my lap and a clean tank top. It was the best I could come up with on short notice.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail.
Do I put makeup on? I looked at my reflection, cringing at the giant pimple on my chin. I was pale and washed out. But would it be too noticeable if I put on some foundation and eye shadow?
Fuck it.
I wasn’t trying to impress him.
Right?
Who cared if he thought I looked nice.
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” I came out to the living room to find Lucas sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, flipping through one of the magazines I had picked up after work on Friday. “Why don’t you just make yourself at home,” I told him blandly.
He put his feet back on the floor and tossed the magazine on the table. “Sorry. I didn’t know how long you were going to be.” He gave me an appraising look. “I appreciate that you didn’t go to any effort on my account.”
Wait. Was that a compliment? I couldn’t be sure.
“I wasn’t going to slather on makeup because you showed up at my door at ten o’clock at night, sorry.” I crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed that my feelings were hurt at what I assumed was a critique of my looks.
“You don’t need it. You’re beautiful without all that shit,” he remarked. He sounded sincere. But who could know with a man like Lucas.
He glanced at my open laptop and leaned toward it, his elbows braced on his knees.
“A little light reading on your Saturday evening?” he mused, scrolling the mouse through the article on the screen.
