“Easy, Tyson,” I murmur against the shell of her ear, feeling her relax just a touch.
Spearing Chris with a warning glower as I hold Hannah tight, I jut my chin at him. “Get the hell outta here before I call the fuckin’ cops on your ass.”
I keep my arm wrapped firmly around Hannah’s waist, watching Chris skulk off down the street, and it isn’t until he disappears around the corner that I release my hold, staring down at her when she turns, sheepishly glancing up at me through her thick lashes. And there’s so much I want to say. So much I want to know. So manywhat-the-fucks. But my gaze dipsto where she’s holding her limp right hand. And instead of lecturing her like she’s probably expecting, I carefully grab her wrist, inspecting her slightly swollen knuckles.
“You got ice upstairs?” I quirk a brow.
“Frozen broccoli, at least.” She shrugs, reluctantly handing me her keys. I take them and unlock the door, holding it open for her.
Following Hannah up the three flights of stairs, I try so hard not to look at her ass, but it’s proving difficult when it’s literally right there in front of me, the white, fluffy little bunny tail bouncing with every step she takes, taunting me. I force myself to think about our captain, Rusty, and his hairy ass. Anything to stop all the blood in my veins from traveling south because sure as shit these leather pants are not boner-friendly.
Thankfully, we stop on the third-floor landing, and Hannah moves aside, still clutching her right hand, allowing me to step up and slide the key into the lock. But the second I open the door and walk inside, I’m knocked off my feet by a giant beast launching itself at me, pinning me against the wall. Assuming my life is over, I shriek a high-pitched yelp that sounds nothing like me before I’m hit in the face by a gust of questionably hot breath, followed by the slide of a big wet tongue trying to enter my mouth.
“Toast Malone, get down!” Hannah shouts.
When I manage to collect myself, swiping the back of my hand over my drool covered chin, I’m met with the big, brown eyes of a dog peering up at me. Well,dogseems inaccurate. Fucking buffalo is more like it. I’m six-two, but even sitting down, the mastiff’s head that’s twice the size of my own comes up to my waist.
I look from it to Hannah, my eyes wide and probably full of fear. Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs, but this thing could rip a limb clean off with one bite and swallow it whole before sniffing for more.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s harmless. Aren’t youboy?” Hannah coos, petting the dog on top of its head. As if satisfied with the attention, the beast stands and trots off down the hallway, the heavy patter of his paws against the wood probably waking whoever lives downstairs.
I release a relieved breath, smoothing through my hair, which is when I realize I’m still wearing this ridiculous costume. I tug the blond wig off my head and toss it onto the small table by the front door, ruffling a hand through my naturally dark brown hair and taking the opportunity to look around. To the left is a door slightly ajar, the end of a bed visible through the crack, and to the right, down a short hallway, is a galley kitchen that opens to a living room.
“Will you take Toasty out for a pee?” Hannah asks. “His leash is hanging in the closet to the left.”
As if on cue, the beast comes bounding back down the hallway to me, practically bouncing up and down at the spot. I glance dubiously from him to the closet door. “Ah, sure…”
“I’m going to get changed,” Hannah says over her shoulder.
I watch her walk through to her bedroom, the door softly clicking closed, my gaze dropping to the buffalo dog as he gazes up at me with ahurry-the-fuck-up-I’m-about-shit-myselflook in his eyes.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I say to him as if he can understand every word I say. “You don’t rip me limb from limb, and I’ll scrounge up a tasty treat for you when we get back. Deal?”
Toast Malone snorts, licking his chops, and I take that as a handshake, sliding open the closet door and retrieving the blue leash hanging on a hook.
After witnessing a dog take the biggest shit I’ve ever seen, I return back to Hannah’s apartment, Toast Malone in tow, walking down the hallway with him hot on my heels, lookingfor the goods I promised him in exchange for leaving my body parts intact.
As I enter the kitchen, I take a look around. Potted herbs sit in the window over the sink, an array of kitschy magnets cover an old Kelvinator fridge, and two stools line up against the breakfast counter. In the corner of the countertop next to the coffee machine, I spot a cookie jar in the shape of a highland cow and, lifting the cow’s horned head off, I peer inside to find some bone-shaped baked goods. Toast Malone takes a seat by my feet like he’s a drug dog at JFK, sitting to alert me of a suspicious suitcase.
I take out a cookie and hand it to the dog, who sniffs it first before accepting it in a surprisingly gentle manner, swallowing it after two hearty chomps. Standing, he trots through the doorway and into the living room, and I watch him through the cut-out wall as he hops up onto the blue corner sofa and lies down with the kind of sigh you’d expect from a middle-aged father of three who just worked a twelve-hour shift at the mill.
Scanning the living room, I smile. It’s tiny and cozy with two windows that open to a small fire escape, with a view of Bleeker Street below. A television and a few art prints hang on a red brick wall. There’s a fireplace with a heap of half-melted candles filling the hearth. And potted plants—some dead, some thriving—are literally everywhere. This place isn’t what I imagined. I expected Hannah to live in some sleek, modern condo, probably with some hairless cat creature. This is the exact opposite of that and, I don’t know why, but it makes me smile.
I open the fridge and dig through the small freezer, pulling out a bag of frozen broccoli. Grabbing the dishtowel printed with a picture of the Eiffel Tower that hangs from the handle of the oven door, I wrap the makeshift ice pack just as Hannah appears in my periphery.
When I turn my head, I almost swallow my damn tongue as I catch her standing there in nothing but a pair of tiny-ass shorts and an oversized hoodie brandishingmyteam’s logo.Shit. Herchestnut hair is piled high on top of her head, her face fresh, skin almost glassy.Double shit. I thought she looked hot as a Playboy Bunny, but this is something else. And it’s only now that I realize this is the closest I’ve been to Hannah Draper in the three years that I’ve known her. The small apartment suddenly feels stifling in the best kind of way.
Snapping myself from the inappropriate thoughts starting to play through my mind, I clear my throat and close the distance between us, holding out the ice pack. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she mutters, taking it from me, wincing ever so slightly as she places it over her knuckles.
For a long moment, we just stand here in her tiny kitchen, my arms folded across my chest, looking down at Hannah as she looks down at her hand. But the longer we stay like this, the more the air between us thickens with the tension of our unspoken words.
“So,” I start, finally break the silence, “are you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?”
Slowly, Hannah lifts her chin, looking up at me through those long eyelashes and with a deep breath that shudders through her, starts to talk.
CHAPTER 3
