Cash is leaning against the opposite wall, just outside the door to the lone bathroom. His eyes go alert and wary at the same time as he sweeps a quick glance up and down, like he’s making sure I survived the night.
He’s still in his jeans from yesterday, naturally. Not like he planned on staying or needing a change of clothes. His gray T-shirt is wrinkled but still clinging to his broad chest and solid biceps, and his brown hair is all kinds of messy.
Why is he so hot?
Sincerely. Why?
Why does he have those thick veins wrapped around his forearms?
Why are his nipples poking his shirt and highlighting how solid his movie-star physique is?
Why does looking at him make my lungs tingle?
We don’t kiss our landlords. Bad things happen when we kiss our landlords. Ask me how I know.
But I’ve never had a landlord who would’ve driven an hour in the wrong direction for his holiday plans to apologize for anything. Andespeciallyto apologize for something that didn’t even happen.
“Sleep okay?” he says.
“Absolutely,” I lie. “You?”
“Like a baby,” he lies right back.
It’s not just that I spent the night listening to him moving here and there. It’s the dark smudges under his eyes, the dip of his lips, the sag of his shoulders.
Either he’s one of those people who wake up slowly, or he slept like crap.
“So, I was on the WiFi.” He doesn’t just look tired as he says it.
No, he looks guilty.
“Were you streaming porn?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like you using the WiFi is the worst thing you could’ve done?”
He cringes and looks at the floor. “I pulled up the weather.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “And?” I ask, like I don’t know on some level what he’s about to say.
“Blizzard developed unexpectedly and isn’t over until late tonight,” he mutters.
“Blizzard?”
“Couple feet of snow should fall before it’s over.”
I stare at him.
He scuffs one socked foot against the knotted wood floor. “Good news is, I have more food out in my car. I’ll head out and grab it before the snow gets any thicker.”
“And the bad news is, you’re not leaving.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound?—”
“No, you wanted to be alone. I’m intruding. I get it. It’s hard enough to find alone time with the way we—youlive, and I shouldn’t be here.”
