He seems . . . relaxed, lost in his own thoughts.
And just like I thought, he’s wearing a shirt. I’d have been shocked if he had been standing there without a shirt. It’s such a shame. I’m curious about what he’s hiding under that gray T-shirt. I mean, professional athlete, so his body is probably insane. And not that I’m staring, but not only is the man wearing a pair of black athletic shorts that hit him just above the knees, but his feet are also bare.
Yup. Bare.
In my opinion, revealing a man’s bare feet is as scandalous as a brief glimpse of a woman’s ankle back in the 1800s.
Since we’re, you know, here and examining, I’d hate to leave out his sandy-brown hair that’s sticking up in the front but flat in the back. Clearly, he sleeps on his back. And the grand finale, the thing that will make all ovaries join fallopian tubes in a collective weep, the thick layer of morning scruff that lines his square jaw.
Ooof, yup, that is . . . nice.
Okay, sure, the man is incredibly handsome. I’ll give him that. But he’s also extremely closed off and quiet, so I doubt I’d ever consider dating him. I need someone who can match my energy. Not that I’m looking for someone to date.
I move toward the kitchen and say in a cheery voice, “Good morning.”
Startled, he glances to the side and straightens up. “Good, uh . . . good morning.” He pats his hair, trying to straighten it out, but has zero control over it with his dry palm. It’s cute.
Who would have thought such a giant man—six foot four, to be exact—would be such a cinnamon roll.
“Sorry, did I startle you?” I ask.
“No, you’re fine.” His eyes briefly scan me before moving back up to my face. The brief glance gives me a touch of satisfaction that I shouldn’t be happy about because, like I said, I’m not interested. “Are you heading out?”
“Yeah, early morning,” I say as I reach into my purse and grab my phone. “Have a big meeting that I want to prepare for in the office.”
“Cool. Yeah, well, good luck with your meeting.”
“Thank you. It should be—” My phone slips out of my hand and, in grand fashion, falls straight to the hard concrete floor with an agonizing smash. “Nooo,” I say as I bend down.
At the same time, Halsey rushes over to help. I reach for it while he does as well, but I beat him to it.
The screen is completely cracked and black.
“Is it broken?” he asks, very concerned.
I try to turn it on, but the screen remains black, and I know there is no way it survived the fall.
Damn these concrete floors.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Yeah, I think it is.” I sigh and stare down at my lifeline. “I’m going to have to get a new one after work. I don’t have time to do it this morning.”
“I can run and get one for you.”
I look up at him, surprised by his offer. “Oh, thanks, but it’s okay. I appreciate it, though.” I’m not sure if it’s the mixture of hazel in his eyes, the balance of gold and green, or the concern in his expression, but for a moment, it makes me lose my balance, and while bending, I step forward, nearly falling into him.
He quickly reaches out to steady me with his hand on my arm.
“Whoa, you okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “Sorry about that.” I push up to stand. “These shoes are hard to bend over in.” I lift completely, unaware that my foot is stepping on the front of my skirt, so as Istraighten myself out, my elastic-waisted skirt doesn’t straighten out with me.
Instead . . .
It’s pulled all the way down my body to the floor, where Halsey is still bent over, leaving me exposed in my unsnapped bodysuit and thong.
Dear Jesus, what have I done?
Horrified, I take inventory of what I’m dealing with as Halsey looks up, his eyes connecting with my unsnapped bodysuit that’s acting more like a flowy loincloth than a fashionable garment.
