I turned on my favorite playlist, blasting the music through the apartment, and spilled all the pent-up, unwanted sexual frustration Garrett had made me feel into my manuscript. Shawn Mendes had just started singing about nothing holding him back when I lifted my eyes from my document to the tiny digital clock in the corner of the screen. Three hours had passed in what felt like just minutes, explaining the sudden gnawing sensation of my stomach eating through to my backbone. I was starving.
Setting the computer on the couch cushion, I headed for the kitchen to rummage around for something to eat, dancing and bouncing around to the upbeat song as I searched. I had the music up loud and was singing along—badly—as I opened and closed cabinet doors. I’d just dropped it like it was hot and was on my way back up when the music suddenly cut off and a deep voice proclaimed, “I pray my girl gets her musical tastes and talent from me, ’cause you listen to shit, babe.”
I screamed, dropping the bag of tortilla chips in my hand as I whipped around. “Ohmigod!” I shouted at a smirking Garrett. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Lifting his hands in surrender, he offered an insincere “Sorry.”
Unable to process the fact that Garrett seemed to materialize out of thin air into the middle of my living room, I continued to snap, “And my musical tastes aren’t shit. I’ll have you know that’s a very popular song right now.”
“Mmhmm,” he muttered, unconvinced before taking a look around. “Liddy here?”
I fiddled with the hem of my shirt uncomfortably. “She’s at a playdate. How did you even get in here?”
“Front door was unlocked. Not smart in this neighborhood, babe.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the long sleeves of his olive-green Henley stretching tightly over his shoulders and biceps. That smirk stretched into a shit-eating grin as he leaned his hip against the rickety entertainment center that housed my smallish TV, iPhone dock, and several framed pictures of my little girl. Once my heart rate returned to normal and the start he’d given me wore off, I became acutely aware that Garrett Wilder, famous drummer for Civil Corruption, was standing in my tiny apartment for the first timeever. And that knowledge didn’t exactly give me the warm and fuzzies.
I was suddenly anxious about what my home looked like through his eyes. To say it was beneath the standards he was used to would have been the understatement of the century.
I did the best I could to make the apartment feel like a home, but there was no denying my old, secondhand furniture had seen better days, and the décor was best described as Target-chic. The carpet was ratty and threadbare in high-traffic places, and the paint on the walls was in serious need of a touch-up. From the living room, you could see straight into the kitchen to the chipped Formica countertops. But at least it was spotless. I worked hard to keep our little place clean.
I could only hope he didn’t inspect too closely. I didn’t want him to see the holes in the drywall from where Liddy had opened a door too quickly, sending the knob through the paper-thin plaster, or the water stains on the ceiling that the landlord hadn’t gotten around to fixing from when the apartment upstairs flooded.
Then, as if the anxiety over having him in my home wasn’t enough, I remembered that I’d woken up that morning and thrown on my “lounge around” clothes, meaning I was in a pair of short cotton shorts and myBuy Me Tacos and I’ll Love YouForevertank top. My face was void of all makeup, and I’d thrown my hair in a ratty bun without bothering to brush it first.
I probably looked like I belonged with the group of homeless people who lived a few blocks away. Just perfect.
Garrett’s eyes did a sweep of my body, and I silently thanked God I’d remembered to put on a bra that morning as my nipples began to harden under his heated perusal.
His gaze landed on the words on my shirt, and he said, “Good to know all it takes to win you over is tacos.”
I crossed my arms over my chest to block the lettersandmy nipples, then scowled at him, my earlier calm shot to hell by my traitorous body’s reaction to his unexpected arrival. “What are you doing here?”
Pushing off the entertainment center and moving in my direction, he stated, “I needed to talk to you. I’ve seen you more the past few days than I have in all the time we’ve known each other, but instead of me saying what I need to say, you throw attitude, I get pissed, and we end up fighting until you storm off.”
“I donotthrow attitude!” I exclaimed, effectively throwing attitude. Garrett chuckled and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep any more venom from spewing out.
“You don’t, huh?”
“Sorry,” I replied guiltily. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction when it comes to you. If you promise not to act like a selfish dick, I promise not to throw anymore attitude.”
My breath caught in my throat as he stopped just inches away from me, the spicy manliness of his cologne overwhelming my senses. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not sure I can make that deal. See, I think you’re fuckin’ cute as hell when you get all riled up.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked up, up, up. “I feel thatattitude bubbling up again,” I warned, and to my bewilderment, he laughed, moving in even closer.
“And it’s fuckin’ cute,” he said in a hushed voice, reaching up to tug at a strand of my hair that had fallen loose.
“What…?” I swallowed thickly past the dryness in my throat. Taking a step back, I bumped into the counter and braced my hands behind me on the edge. “What are you doing?” I asked on a breathless whisper, hating how off-kilter I felt when he got close.
“You know, you’ve always been gorgeous, sweetness.” He rubbed his thumb along my cheekbone and trailed down to my jaw. “But I think I like you without makeup more. I can see how pink your cheeks get when I touch you.”
Nope. No. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening.
I quickly sidestepped, prepared to flee the suffocating confines of my itty-bitty kitchen, but my toe snagged on the linoleum flooring that had warped and lifted—another fix my landlord hadn’t gotten around to yet—and I started going down, the ground coming at my face at a startling speed.
If not for Garrett’s quick action, I’d have face-planted on the ugly, jacked-up floor. “Jesus Christ, sweetness,” he grunted as his arms clamped around my waist like steel bands and he pulled my back against his strong… solid… rock-hard front…Focus, Gwen! “Careful, yeah?”
“Don’t call me sweetness,” I replied instantly, like it was second nature. I tried to pull from his arms but they didn’t budge. I continued to struggle, thinking I’d need the Jaws of Life to get out of his hold. “You can let me go now. I’m fine. I just tripped on the stupid linoleum. I keep meaning to fix it but I always forget.”
His hair brushed against my shoulder as he looked down at the ugly, wonky strip of vinyl flooring that I battled with almost daily. His head lifted a second later, his chin coming to rest onmy shoulder, and I knew he was finally giving my apartment the attention Ididn’twant when his arms grew even tighter.
