“Hot damn! Is that my favorite coworker?”
Every muscle in my body tightened quicker than you could say “Thanksgiving.” So much for the last twenty minutes of stretching. Bile pooled in the back of my throat, and it had nothing to do with my few sips of cookie latte.
I pasted on a smile and turned toward the smarmy voice I knew all too well. “Geoffrey,” I managed through gritted teeth, swallowing past the urge to call him by his real name,Ge-offer-y. “Fancy meeting you here.”
He grinned back at me, his white teeth on full display. They were a stark contrast to his caramel skin and chocolate-brown hair tied back in his signature low ponytail. If the spelling of his name and family connections weren’t enough to piss me off, his luscious locks would do it. The dude had hair that rivaled L’Oréal models.
“I had no idea you ran,” he said.
“Mm-hm.”
“We should totally train together.”
“Yeah, maybe.” When hell froze over, and even then, there was a good chance I might strangle him with my scarf.
“I just crushed my first half-marathon in June, so I could totally give you some tips.”
“You know what, Geoffrey—”
A whistle sounded before I could launch into my rebuttal.Tips my ass.I had two marathons under my belt from this year alone, but I didn’t have to brag about them. Whereas most people traveled for business or pleasure, I traveled to run. Just last month, I had taken a weekend trip to Chicago for the 10k Hot Chocolate Run. Nothing motivated me more than chocolate.
“Oh, look.” Killian wrapped an arm around my shoulders, gently twisting me back toward the road ahead. “We’re running. Cheers, mate.”
My hands clenched at my sides. It only took a second or two for my brain to catch up with my mouth, just long enough for Geoffrey to take off, nearly whipping me with the ponytail spilling over his shoulder.
“See you at the finish line, Nellie Belly.”
The way I wanted to wipe that smug smile off his stupid face . . . but I was going to have to catch up to him first.
My feet pounded against the pavement. There was no way I would let this dickweed nepo baby get the best of me—not in the office anddefinitelynot on my own turf. I knew this route better than anybody. I had been running the loop down Ocean and around 3rdStreet Promenade for almost a year now.
“Don’t do it, Nell,” Killian urged, quickly matching my pace.
“Don’t do what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.” He narrowed his gaze. “Your sister gets the same devious glint in her eyes when she’s up to no good.”
I chewed on my lower lip and lasered in on the ponytail swishing a few people ahead of me. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “And don’t hurt yourself trying to keep up. Leighton won’t be happy.”
His halfhearted protest fell on deaf ears as I sped ahead, chasing after Geoffrey. Killian’s soccer career had come to a premature close a few years back after he’d suffered a blow to the knee. He still stayed in good shape, mostly by swimming laps, but anything beyond a light jog would be too much for him.
But not for me.
It only took half a mile for me to catch up to Geoffrey, and then another to fly past him with ease. As I rounded the second mile marker, I couldn’t resist shooting a toothy grin over my shoulder toward the man huffing and puffing behind me. It was petty and childish, but that didn’t make the surprised look on his face any less satisfying.
And even though I knew it was overkill and I would probably regret it later, I twisted my body to one side until it looked like I was straddling an invisible horse and shouted, “See you at the finish line,Ge-offer-y.”
In a split second, his expression shifted from shock and awe to blatant fear, eyes widening when he spotted something—or someone—ahead of me. They were the last things I saw before I barreled headfirst into a blur of red-and-white velvet.
Austin
Sweet Christmas, I killed my hot neighbor.
It was the first thing that crossed my mind, followed quickly by a much more inappropriate thought about how I would never get the opportunity to see her naked. That was the real tragedy.
Not to sound too much like my older sisters, but I had been crushing hard on Janelle Wheatley—or Nellie, to her friends andfamily—since she’d moved into the apartment across from mine. Which made today’s incident all the more embarrassing.
I had already blown any shot I had with her earlier this year when she’d asked me out to dinner. The invitation had taken me by surprise, and as any of my family, friends, or former partners would attest to, I did not do well with surprises—good or bad. And like thecotton-headed ninny mugginsI was, I had come up with some half-baked excuse about bathing my cats and scampered back to my apartment. I had spent the next few months avoiding her at every turn, fearing I might revert to my awkward, bumbling self if she so much as smiled at me.
