Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Taking the afternoon off might not be such a bad idea after all. I had heard about “pregnancy brain” before, but was there such a thing as “fractured foot brain?”
Tabitha ended our call, and I leapt up from my swivel chair. “Leapt” might have been a bit optimistic—hobbled was more accurate. Just the short walk from my desk to the door had me breaking out in a sweat.
I nearly missed a step when I flung open the front door, though that had less to do with my bulky boot and everything to do with the man waiting on the other side of the threshold. The one holding an oversized gift basket packed full of fluffy socks, delicious treats, and my favorite trashy magazines.
Only this time, he wasn’t dressed as Santa Claus.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I echoed.
“Am I interrupting anything?” His eyes skirted over my bare legs. I was suddenly very aware of just how short my plaid pajama shorts were. “Er, I can come back later, or—”
“No, you’re fine. I was just working from home.” The sharp bite of winter air made me shiver. It was hard to believe that in just a few short weeks, L.A. had gone from seventy to fifty-degree temperatures. “Actually, my boss all but ordered me to take the rest of the afternoon off, so your timing is perfect.”
He snorted. “That’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard that.”
I got the feeling that he wanted to say something else, but he left it at that. It wasn’t the first time Austin had left me wanting more. The truth was, I had spent my first few months in Santa Monica shamelessly flirting with him—in the laundry room, next to the mailboxes, across the street in the community garden. And why the hell not? The man was a snack and half—thiccwith two c’s—and had a beard made for riding. Plus, he really knew his way around a plot of eggplant.
At the time, I could have sworn that the interest was mutual, which was why I’d been so surprised—and frankly disappointed—when he’d turned me down. There’d been no more flirtingafter that. In fact, now that I thought about it, I had barely seen him around the complex for weeks.
Maybe it was for the best, though. He had clearly found somewhere else to . . . put his eggplant, and I’d thrown myself headfirst into work. Besides, I had never been the kind of girl who chased after a man, and I wasn’t about to start now.
I wanted somebody who wanted me, who wasobsessedwith me—in an obnoxiously adorable, can’t keep his hands off me, and wakes me up with coffee kind of way—and I refused to settle for anything less.
“Is that for me?” I asked, gesturing toward the basket in his arms.
“Oh, yeah.” He held it out to me. “Just a few things I thought might make you feel better.”
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
“I still feel awful about what happened.”
“Seriously.” I huffed. “Please stop being so nice.”
We both winced at the venom in my voice. He wasn’t the only one that was taken aback by my pent-up frustration, none of which should have been directed toward him. Well, maybe a little. I was still salty about not being able to finish that Turkey Trot.
Before he could turn tail and run, I held up my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, softening my tone. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve just . . . been a little on edge the last few days, not that that’s an excuse, but still.” Understanding dawned on his face. “I just meant that you don’t need to keep apologizing. As much as I hate to admit it, Leighton was right; I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I’m just as much to blame for this.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
I could have left it at that. I could have taken the gift basket inside and cracked open a gossip rag in the tub. But that would have been too easy. Instead, I gave in to the swirl ofmanic thoughts racing through my head, just searching for an audience.
“Now, my boss wants me to ‘take it easy’ and work from home, but I can’t win over Bennett Studiosandtear down that ponytailed bastard from my living room couch, now can I?”
“Probably not.”
“Then there’s the office holiday spectacular thing I volunteered to plan, and my mother, who won’t stop calling me about Christmas, and the worst part about all of this—”
His eyes widened. “There’s more?”
“I can’t even do theone thingthat always makes me feel better when I’m stressed . . . run.”
I chanced a look at his face when I finally caught my breath.Poor guy. He had come over to check on me and deliver, by the looks of it, a well put together care package, only to be subjected to my word vomit and ire. Some neighbor I was.
