My pulse paused. Straight up, it glitched.
I wasn't a screamer, but I made an interestingly surprised meep noise. He didn't seem nefarious, what with all the luggage and the fact he had a key in his hand.
Still, the guy stared at me like I'd grown an extra couple of limbs out of my head. Probably the respect with tongue thing I'd said to Mom. I wouldn't have said that if I'd known I had an audience.
At that point, I should've said something to him. That would've been the logical thing to do when a man dressed in flannel stood there. Instead, I took a step backward. Unfortunately, this caused me to trip on the edge of the rug.
The rug placement was total shit.
Damn, damn, damn, that little trip had me bumping right into the Elvis bust. He tipped forward. I turned to grab him, and his face pressed right on up against my breasts.
Elvis, not the guy at the door.
I made an oomph sound while the ghost of Elvis himself seemed to embody my mother's words, ensuring that things I didn't want to happen would happen. Oh, yes, the King of Rock 'n Roll motorboated my girls and continued to tilt precariously forward.
That plaster Elvis was heavy. Like stupid heavy.
"Help me," I said in a panic, to McFlannel.
Doing my best to get Elvis back on the stand wasn't enough, because he seemed extremely attached to my boobs. The tube top? No longer a great idea.
CHAPTERTWO
MAYA
McFlannel dropped his bags at the door, which was unfortunate because he'd have to pick them right back up when he left, but it was also fortunate because he took four long strides to me and helped wrangle Elvis back where he belonged.
He seemed to be actively avoiding looking my way.
"Holy crap." I checked my top. It was a close one, but no nip slip. "That would've been awful, huh?"
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat that could've been an agreement or disagreement. It was hard to tell.
Thankfully, the girls remained safely enclosed in the elastic and satin top. Then I slid my gaze from Elvis—he was fine—to McFlannel.
The guy didn't have any serial killer vibes, as I was fairly certain serial killers didn't bring luggage with them. Also, I didn't think I'd ever been attracted to a serial killer before, and here I was, dancing along the edge of sunstroke from how hot this guy was. Hot in the hunky sense.
"Uh. Thank you for your help." I stepped back a smidge. "Also, who are you?"
The guy looked like he honest-to-God worked outside with his hands.
"Who are you?" he asked, laidback, like I hadn't just posed that exact query. "Are you supposed to be here?"
Again, wasn't that my line?
"Yes, and I'm Maya." I shouldn't just toss my name out like that to random people I didn’t know. And, also, I should have gotten Emily and let her deal with whatever was happening here, but I didn't. Probably because of hot lumberjack guy fumes messing with my brainwaves.
"Look. I'm not sure what's going on." He sort of tilted his head to the side. "Elliott will be right up. It's his aunt's place."
"You're here with Elliott?" I asked in horror, because that was about the worst news I'd heard in forever.
"You know him?"
Of course, I knew Elliott. "He's Emily's brother."
He was a sports agent. Which meant…
"Are you a football player?"
