“Clearly. That's why you're homeless,” I throw back.
Silence stretches between us before she finally speaks. “That was uncalled for,” she says, her voice ice-cold.
I let out a yawn. “I'll have the doorman set you up with a key. The address is Three West End Avenue, penthouse level. Ask for Julius at the front desk.”
I hang up before she can argue further. Brett's little sister. I have vague memories of an awkward teenager with braces, always lurking around. She always had her nose in a magazine and barely spoke to me.
That was a decade ago. It sounds like she’s grown some backbone since then.
I finish up the video session and head home, planning to review more game footage later tonight. We're not missing the playoffs again. But halfway home, I remember I won't be alone tonight.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.Why did I let Brett talk me into this?My apartment is my sanctuary. Now, there's going to be someone else there, disrupting my routine.
This is going to be a long few days.
When I get to my building, Julius confirms that a young woman arrived an hour ago with several suitcases. “I gave her the key as you instructed, Mr. Maddox.”
I nod curtly, irritation settling in my gut. Why would she need several suitcases if she’s coming to stay for a few days?
I take the elevator to the penthouse, key card ready. My apartment is where I decompress after practice and games.
When I walk into the living room, there are papers scattered across my leather sectional and a dark-haired woman sitting cross-legged on my couch, typing furiously.
She looks up and smiles when I enter.
And my world tilts.
This is not the Harper I remember.
The braces are gone, replaced by a wary but gorgeous smile. Her dark hair falls around her shoulders, and she's wearing jeans and a gray sweater that emphasizes the full breasts that make it clear she's very much a woman now.
Heat shoots straight through me, primal and unwanted. Christ. This is Brett's baby sister. I can’t be thinking about her like this. I need to get laid. Soon.
“Hi, Cole,” she says, closing the laptop. “Thank you for letting me stay. I should’ve said it earlier on the phone. It's just been a stressful day, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I know this is an imposition.”
I stand there like an idiot for a moment, trying to reconcile this woman with the woman who bit my head off on the phone earlier. Then irritation kicks in. My pristine living space looks like a tornado hit it.
“It's fine,” I say curtly, dropping my gym bag by the door. “Just try to keep your stuff contained.”
Her expression shifts, the wariness becoming more pronounced. “Of course. I'll clean this up right now.”
I should tell her that she doesn't need to do that. I should be a better host. But the sight of my disrupted space has me on edge, not to mention the erection I’m currently sporting. I adjust my pants before facing her again.
“Let me show you around,” I say instead, keeping my voice business-like.
I give her the most efficient tour possible. “The guest room is yours. Bathroom's stocked with everything you should need. Kitchen's always available, help yourself to whatever.” I hand her the spare key card. “This gets you in and out of the building so you don’t have to be buzzed in.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I really appreciate this, Cole. It'll just be a few days until the repairs are done.”
“Right.” I'm already backing toward my home office. “I have work to do, so make yourself at home.”
It's a dismissal, and we both know it.
“Of course. I'll stay out of your way.” Her words are polite, but her expression is thunderous. There’s the woman I spoke to earlier.
I retreat to my office and close the door, but that look stays with me. What the hell does she have to be pissed off about? She's the one invading my space, disrupting my routine.
If she doesn't like my hospitality, she can pack her bags right back up and find a hotel.
