He slips a piece of pasta to one the cats who’s planted herself at his feet, staring up at him hungrily. Another way we’re different. I’m so not a cat person. Don’t get me wrong. They’re okay. But given the choice, I’m #teamdog all the way.
“I told you,” he says, shaking his head. At first, I think the head shake is for me, but then I realize he’s staring down the cat, who’s begging for more food. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“And I told you, this isn’t about jumping into another relationship. It’s about putting yourself out there. Meeting people. Having a little fun.” I take a deep breath and go there. Once I start down this road, there’s no turning back. “And I’m going to help you make that happen.”
“Oh? And how exactly are you going to do that?”
The corners of his mouth turn up in a sexy half-smile that has me reconsidering my decision not to barricade us in this apartment and ride him like a Kawasaki. For a hot second. But I quickly snap back to my senses and return to my original plan.
“By taking my brother’s place. I’m going to be your Angelica Schuyler.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Connor
FORTHESECONDtime in twenty-four hours, I’m asking myself the same question.
She wants to what?
I guess my earlier deduction was right. She’s volunteering to be my wingman, er, wingwoman. Which means she’s put me firmly in the friend zone.
I should be relieved. Hooking up with my best friend’s baby sister would be a bad idea on so many levels. So why do I feel this acute sense of loss and disappointment? I’m like a kid who’s just been told Christmas isn’t coming this year.
“Hello, McFly? Earth to Connor.” Brie reaches across the counter and raps me on the back of my hand. “What do you say? You. Me. Taking on the singles scene.”
“That’s a big hell to the no. I don’t need a wingm—” I stop myself and go for a more gender-neutral term. “Wingperson.”
“I beg to differ. Man cannot exist alone. We’re social creatures. We’re meant to have company. Not live like hermits.”
“I can.” It’s not that I’m anti-social. I enjoy a night out with friends as much as the next guy. But I also value my private time. Me and my thoughts, maybe the latest Neil Gaiman book on my e-reader, an HBO documentary on my flat screen, or a game of online chess with one of my internet buddies.
I abruptly push back my stool, and Mirri, who’s still parked at my feet hoping I’ll cave and pass her another treat, mews loudly and skitters away. “Look, I appreciate your offer, but I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Have it your way.” She stacks our plates and brings them over to the sink. “But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“—don’t be afraid to let me know.”
I take the dishes from her. “You cooked. I’ll clean. Go finish unpacking.”
I set the plates down on the counter and give her a gentle nudge toward the door. Big mistake. The skin on her bare shoulder—she’s wearing a strappy little tank top that ends an inch or so above the waistband of her denim cutoffs—is soft and warm, and now I’m wondering if she’s as soft and warm everywhere. My guess is the answer is yes.
Please, God, let her take my not-so-subtle hint and make like a tree and get out of here. I desperately need some space between us, or I might be tempted to test my theory.
She shoots me a grateful smile that has my stomach and my dick doing cartwheels. “Thanks. I’m pretty much settled in—or as settled as I’m going to get, since I’m leaving the stuff I don’t use on a daily basis in boxes. But our showrunner changed my schedule, and now I have to be on set tomorrow at six. So I should probably get some z’s.”
“Six?” I open the dishwasher and slide a plate between the tines. Maybe if I’m otherwise occupied I’ll stop fantasizing about feeling her up. “In the morning?”
She nods. “The van is coming to pick me up at five.”
“Damn, that’s early.”
“We’re on location at a restaurant in Brooklyn, and we have to be out before the staff comes in to set up for the dinner service.” She yawns and stretches, her already short shirt lifting even higher to reveal more of her toned, tanned stomach. So much for squelching those fantasies. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
The look on my face must say no way am I waking up that early because she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Or not.”
She starts to go, but at the last minute I remember the keys I had made for her on my way home. Since there’s no chance in hell I’ll be awake at zero dark thirty to give them to her before she leaves, I have no choice but to stop her.
