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Moira told me the best way to get over the last one is to get under the next one. Crass, yes, but maybe she’s got a point. Either way, I’ve found my next one. Dinner Tuesday night can’t come fast enough.
8
FINN
Natalie Casteel is girlfriend material, the kind of woman I have no business getting involved with. I know better. She’s too good for me, but I can’t stay away.
How the woman can be so utterly unaware of her appeal baffles the hell out of me. Anytime I said something vaguely suggestive or even just flirtatious, she looked surprised. As though she didn’t believe I was talking to her.
Confusing. The puzzle of it is almost as intriguing as the incredible chemistry between us. Kissing her cheek to say goodbye felt like foreplay. Tuesday feels light years away.
Taking a page from Natalie’s book, I head for the gym instead of going straight home. Too much energy to burn, too much heat built up. Might as well put it to use.
An hour later, I’ve lifted all the heavy shit I can for the day. The air is sharply cold walking up to my apartment, invigorating after the work I just put in. Steaming in the winter air, but cooling off fast, I haul ass up the stairs.
Tossing my keys on the table by the door, I drop my gym bag and head for the bathroom to start the shower running. I’ve just pulled my shirt off when I hear a knock at the door. Steam billows out of the shower, tempting me to ignore whoever it is with the shitty timing, but if it’s Callie, or Sully, or even maybe Weston, I don’t want to miss them. I shut the water off.
My next-door neighbor is about the last person I expect to see.
“Hey, Finn,” he says.
“Hey, Nic,” I say. “What’s up?”
His answer is slow in coming, and I realize two things at once. First, I’m not wearing a shirt. And second, the last time I saw Nic was in the lobby of the Sizzle building where he checked me out. Thoroughly.
My nipples harden painfully tight. Because it’s fucking freezing, obviously.
He’s a good-looking man with a fine sheen of money, good breeding, or high-class something-or-other that I couldn’t buy with a winning lottery ticket. Light brown hair, messy in that way that takes expensive haircuts and products to achieve. He’s maybe an inch shorter than me, leaner too, but with muscle, if the fit of his rumpled button-down shirt is any indication.
“You working today?” I ask, since he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to tell me why he’s knocking on my door on a Sunday evening.
He’s staring at my chest. My skin starts to prickle.
Because it’s cold, dumbass, I think. But I’m not feeling chilled.
“Not at the moment,” he says. Which, duh. Obviously, he’s not working if he’s standing at my door. “Is now a good time?”
“Good as any,” I say. “You want to come in?”
Tell me why that sounds like a come-on. Tell me, because it fucking wasn’t. But I’m not wearing a shirt, and he totally checked me out the last time I saw him, and I’m pretty sure he’s checking me out again right now, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about that.
Flexing probably isn’t the answer, though. Nic clears his throat and looks away.
“No, thank you,” he says. He focuses on the hall behind me. “Just don’t want to keep you from anything.”
“Just central heating. What can I do for you?”
That question brings his gaze to mine. “I have a problem. Somebody broke into my office this weekend.”
I stand up straighter. “Have you called the police?”
He nods. “There’s not much they can do at this point. Nothing was stolen, as far as I can tell, but I’ll have to check with my assistant in the morning to confirm.”
“Natalie.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice going as frigid as the air I’m letting into my apartment. “Natalie. She tells me you’ve met. Natalie is why I’m here.”
“Obviously, she told you I asked her out,” I start, defense at the ready. I had been a perfect gentleman with Natalie, apart from every second or third thought in my head. Those don’t count.
