Page 19

“Fuck!” I cross my arms to yank it off, but I can’t get my elbow back through the hole, leaving my arm dangling above my head. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Another ring of the bell is really just obnoxious at this point, and my mood flips from panicked to frustrated, as I wrangle my other arm into its sleeve. The tearing sound mirrors my slowly unraveling calm, and I tug the shirt as far over my exposed navel as I can, then pause, wondering if I should grab my knife. “What are you gonna do, stab the guy you invited over?” I mutter, jogging down the staircase.

One more ring of the bell grates at my nerves, and I throw back the door. “I’m coming, goddammit!”

Standing on my front porch is a man over six feet tall, in a sleek black suit. Two of me could span the width of him, and above his crisp black collar sits a snake tattoo that winds up his neck. With dark hair, and cold, gray eyes that sweep down over my outfit, he’s both handsome and intimidating, but the scar across his face adds an edge of menace, sending up red flags.

He doesn’t look like a potential tenant. He looks like danger, wrapped in a nice suit.

Not happening. I’ve already decided this deal is off.

“I’m here about the apartment. We spoke yesterday.” His eyes trail down again and back, and I suddenly remember I’m wearing an eleven-year-old’s favorite T-shirt.

“Yeah. I’m … Nola.” Yes, I was named after the city where my mom and dad apparently got it on in their forties, resulting in an oops baby. My miraculous conception to a mother who was shitfaced and horny. Reaching out a hand, I give one more yank at the hem of the T-shirt and flinch at another tear. “Forgive me, I was …” I don’t even have huge boobs, but they look monstrous in this T-shirt, pressing against the fabric like they’re trying to make a break for it.

“Firm,” he says in a velvet voice, returning the handshake.

“Excuse me?”

“Your grip.” Twisting our clutched hands, he seems to examine them clasped together, his big palm swallowing mine. “Strong.”

Clearing my throat, I slip my hand from his and give the too-small T-shirt one more tug. I can’t have this guy roaming around my property. The neighbors are going to think I’ve taken up with the mafia.

“Look, you’re a few minutes late. I actually rented out the apartment about an hour ago to a … person who made an appointment before you did.”

“I’ll pay double what the other person paid. I’m guessing a woman.”

This guy is relentless. And even if his offer has leaped into the realm of ridiculous, he’s starting to piss me off.

“Why do you presume I’m sexist?” I rest my hands on my hips, frowning back up at him.

“I can only imagine what you’re presuming right now.” His eyes take another dip south and linger on the return trip. “Can I at least see what I’m missing out on?”

“What’s the point? It belongs to someone else.”

“Does it?”

I can’t tell if he’s talking about the apartment, or me. He should shack up with Harv and Bethany and start a university of sexual puns.

“Fine. I’ll let you check it out.” Hell, maybe when he sees it, he’ll lose interest. Surely, this guy wouldn’t be happy living in a tiny in-law suite that barely has cable. “I’ve got nothing else to accomplish today.” I usher him inside, taking in the size of him as he passes me in the doorway. This dude could crumple me into a ball and toss me out the window, if he was feeling ambitious enough.

“Straight out the back,” I say, guiding him down the corridor to the mudroom. The kitchen passes us on the left where the breezeway stands open, and I catch his quick glance toward it.

“You don’t strike me as a Star Wars fan,” he says over his shoulder, as he comes to a stop in front of the door leading out to the back yard.

“Who’s passing judgment now?” I wait for him to open the door and step out onto the deck.

The back of the property is probably the most appealing part of the house. My father wanted to create a sanctuary for my mother, so he planted trees that provided enough privacy from the neighbors and shaded the many gardens I’ve done a piss-poor job of keeping maintained in recent years.

“For your information, it’s my son’s shirt. If you hadn’t been doorbell happy this morning, I might’ve had time to grab a shirt that fits.” Realizing I offered information I didn’t care to divulge, about my son, I bite my cheek and inwardly kick myself.

“Do you always wear your son’s clothes?”

“No. But if I did, that’s none of your business.”

The in-law suite sits above the three-car, detached garage behind the house, with a narrow deck that spans the width of it, and a staircase at the far right of the structure. At the foot of the stairs, I take the lead, certain the guy is staring at my ass as we ascend toward the door of the apartment.

“I have to say, the view in the back is incredible.”