Page 57

In the far bottom corner is a box of the good stuff. Oreos, Goldfish, a jar of Nutella; my mouth starts watering just looking at everything. And there’s a good bit of it, which makes me wonder if he ever eats any of this stuff.

I wonder if he has some fruit for the Nutella.

Before I can stem the urge, I rip open one of the snack bags of Goldfish and dip it into the Nutella.

Weird, but…good.

With the Nutella in one hand and a few snack bags of other treats in the other, I place my phone between my teeth, the flashlight now off, and quietly tiptoe back to the door.

I somehow manage to keep the crinkles of bags hushed as I open the door and gently click it shut behind me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn around, ready to make my sneaky—and successful—escape back to my room.

Instead, I collide with a hard body.

I let out a gurgled shout, my phone dropping from my mouth and landing with a crack. Every bag goes flying from my hand.

I’m left clutching a jar of Nutella as the kitchen lights flick on.

“Christ,” Lucas gasps from the wall two feet to my left. He’s leaning against the light switches with one hand, bent over just enough to have his other hand braced against his thigh with the other. He’s trying—and failing—to catch his breath. “You scared the shit out of me, Charli.”

“I’m sorry!” I squeak, trying to curl in on myself and disappear. “I didn’t know you’d be up.”

“Why are you up?” he asks on an exhale, standing to his full height and gesturing out at his kitchen. “And why are you hiding in my pantry?” His gaze drops to my hands, and his brow furrows. Then it drops to the snacks at my feet, and his frown deepens. “Wait…are those Oreos?”

I can feel the humiliated blush lighting my face on fire. Squatting down, I sweep the fallen snacks into my arms, then stand and try to press them into Lucas’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice still too high-pitched. When he doesn’t take them, I quickly drop them on the counter beside us. “I mean, I’m not sorry for eating your snacks. You do love to brag about how much you can afford. So, you know, put your money where your mouth is. But—” I shuffle my bare feet on the tiles, twisting my hands together as I look anywhere but at him. Fuck, this is awkward. “I guess I’m sorry for doing it in the middle of the night and scaring you.”

Lucas doesn’t respond right away. In fact, he stays silent for long enough that I finally peek up at him.

He’s still breathing heavily. But it doesn’t look like it’s for the same reason as before.

His eyes are on my body; specifically, the boy shorts that are cut way too high and the white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, both in color and in shape—thanks to the cool kitchen and cold tiles.

It’s also the moment I realize that he’s not exactly dressed appropriately, either.

Which is a cop-out way of saying he’s almost naked. Because the only article of clothing on his body is a pair of boxers.

And I was right. He’s shredded.

My experience with half-naked men is admittedly limited, but even with the use of the ever-helpful World Wide Web, I’ve never seen a man with such defined muscles. Not only can I count every single ab, but I’m pretty sure I could spend hours tracing the striations on his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The man must be two percent body fat.

I can’t let my gaze drop to his legs. I’ll be tracing those lines if I let myself look. Instead, my eyes shoot to the space above his head where I won’t be distracted by the sexiest landlord/roommate to ever exist.

“Charli,” comes Lucas’s deep growl.

“Hm?”

“I know my cabinets are gorgeous, but if you wouldn’t mind looking me in the eyes, that would be great.”

I suck in a shaky breath, then lower my eyes to meet his. He looks amused, but also…that heat hasn’t gone anywhere.

“I’m not mad that you raided my pantry like some hibernating squirrel,” he says evenly. “You just scared me doing it in the dark. That’s all.”

“I…” Swallowing thickly, I look at the snacks on the counter. “I get really bad munchies when I work late,” I explain. And then I start to ramble, my words coming faster. “But I just finished work, and I haven’t made it to the store to buy groceries yet, and even though I kind of assumed you’d only have shitty health food—which, by the looks of you, apparently wasn’t a bad guess⁠—”

“Charli.”

“—I decided to check your pantry, but⁠—”