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“I could fit my whole apartment in your living room,” she says.
The timing of her remark is so spot on it almost makes me laugh, but I tone it down to a grin as I put my stuff on the kitchen counter.
“What? Why are you smiling?”
I don’t tell her what I was just thinking.
“Nothing. How about I grab you some clothes to wear?” She’s already shaking her head, but she’s quite literally soaked through. It can’t be comfortable. “No arguments. You look like you took a shower with your clothes on.”
I head into the bedroom, yelling back for her to make herself at home.
Which is when it hits me.
For the second time in my life, I’m trying to do the right thing, but the universe seems to be laughing in my face. The most desirable woman I’ve ever promised myself not to hit on is in my apartment.
17
Ada
This can’t be happening.
I’m sitting in the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen in Manhattan, listening to a thunderstorm rage outside. Across from Hayden Turner. To top it off, I’m wearing his shorts and T-shirt, and they smell like him.
“How was it?”
I wrap up the uneaten portion of my sandwich.
“Really good. You’re lucky to have them right on your block.”
“I know. I eat there at least twice a week.”
He’s been giving me these little looks ever since we first made eye contact in the deli, asking without asking, so I finally admit it, just to get the elephant out of the room.
“I was curious,” I say, the steady sound of rain coming from a partially open window nearby lulling me into what I’m sure is a false sense of security. “So I may have run a few blocks out of my way.”
Up until now, we’ve avoided any topic that could be construed as even remotely suggestive. It’s probably a mistake to be so open with him, but I don’t want him to think I’m some crazy stalker who’s been hanging out in his neighborhood on the regular.
“What were you curious about?”
You.
“Your neighborhood.”
He looks rightfully dubious.
And hot. Smokin’ hot. After giving me the clothes I’m wearing now, Hayden went into his bedroom and changed. Even in casual clothes, he always looks impeccable, like he belongs on the cover ofGQmagazine. But now, in shorts and a tank, he’s so much more approachable. Regular.
Well, kind of.
I’m pretty sure he’s caught me staring at his broad, muscular shoulders a half dozen times.
“My neighborhood. Hmm.”
Yep, I should have left the elephant alone or nudged it into a corner of the room.
“I honestly didn’t expect the sky to open up,” I offer.
“Speaking of opening up, you said something at lunch I’ve been wondering about.” He trails off, looking into my eyes as he finishes. “Something about being lucky to be on the job. I presume you mean at the FDA?”
