My heart pounding in my chest, I follow him into the dimly lit kitchen, unsure what to say.
Will he kick us out?
It’s quite possible, isn’t it?
His expression is stony. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. Even though half of his face is obscured by the weak light, he’s so gorgeous for a moment I forget what I’m here for as I peer up at the six-foot-two angry statue of the guy.
“I said no suitcase,” he says quietly.
“It’s not mine.”
He glances over my shoulder to Mandy in the hallway. “If it’s not yours, then that’s fine.”
This is so personal.
My jaw drops. It takes every ounce of my willpower to bite back a snarky remark.
He must really hate me, or more likely, he’s trying to punish me. His arrogance is monumental. You can probably see it from outer space. And it irritates the hell out of me.
“Thank you for letting us stay,” I say loud enough for Mandy to hear. “You’re very generous.”
Not.
He opens his mouth, then closes it, as though he wants to utter something, but then decides otherwise.
Eventually, he nods. “Follow me.”
He gestures for us to follow him from the hallway into the living room.
I try not to gawk.
Compared to his flashy car, the room is rather simple and looks in dire need of renovation. There’s a worn sofa on the east side, a whole library on the west side. A huge, old-fashioned fireplace adorns most of the north wall.
He disappears for a few seconds and returns with two towels, pressing them into our hands. Mandy peels off her soaked jacket and then joins me on the generously sized rug overlooking the ginormous fireplace. The warmth seeps into my skin, relaxing me.
“I’ll get you some drinks,” Mr. Hot Guy mumbles and takes Mandy’s coat.
“Thanks. That’d be great,” Mandy calls after him in what I’ve learned to recognize as her flirty voice—a mixture of low and sultry intermingled with just a hint of a smile.
I nudge her in the ribs and whisper, “Do you think that’s a good idea? We don’t even know him.”
“What?” She shrugs, faking that she has no idea what I’m talking about.
As soon as he’s gone, she turns to me. “What the hell!” she mouths in case he’s eavesdropping. “Why didn’t you say he was hot?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He’s okayish.”
“Okayish?” Mandy asks, aghast. “He’s hot, hot, hot with a capital H!” She glances over her shoulder to the hallway then back to me. “Please don’t tell me you wouldn’t do him.”
The admonishment is palpable in her voice.
I grimace as heat creeps up my face. If only she knew how often I’ve actually done him in my head, she’d be both appalled and proud of me.
“I’ve seen better guys out there,” I mutter.
“Then I’m calling dibs.”
“You don’t get to call dibs. I saw him first.” My head snaps to her. To my dismay, I realize she’s smiling. Oh, crap. Who says things like that? We’re not sixteen anymore. I’ve just managed to sound completely ridiculous.
I begin to dab at my hair with the towel, as I consider how to rectify my words. “What I was trying to say is that he isn’t even your type,” I add quickly, but it’s too late.
She eyes me, amused. I can see her brain cells working. “You like him,” she states, smiling like she knows something that I don’t.
“No, I don’t like him.” I force myself to stare her down, even though my skin’s getting hotter by the second. “Trust me, no woman in her right mind could possibly like him. I don’t even know him but from what I’ve seen he’s insufferable. Excruciatingly unbearable. Plain obnoxious.”
“And so your type.” She winks.
“Obnoxious is most certainly not my type,” I protest. “In fact, you can have him. He’s more your type anyway. He’s arrogant, vain, and…and…” My mind struggles to come up with more adjectives to describe him. But he’s in too close proximity, and faced with just how hot the guy is, words elude me.
He’d be perfect—if it weren’t for his shitty character.
“I don’t believe you,” Mandy says.
“You should. I really don’t like him. In fact, I can’t stand him,” I say. “And now drop it. Talking about a guy is getting boring.”
Mandy keeps regarding me with a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“You should have heard him when I arrived,” I utter too low for her to understand.