She nods and almost jumps across the threshold. “See you later, Adam.”
My heart thuds almost as loudly as the slamming door.
I grin.
TEN
I lean against the inside of my front door, my heart racing.
That man.
All the freaking feels.
Is he like this with every woman? Does he tease and woo and lure all the girls this way?
All the things Matt hasn’t done in years, Adam does—and it seems like he’s not even trying. Like he naturally gives a shit about whether I’m hot or cold. Like he really thinks I’m beautiful.
It’s almost like—he cares.
But he didn’t deny it when I said it seems he only does the casual thing. He didn’t insist that he wants more. He didn’t offer anything other than some kisses between friendly neighbors.
Even without false promises, he has too much charm for one man.
I drag through the house to my desk.
No. I need to keep my distance. Find someone who doesn’t see me as just another pussy.
I’ll check my email and see if Today’s Suggested Dates are promising.
I slip on my strappy red sandals. They’re my go-to sexy shoes. My linen pencil skirt is freshly pressed, and my princess-cut top accentuates my waist.
After locking up the house, I pirouette outside the front windows, the closest thing I have to a full-length mirror.
I turn again, checking my reflection in the glass over my shoulder. “Not bad.”
Adam steps into view at the edge of the window. He tosses the two black bags of brush or grass or whatever he’s filled them with down at the curb and pulls off his work gloves. His chest is bare, and he’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The sun highlights the dips and ridges of his muscles, sending a quiver through my core.
“No, not bad isn’t enough. Fucking gorgeous. And those shoes—they should come with a warning label.”
My stomach does a summersault. I place my hand over it and take a deep breath.
His charm will get him nowhere.
“Good, I hope my date will think the same thing.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Another date, eh? This one from that site too?”
“Yes. He seems nice.” I smooth out my skirt again, checking the navy fabric for lint.
“Oh? Not afraid he’s padded his résumé?”
No way am I telling Adam that I’m more than a little worried I’m being snookered again.
I smile. “This time, I asked to see his other social media stuff. So, unless he’s built a really elaborate alter ego, then I think he’s at least being truthful about how he looks.”
“Good. Let me know if you need me to show how him much you hate lies.” His eyes are hidden by his shades, but I can imagine the glint in them.
“Thanks. But I can handle my dates on my own.” I turn toward my car.
“Yes, I’m sure you can. Be safe.”
I get into the car and buckle in. I dig into the side pocket of my purse for the key.
Crap. Where is it?
I shuffle junk from the pocket to the seat next to me. No keys.
I dig through old tissues, kiddie meal toys, and a thousand and one pens. Still no keys.
Great. The house is locked.
No house keys. No car keys.
No magic words to open says me.
Perfect.
I drop my forehead to the heated steering wheel.
Great. Now I’ll get all sweaty and gross.
Not that it matters—I can’t get to the restaurant anyway.
Damn it!
Is this your way of telling me to forget dating, God? Is that it?
Will I be alone forever? Or destined to be with guys who don’t give a shit about me?
A knock at my window snaps me upright.
I open the door. “What?”
Adam crosses his arms. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
“Keys. I have no keys. They were in my purse, and now they aren’t.”
“And the house is locked?”
I grip the wheel. “That’s the problem. If it weren’t locked, I’d hop on in there and grab my keys…from wherever-the-fuck they disappeared to.”
“You can call a locksmith.”
I slump. “Yeah. I guess I could. Shit. I’m going to be late. And this guy actually seems like he has potential.”
Adam lets out a long sigh. “Potential, eh?”
“Well, more than the others. I just—ugh. My life. There’s always something fucking it up.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll get you into your house.”
I spring from the car. “Really? You can do that?”
“Yeah. I can do that.”
He heads next door and is back by the time I reach my front porch.
He pokes a couple of small tools into the lock. Then he jiggles the door handle, and it opens as if he used a key.
My jaw drops.
He shrugs. “Misspent youth?”