Chapter 24
Alyssa parked outside her building. Was there any way she could run upstairs and straighten the apartment before he got there? Or maybe she could let him walk her to the door and not let him in the building. Yes! That would be the way to treat a guy who’d paraded virtually shirtless all evening because he thought she’d asked him to.
And wow, it had been a better evening than she’d expected. He’d seemed to avoid her while he was in the costume, but maybe he was just … dedicated to pirate impersonations?
By the time she got out of the car, he was there beside her, wearing a goofy grin.
“You needed some muscle?” he said. He was standing close and she could smell him, a faint shower odor. That spicy smell was a familiar scent, one that clung to his sheets and to her own skin when she’d gotten home after rolling in his bed, after he’d been on top of her. She’d totally shoved her nose into her arm and inhaled. Was there a nerve running from the nose to the lady parts? She should have asked the nurses.
“Alyssa?”
“Yes!” she said brightly. “You can just dump them in the lobby, and I can grab them from there.” He gave her a “yeah, right” look, piled the boxes up, and … this was going to be one trip, apparently. She unlocked the lobby door. and he caught it with his foot, holding it for her, balancing on the other foot while holding all those party supplies. Hockey player ankles—handy for late-night apartment entries. She led him into the elevator, pushed the button for the fifth floor, and then smiled at him. “You’re an incredibly good sport.”
“I have a trophy for that! It was a consolation prize from my Mini Mite days.” He beamed at her and she smiled back, then flushed and dropped her eyes. He was exceptionally good-looking. Inappropriately so. His jawline probably violated the municipal code—all sorts of safety risks there. And then the elevator dinged, the smudged silver doors slid open, and they were in the familiar hallway with its coral carpet. Her building was bigger than his, and her apartment was halfway down the hall.
He’d see her place and not be impressed—there was nothing special about it, and she was supposed to be a designer. But how would she explain that she had taste, but no actual money? He had no idea she’d been fired because of what had happened between them. She hesitated outside the door, and he shifted the boxes, waiting, which gave her no choice but to swing the door open and hold it for him.
Nick Sorensen stepped inside her place and said, “Where do you want me to put this?”
Rip Van Winkle raised her hand and said, “I have an idea.” Shut up, lady parts.
“Um, just on the floor by the wall there would be great.” He squatted, which did great things to his thighs.
He set the whole stack down without tipping them, then stood and faced her.
“Oh, crap!” she shouted.
Nick saw her expression and his face fell. “What? Did you forget something? Your phone or …?”
She rushed past him into the lavender, white, and silver living room, to where the clear plastic gerbil cage sat against the wall. The lid was knocked to the side, and Mrs. Gilroy was gone.
“Mrs. Gilroy got out of her cage again.”
“Who?”
“My gerbil. She’s impossible to find. Be careful where you step!” She could hear the panic in her voice.
Nick slipped his shoes off, and there went her chance to get him out of there quickly.
“Gerbil?” he said. She nodded and ran through the apartment: kitchen, bedroom, bath, but no soft brown fur, no shining black eyes looking up at her. “I probably bumped her cage on the way out,” she said miserably, sinking onto the sofa. “It’s been hours.”
“She can’t get out of the apartment, can she?”
“I don’t think so.” Panic swirled in her chest. “Unless she ran out when we opened the door.”
“I really don’t think she did.”
“You can’t know, though.” Her voice was rising.
“I’m very good at noticing small objects flashing past my feet.” He lowered his head. “The puck?”
She supposed that was true. She nodded and sniffed.
Nick walked over and sat on the sofa beside her. He put his arm around her and gave her shoulders a squeeze, and it broke the chains she had on Rip Van Winkle, who was now unfettered and cackling wildly. “How do you want to do this?” Well, I wouldn’t mindwalking your plank. “Do you want to go room by room? Or each work from one end and try to flush her out?”
She looked up at him. “I’ve already taken your whole evening. I don’t feel right about making you crawl around to find my gerbil.”
“But I have gerbil-finding skills.” He flexed the bicep of the arm that wasn’t draped over her and gave her a hopeful smile. He was trying to make her feel better.
“You’re incredibly sweet. Thank you.” She stood and as she did his arm came off her shoulders and brushed down her side, touching her hip for just a moment. She had to remind herself not to jump on him. He had been clear about not wanting a repeat of their night together. And she had betrayed him with that contract—accidentally, sure, but it was negligent. If he knew, he would be angry. Hurt. And he had every right to be. She had to remember that—if he knew what she’d done, he would hate her. It would be wrong to let him touch her again.
Nick dropped to his belly and looked under her sofa. “You vacuum under your sofa. Impressive.” He grinned up at her, then belly-crawled behind her side table. How could that be so sexy? Lucky, lucky floor. “You think she ran away because she doesn’t like Monet?” He gestured toward the water lilies print over her sofa.
“Of course she does,” Alyssa said, pretending to be offended. “She has exquisite taste.”
“Maybe she’s off looking for a different print. A little one in a baroque frame for her cage.”
Alyssa snorted. “What do you think she likes?”
Nick rolled on his back and put his arms under his head. “Well, I haven’t met Mrs. Gilroy, but Albrecht Dürer’s Young Hare would seem appropriate.”
“Hmm,” Alyssa said, laughter in her voice. “You might be on to something.” Me. Make it me. She crawled into the kitchen, looking for cabinets cracked open. There weren’t any—she didn’t leave cabinets open. She had left a bunch of craft supplies on the dining room table, though, and she didn’t want Nick to see that mess. She was normally very tidy. Had he noticed the mess? She peeked around the end of the cabinets. Was he judging her?
Nick was lying on his belly in the middle of the living room, his eyes sweeping back and forth. He saw her and smiled. “You have to think like a gerbil.” He grinned and scooted toward a planter, pushing himself with his toes. “Say, do you tend to leave piles of seeds on the floor anywhere? Because that would simplify the search.”
She grimaced. “Is that a crack about my apartment?”
He flicked his eyes at her, then pushed himself up and sat. “What?”
“Do you think it’s filthy?”
“Do … So, I was clearly talking about catching Mrs. Gilroy.” He cocked his head at her, then crawled on his hands and knees to the kitchen cabinet, sat with his back against the living room side, then peered around to look at her. “What’s going on?”
“I always feel judged when people see my space. I know that’s sort of ridiculous …”
“Sort of? Alyssa, you’ve seen my apartment.” He looked around. “Besides, what’s wrong with this? I mean, it’s sort of girly, but you’re … sort of a girl.” His eyes widened. “You secretly hate the Monet, just like Mrs. Gilroy?
She snorted. “I feel self-conscious about having left a bunch of craft supplies on the table.”
“Did you? I didn’t notice.” She stared at him. “What? How is that a thing I would notice? I mean, if you’d left a ham sitting out, I’d probably notice. Or a bucket of wings.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Alyssa, I hang out with a bunch of guys who can barely remember to put their teeth in every morning.” She laughed. “No, really. André’s left his bridge in the hotel twice this season, and we’re like three weeks in.”
She laughed again. “I can’t believe you thought I felt bad about Monet. They should revoke your diploma, you … Kandinsky appreciator, you.”
“Eh, Kandinsky’s not my favorite.” Just then a lock of Alyssa’s hair fell out of the messy bun she’d tied it in to look for the gerbil. Nick reached around the cabinet and tucked it behind her ear, then whispered: “I’m more of a Michelangelo guy.”