Chapter 11
I stare in disbelief at the truck Sterling rented. “At least let me buy you dinner as a thank-you.” If the offer sounds like a date, I’m okay with that.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says, sliding my bedside table into position and taking the box of books I’m holding with ease.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to find a way to make it up to you.”
He closes the door with a satisfying clang and palms the keys. It’s strange, seeing Sterling outside of the office. He’s wearing jeans. They stretch over his thighs in the most obscene way. I’m already obsessed with them.
“If you feel that strongly about it, I can’t refuse.”
“Good. Dinner then.” I’m not sure where I find the confidence to say it, but I can’t take it back now.
He stops before me. “That eager to get me alone?” His hair is a mess from where he’s run his hand through it. Being this attractive should be a crime.
Heat sparks to life in my belly, spreading out like wildfire. “Maybe I want to interview you.”
I swear there’s amusement sparking behind his eyes.
“Do I get to ask a few questions in return?”
“Only if you’re willing to put your money where your mouth is.”
“That depends on where you want my mouth.”
Holy shit. Sterling Ross is … flirting.
The man who rations his responses in the office to limit any and all interactions is suddenly a Chatty Cathy on a charm offensive.
I’m not prepared for this, but since when have I ever let that stop me?
“We’ve worked together for two years, and I don’t know anything about you that I haven’t learned from the internet.”
He walks me to the passenger side of the truck, supporting me as I pull myself up into the seat.
“What would you like to know?”
Oh, wow. Just like that?
“Um …” I didn’t think this far ahead.
He closes the door and walks around the front. The leather jacket he’s wearing stops at his waist and gives me direct eye contact with his ass. Does the man own a single pair of pants that makes him look bad?
How am I supposed to function in these conditions?
He hops in, and the truck roars to life. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
* * *
“I read a lot of comics, growing up—manga especially—and fell in love with the way it merged complex stories with beautiful artistry. I always wanted to be able to draw, but sadly, the most I’m qualified for are stick figures.”
“Manga? Really?”
“Not pretentious enough?”
I laugh, and he joins me.
The world always seems to hang heavy on his shoulders, hunching them. I’ve always wondered what he might look like, free from it. It’s nice. More than nice. Fantastic. I like him without the permanent furrow. His smile smooths out the tanned skin into something softer, sweeter.
He’s beautiful.
“No, it’s much too interesting,” I tease. “You’re a mystery to everyone. All we see are scowls and silence. Half of the office is convinced you’re secretly a vampire, sleeping in a coffin. The other half is scared you have blackmail on us all.”
“Which half are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Clever girl.”
The back of my neck starts to perspire. I crack open the window and let the blast of frozen air from outside cool me off. “If I’d known how different you were outside of work, I’d have …”
“What?” He shifts gears, and I stare at the vein running along the back of his hand. His fingers are long, thick. “How did you imagine me? Am I waiting in a dark corner, teeth bared, desperate to taste you?”
Fuck. That question is dangerous. I’m not about to tell him how many times I’ve seen him take off his jacket and thought of him stripping his tie off, his shirt, his pants …
I clear my throat. “I don’t know.” I’m stalling. “The same way you are at work, you know? Powerful.” Shit, I didn’t mean to say that. “Or, um … commanding.”
“Do I intimidate you?”
Yes, but I like it. “Not in a bad way.”
“You like it.”
Oh God. I’m starting to sweat.
“Your watch is an antique,” I say, changing the subject before I catch on fire. I’ve been admiring the thick chronograph on his wrist. I’ve never seen him without it. “A family heirloom?”
“Yes, my great-grandfather’s. Passed down from father to son, and now it’s with me.”
Everyone knows what happened with his parents. A drunk driver ran through a red light. Head-on collision. No survivors.
Sterling was sixteen.
“Ma says if you can’t pass down good habits, at least pass down good gifts.” She used a different word, but I’m not sure I can handle swearing in front of Sterling.
The corner of his mouth curls up, a hint of dimple at the edge, like he knows what I didn’t say. “I’d say she did pretty well on the first part.”
I crack the window down a little further, and he parks the truck in the loading bay of the complex.
* * *
We’ve done well, if I say so myself. Not that we had to move much in the end. A dresser, a television, a box of kitchen goods, the second half of my wardrobe.
My bed is all that’s left.
The sight of Sterling handling my mattress stirs warmth under my skin. The brand of his fingertips will remain under my pillow when I lie down tonight—the closest I’ll get to feeling his touch.
He’s walking backward with his hands full; we’re saved from having to navigate the entrance by one of the residents, who opens the door for us.
“Thank you,” I say, my mouth going dry when I get a good look at him.
Jaw-length hair, trimmed stubble, a flirtatious sparkle in his eyes …
He’s gorgeous, seeking eye contact the way only the most confident people do—eagerly—but smiling with a softness that is instantly disarming. Add in the tight pants and tattoos, and I’m already hoping to bump into him again.
“Happy to help, love. It’s all part of being a good neighbor.”
The bed jolts as Sterling adjusts his grip. “Hello, Lachlan.”
Lachlan licks his lips, then settles into a smile that’s hungrier than before. “I thought I recognized those thighs … among other things. You look good.”
“So do you. I like the hair; it suits you.”
Lachlan runs a hand through it, preening. “I know.”
It’s difficult to hide when I’m fighting to grip the other end of the mattress, but Sterling isn’t moving, and this beautiful stranger, who he clearly has history with, is looking between us like we’re the answer to a riddle that’s been bothering him for years.
“Moving in? Please say yes.”
“Mia is.”
Both men turn to look at me, setting off a series of fireworks in my belly. I have the ridiculous urge to wave.
“Even better,” Lachlan says. “Let me be the first to welcome you to the building. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, I’m Lucky, in 704.”
“Is that a name or a promise?”
Lucky’s laugh fills the foyer, stirring up butterflies under my skin. “Why not both?”
A muscle in Sterling’s jaw twitches.
The weight of the tension between them is heavier than the mattress I’m struggling with. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
“I have to get to the studio; otherwise, I’d help. Don’t be a stranger,” Lucky says, eyeing us both. “Either of you.” He winks on his way out.
* * *
Curiosity burns through me as we take the mattress upstairs, but I’m not sure how to ask. Sterling’s a private person. Until today, I’ve never imagined having a conversation with him, and all morning, he’s been loose and talkative.
It’s completely destroying any chance I have of getting over him.
“You were right,” I say. “Making the bed was a great idea.”
Sterling pushes my mattress onto the frame with his thigh, sheets and all. It slides into place perfectly, and I have to count to five while my brain shorts out at the inherent power he’s casually throwing around. Christ.
I want to wrap myself around him like a vine.
“Good. Rest is important.” He steps closer, sliding his hands into his pockets.
God, his arms. I’m going out of my mind.
“I wouldn’t be able to leave without knowing you’re satisfied.”
Fuck me.
“I’m going to get some water. Would you like some?”
He nods and follows me into the kitchen. Half the boxes sit open on the counter, waiting for me to decide where everything will go. If only it was that easy to know what to do with Sterling.
Okay, I know what I want to do, but I need a few answers first. I fill a glass and turn to him. “Lucky seems nice.”
Sterling takes the water and gulps it back quickly. He places it on the counter with a dull thud, raising a hand to rough his hair up.
At work, it’s shaped and styled. It fits in with everything else about him—the clean shave, the fitted suits. He cares for the details. Which is why I’m so taken by the way his fringe is fighting gravity right now, sticking out of place from the careful style, like a meerkat on recon.
It makes him human. Touchable.
“You don’t have to tell me; it’s none of my business.”
Sterling rubs his jaw, as though it’s absorbed all the stress from today. Probably longer. I’m not good at patience—never have been. Act first, think later. It’s mostly worked out for me. But that’s not going to work here.
So, I wait.
He drops his hand. “We went to university together, in Manchester. Lachlan was the only person who wouldn’t let how big of an asshole I was stop us from being friends. But I sabotaged it, and we haven’t spoken since.”
“From the way he spoke to you, I wondered if he was your ex.”
“He is.”
Oh.
“You can ask,” he adds.
And it doesn’t surprise me that he knows me so well. Sterling Ross is the smartest man in every room.
“It’s just that … you never seem to date, so I wondered if maybe you were …”
“Pining?”
God, Ma would be so disappointed in me for asking, but I saw the way he looked at Lucky, and it’s so painfully obvious that Lucky misses him too. How could anyone see that and not want to nudge a little bit?
I can’t help but want to help. It’s one of my best traits.
“Are you?”
“It’s complicated.”
That’s a yes then. I fight hard to not let my disappointment show.