4. Chapter
Samantha
" H ere we are." Asher flicks on the lights, illuminating a room filled with stacked boxes and haphazardly placed furniture. "I apologize for the mess. I'm still settling in."
I step inside, Milo trotting at my heels. The space screams bachelor pad meets frat house, but underneath the disarray, I catch glimpses of sleek, modern pieces. Not the worn out couch, but a deceptively simple glass coffee table, elegant wood entertainment stand, and some different design pieces stacked in a corner. Potential. Guy has some taste, mixed with not enough money.
I know the feeling.
"No worries." I flash him a smile. "Moving's always chaotic."
He leads me up a floating staircase to the bedroom. More boxes line the walls, but in the center stands a king-sized bed. Naked. Sheetless. My stomach flips for no reason at all, except that I'm imagining him sleeping on it. Also naked.
Down, Sam. Down. You've been listening to Max too much.
"I swear I have bedding somewhere." Asher rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flicking from me to the bare mattress. "Just need to unearth it."
"It's fine, really. I'm the one who should be apologizing." I set my bag down, heat creeping up my cheeks. "For putting you out like this. For the whole..." I gesture vaguely, "...murder misunderstanding."
"Hey, it's not every day I get to play knight in shining armor." His lips quirk. "Or, well, knight in worn out jeans."
A laugh bubbles out of me, easing the tightness in my chest. "My hero."
Asher grins, and that quirk of his lips does all sorts of unholy things to my insides. Then he claps his hands together. "Right. Sheets. They've got to be in one of these boxes."
We start rifling through the nearest stack, our shoulders brushing as we work. Milo weaves between our legs, his tail wagging. I try to focus on the task at hand, but my mind keeps drifting to the man beside me. The flex of his biceps as he lifts a box. The hint of ink peeking out from his collar.
"Aha!" Asher holds up a set of navy sheets triumphantly. "Knew they were here somewhere."
"My hero," I repeat, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
We make the bed together, smoothing out wrinkles and tucking in corners. It's strangely intimate, this domestic dance. Like we've done it a thousand times before.
"There." Asher steps back to admire our handiwork. "Fit for a queen."
"Or a girl and her dog." I perch on the edge of the mattress, patting the space beside me. Milo hops up, circling before flopping down with a contented sigh.
"He's lucky." Asher's gaze lingers on Milo, then flicks to me. "Having you."
Something in his tone makes my heart stumble. It makes me wonder if we're still talking about the dog.
"I should let you get settled." Asher clears his throat, shifting his weight. "Bathroom's down the hall if you need it. Kitchen's all yours too. I'll grab a few things and head out."
"You don't have to rush off." The words rush out with no inhibition at all. "I mean, it's late. And this is your place." Shit, am I coming off desperate? I might be.
He hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"It's fine." I squint at him, trying to bring some levity to the situation with an obvious joke. "Unless you're planning on assaulting me in here… Was this your plan all along, Mr. Sinclair?"
"God, no." The horror in his voice is real, and I laugh.
"See? We're both adults. It's fine. We're neighbors, and we can share a bed this size without making it weird."
Asher stares at me a beat too long, and my heart thumps under the weight of his gorgeous eyes. I hold his gaze, not wanting to be the first to look away. He doesn't let go of the doorknob, and I find myself really, really hoping he'll stay. That we'll keep bantering and joking around like this. Like friends. Or... you know… more.
Because he's tall, and sexy, and I've been without for way too long.
Is it the Bailey's talking? The slight buzz of alcohol making me bolder, making me want things I shouldn't?
Asher clears his throat, his expression shifting. "How old are you, Samantha?"
I blink at him in surprise. Of all the questions I expected, that wasn't one of them. "Twenty-one. Why?"
His brows knit together as he studies me. "Just... you seem younger, is all."
"Gee, thanks." I roll my eyes, but I'm not actually offended. "How old are you then, old man?"
"Thirty-five." The corner of his mouth ticks up in a half-smile. "Feel better?"
Thirty-five. The number rolls around in my head as I take another look at him. At the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, the hints of like two gray hairs threading through his beard. He's older, sure, but not old. Experienced. Mature in a way that makes my stomach flip.
I don't mind thirty-five.
I don't mind at all.
"You don't look a day over twenty-nine," I tease, trying to shake off the sudden fluttery feeling.
Asher laughs, a deep rumbling sound that does absolutely nothing to settle my nerves. "You're a terrible liar, Samantha James."
"Sam," I correct automatically. "My friends call me Sam."
"Sam, then." He tests out the nickname, holding my gaze again. Something sparks between us, hot and electric, before he tears his eyes away. "I should go."
The words wake me up from that little bubble of pink rom-com, as if I had jumped into a freezing lake. Naked.
My cheeks heat. What am I thinking, flirting like that with my neighbor? A guy who's almost fifteen years older than me, no less? He must think I'm some dumb kid making eyes at him. He's been around for so long, my flirting must make him feel awkward.
Which... okay, I kind of am flirting. Hard. But it's harmless, right? A little meaningless banter to fill the awkward silences.
Except it doesn't feel meaningless. Not with the way my pulse is racing or the way my skin feels too tight, too hot. Not with how I can't keep my eyes off his arms, remembering how they bulge when he lifts a box. Or his butt, which—yeah, they fill out his worn-out jeans like a blessing from the sun.
Hot.
"Right." I clear my throat, staring resolutely at the bare wall instead of him. "I guess you should. But you probably would need a change of clothes… And you'll only be there for a few hours before you have to come back. It seems like a waste of time and money, to me."
Asher's internal struggle plays out across his handsome features. His brow furrows, those heavy eyebrows drawing together as he seems to weigh his options. Stay or go?
My heart hammers in my chest, the sound pounding in my ears. Why do I care so much what he decides? It's not like I'm actually trying to seduce my new neighbor or anything. That would be crazy... right?
Except a part of me, some deeply buried, long-neglected part, very much wants him to stay. To keep bantering back and forth, trading barbs and smiles until the awkwardness melts away and we're nothing more than two people enjoying each other's company. No age gaps or misunderstandings. An easy, enjoyable connection.
God, it's been so long since I've felt that spark with someone. The giddy rush of attraction, of wanting to lean in closer and let the tension build. Max was right—I have been living like an old lady, too focused on work and my routines to put myself out there.
But this... this could be the universe's way of shaking things up. Of giving me a nudge back into the dating world, however unexpectedly.
My neighbor's a good guy. He saved me from a murderer. I mean, I wasn't being murdered, but he didn't know that.
Asher shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the movement drawing my gaze. He really does fill out those jeans nicely. The thought has me flushing, heat creeping up my neck.
Down, girl. He probably thinks you're some silly kid with a crush.
Except when I chance another look at his face, I don't see any pity or condescension there. Only consideration. Like he's thinking it over.
"You make a fair point," he finally says, his voice low. He drops his hand from the doorknob, and a tiny thrill courses through me. "Might as well save the hassle of checking into a hotel for a few hours."
Victory.
The immediate urge is to pump my fist to celebrate my win, but I settle for a small smile instead. Play it cool, Sam. "Perfect. We can order a pizza or something?"
The suggestion seems to ease any remaining tension in his shoulders. "Pizza? At midnight? Is there a place around here?"
"There's one. it's amazing. Perfect for all the crazy people who game all night." Like me.
"Sounds good to me. You like pepperoni?"
"Is that even a question?" I scoff, feeling more like myself now. The silly, flustered girl fades away as our banter resumes. "Pepperoni is a way of life."
Asher chuckles, running a hand through his dark blond hair. It's messy from what was likely a long day, and falls in the faintest waves that I'm jealous of. My hair is stick straight. Boring. "Guess I had you pegged wrong. I figured you for more of a veggie lover."
"Oh, I can do vegetables." I waggle my eyebrows at him in an exaggerated leer. There's only one vegetable that comes to mind right now, and it's a purple emoji that gets overused. A lot. I refrain from mentioning it, because I'm trying to go for subtle.
Maybe even mature.
Sexy, yes. Definitely wouldn't mind sexy.
What I don't want is for him to think of me as a kid.
Even so, I can't stop the next words out of my mouth, throwing me straight into the land of innuendo. "But I definitely prefer a big, meaty pizza."
Asher's eyes go comically wide for a split second. Then his lips quirk in that half-smile that does such dangerous things to my insides. "Is that so?"
Yes.
Yes it is.
Is he interested? He seems interested. His eyes are heated now, sliding over my face instead of staying focused on my eyes.
Leaning back on my elbows, I let my hair spill over one shoulder, grinning up at him. I hope it looks sexier than it feels now that I'm doing it. "Oh, you have no idea."
His gaze drops briefly to my exposed collarbone, and I try not to shiver under the heated look. See? I'm not some dumb kid. I can flirt with the best of them.
Though part of me wonders if I'm in over my head here. This is my neighbor I'm eye-fucking, after all. An older, probably way more experienced neighbor.
But damn if it doesn't feel good to stretch those long-neglected flirting muscles. To be seen as someone with sex appeal.
Asher clears his throat, and I savor the way his cheeks have gone the tiniest bit pink. "Right, I'll order that pizza. Half pepperoni, half meat?"
"Absolutely." I shoot him one last grin before flopping back on the mattress with a contented sigh.
As he steps out to make the call, I can't wipe the smile off my face. This wasn't at all how I expected my evening to go, but I can't find it in me to complain. Not when my stomach is doing these delicious little somersaults every time Asher looks my way.
Maybe Max was right. Maybe it is time I put myself out there again, got back in the dating game. What better way to start than with a little harmless flirting with my brand new, admittedly gorgeous neighbor?
Just some innocent fun. That's all this is.
...Right?