2. Collie
Collie
Miller stood there staring at me like I was completely nuts. After a moment, he asked, “That’s everything you need? A toothbrush, some ramen, and a giant stuffed animal?”
“Pretty much.”
He indicated the ramen and asked, “Is that meant to be your dinner?”
“Yup. I bought two cases of it before I left home.”
“You don’t need that. I’m planning to order in, so I’ll get enough for both of us.”
“I’m on a tight budget, so I wouldn’t be able to pay you back.”
“It’s my treat.”
“Thanks, Miller. I’m going to owe you big time after this.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He watched as I chucked the ramen packet back into the van, and then he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to bring anything else inside?”
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting while I went through my stuff.”
“Take your time. I’m going to change, and then I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He looked amazing in his deep indigo jeans and form-fitting white polo shirt. I wondered what he was changing into, and if I should change, too. Actually, now that I thought about it, I should really do more than that.
I asked him, “Would it be okay if I used your shower? I started my road trip yesterday and tried to wash up this morning in the bathroom sink at a campground near Reno, but—”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Would you mind taking Hubert Humphrey inside for me? He’s pretty heavy.”
“Hubert…” I held up my alligator to show him what I meant, and he said, “Oh. Sure.”
With that, he grabbed the stuffed animal and headed for the door near the back of the garage, while I tilted my head and watched him walk away.
He was really sexy. I’d thought that from the first moment I saw him.
Before merging into my lane, he’d passed me in his cool, vintage, metallic blue convertible, while I completely gawked at him.
He’d looked like a movie star in his stylish sunglasses, with his short, dark hair shimmering in the sunlight. Not a single hair was out of place, even though he’d been driving with the top down. That had to be some kind of hot guy magic.
And then it turned out he was even sexier close up!
He was tall and strikingly handsome, with a muscular build that made it obvious he worked out.
Meanwhile, I was all of five-seven and built like Popeye’s girlfriend Olive Oyl.
This guy was way out of my league, but I still had every intention of shooting my shot at some point.
All of a sudden, he turned back to me and said, “I have to ask. Hubert Humphrey, as in the former vice president under Lyndon B. Johnson?”
I tried to act casual, as if he hadn’t just caught me blatantly checking out his ass. “Exactly like that.”
“Why, though?”
“Why not?”
Miller started to say something, but then he changed his mind. He turned back to the door, typed in some numbers on a keypad, and went inside.
As soon as he was gone, I scrambled into the van and started digging through my wardrobe. It was all black. That was kind of my thing. Now that it was all stuffed into a random collection of totes, duffle bags, and suitcases, it was hard to tell what was what.
I held up a mesh T-shirt and contemplated it for a minute.
This was something I’d worn when I went clubbing in Boise, and one of the few things I owned that might be considered sexy.
Miller and I weren’t on a date, though. And since I was stuck here all weekend, I really shouldn’t fling myself at him first thing.
If he shot me down, this might become super awkward.
I tossed that shirt aside and settled on a long-sleeved T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans. Because I was an optimist, I also selected a sexy pair of briefs. Just in case.
I was about to climb out of the van when I realized I’d misplaced my toothbrush. That wasn’t good. I started digging through my bags again, to see if I could find it.
A few minutes later, Miller returned and asked me, “Is everything okay?” He was dressed in black and white Adidas slides, black gym shorts, and a loose-fitting white tank top, which put his muscular arms and shoulders on full display.
I stared at his biceps for a while, before remembering his question and blurting, “I lost my toothbrush.”
“I have extras. Come on in. I want to order dinner soon, because it’s going to take a while to get here on a Friday night.”
I grabbed my clothes and toiletry bag and shut off the battery-operated chandelier before climbing out of the van. Then I followed him through the door and up a narrow staircase, and found myself in the most pristine kitchen I’d ever seen.
It didn’t look like anyone had ever cooked a single thing in it.
There were white cabinets and stainless steel appliances, and the countertops were made out of some sort of pretty, pale gray stone with swirls of white running through them.
Those counters were totally empty, without so much as a coffee maker in sight.
The only thing sitting out was a silver MacBook, which was on the kitchen island.
Miller went over to it and tapped a key as he asked, “Do you like Chinese food?”
“I love it. I used to get it when I went to Boise, because my town only had one restaurant. It was called The Chicken Bucket, which tells you everything you need to know.”
“Was it like KFC?”
“They wished.”
“Take a look at the menu, and order whatever you want.”
He moved over when I joined him in front of the laptop. I tucked my stuff under my arm and started scrolling through the massive menu, which must have had a hundred different dishes on it. “I have no idea what to get,” I admitted. “Could you please order something vegetarian for me?”
“No problem.” He quickly scrolled through the menu and clicked a few things before placing the order. “It’ll take about forty-five minutes, so I’ll show you where the shower is in the meantime.”
I started to circle around the kitchen island, but I turned back to Miller when he said, “Here, you dropped this.”
He was grinning as he held up my sheer, black thong. It felt like my face caught fire. I must have been crimson as I muttered, “Thanks,” and snatched the underwear from him.
“I can’t wear thongs,” he said, as he stepped around me and led the way out of the kitchen. “They feel like a permanent wedgie.”
The kitchen opened onto what was probably meant to be a den, but all it contained were empty built-in bookshelves and several stacks of cardboard boxes. I stopped walking and pointed at the boxes as I asked, “Are you moving in or out?”
“In. I bought this place eleven months ago.”
“Way to procrastinate.”
He shrugged. “The stuff in those boxes can wait.”
“Apparently. Where were you living before this?”
“With my ex, in a house he owned.”
“Who ended the relationship?”
A frown line appeared between his brows. “Next question.”
“Do you own this whole building?”
“No. There are two more units, one on each floor above this one. I own the ground floor, garage, and backyard.”
“Are you a trust fund kid or something? I’m asking because I know what apartments go for in this city, and it’s deeply horrifying.”
“I grew up in a middle class family. The only reason I could afford this is because I got lucky after college and was hired by a startup that really took off. Fortunately, my compensation package included stock options.”
I chuckled and muttered, “Compensation package.”
“Why is that funny?”
“I’ve just never heard anyone say something like that. Like hey, check out my compensation package.” He shot me a look but let it go without commenting, so I asked, “You’re what, then? A programmer?”
“I was, but I decided to change careers when I turned thirty. Call it a premature midlife crisis, I guess. Now I’m a concept artist.”
“I have no idea what that is, but it sounds rad.”
“I work for a company that makes video games,” he explained.
“It’s my job to come up with the initial drawings of the characters, environments, and assets, under the guidance of the art director, and with input from our 3D modeling and animation teams. Everything needs to work together to create a certain aesthetic, and that sets the tone for the game as a whole. ”
“You have the best job ever!”
Miller muttered, “My ex didn’t think so.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a plastic surgeon.”
“Ew.”
“It’s not all butt lifts and boob jobs. He also does pro bono work with burn victims.”
“I regret my ‘ew.’ That’s pretty awesome.”
“It is, and he’d be the first to tell you that.”
Miller started walking again. His home was really nice and spotlessly clean, but it felt like no one lived there. The blank walls were white, and there was hardly any furniture.
We walked halfway down a long hall and stepped into a room that was something else entirely.
The walls and ceiling were midnight blue, which matched the large area rug.
In addition to a stylish black couch, it contained a printer, a desk chair, and a chrome and glass workstation, which held three huge monitors.
It was all very sleek and modern, and Hubert Humphrey looked totally out of place on the couch.
“This is the office-slash-guest room,” Miller told me. “The sofa folds out into a bed, but I’ve fallen asleep on it many times and thought it was perfectly comfortable as-is.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with no windows.”
“This side of the building butts right up against the one next door. It’s perfect for work, though. There are no distractions, and I don’t have to worry about glare on my screens.”
I dropped my stuff next to the alligator and hurried over to the wall directly across from the doorway.
It held a cluster of amazing drawings. Half of them were of a post-apocalyptic landscape, and the other half were sketches of a strong-looking woman with long, white hair.
She was dressed in combat boots, cargo pants, and a cropped bomber jacket, and she was holding some sort of huge, futuristic weapon.
I asked, “Did you draw these?”
“I did.”
“You’re stunningly talented!”