Chapter 6
Chapter Six
I FORK’D UP
Afrustrated huff escapes me as I lift my duvet and peer underneath the bed.
Nothing but dust bunnies. Of course.
“Where else could it be?” I mutter, scanning every nook and cranny of my room. I’m not ready to admit I might’ve left it at the pizza shop last night. Nope. Not until I’ve exhausted every other possibility.
“Whatcha looking for?”
I whirl toward the door, heart lurching, to find Casey leaning against the frame. His glasses are crooked—per usual—and he’s shirtless, also per usual, with a lazy smirk curving his lips.
I press a hand to my chest. “Shit, you scared me. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know you should probably start charging for that view.” He tilts his head. “You lose something?”
I clear my throat, ignoring his flirtatious remark. “Yeah. My bag.”
He steps into the room, arms folding over his chest. “Where’s the last place you saw it?”
The freaking pizza shop.
But I don’t say that out loud.
For some reason, I’m not ready to tell him about Mr. Hot and Broody behind the counter. It’s not like it’s any of his business.
Even if we do have a habit of oversharing with each other.
Well, used to, anyway. He’s been quiet lately. Maybe he’s keeping a juicy secret too.
“I’m not sure,” I lie.
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s helpful.”
I flash him a sarcastic smile. “Thanks for your assistance, Detective.”
Casey chuckles and leans against my desk. His abs flex, dragging my attention despite myself. “Hey, I’m only trying to help.”
He gives me that look, his lips tilted in a lazy half-smile, lashes low over his greenish-hazel eyes, the kind of gaze that lingers a second too long and sees more than I want it to.
On any other woman, that look alone would likely make her melt.
But I’ve built up some immunity.
He’s like this even when he’s not trying. Casey wouldn’t be Casey without exuding male sex appeal. I’ve grown used to it. Mostly.
But something’s different between us lately. As the silence stretches on, the air in my room grows thick with that same strange tension that’s been building between us for weeks—almost charged as we stare at one another.
I nibble my bottom lip. Nervous habit.
His eyes, more green than hazel today, track the motion.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
My phone alarm blares, making us both jump.
“Ugh. That’s my ‘get up or miss the bus’ alarm,” I groan. “Not that it helps me today. I don’t have my ID, my bus pass, or any of my credit cards. So that’s fun.”
Casey pulls his wallet from his back pocket and peels out a twenty. “Here. Should be enough for a taxi or something, yeah?”
“Oh, thanks, but no thanks. I can’t take that from you,” I reply, shaking him off.
Fuck knows he’s as frugal as I am. If I had to guess, I’d say that’s his money for lunch. His favorite place is a little sandwich shop that only accepts cash.
I can’t stomach the thought of taking his hard-earned money from him.
He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but I cut him off. “My card’s attached to my Ryde app. I’ll use that. But first I need to stop by the place where I might have left my bag.”
He studies me for a beat too long. He sees more than I’m saying. He always does. Dammit.
“You’ve got another shift at the hotel tonight, don’t you?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Not today. Just the dog walking. And we’ve had this conversation, Casey.”
“How’d I know you’d say that?” he mutters. “Fine, fine. Get abducted. Just know I’ll come for you and I don’t look good in orange.”
I snort. “You look good in everything,” I tease.
He blinks, clearly thrown. The compliment hits him square in the chest and his gaze drops for half a second, like he’s recalibrating, then lifts back to mine with that dazed, trying-to-play-it-cool expression he gets when he’s caught off guard.
“If you’re sure,” he says finally.
“I am,” I reply, stepping toward him. “But thanks. Really.”
I gently pat his chest in reassurance before turning to leave my room.
I glance at the time on my phone and groan. I have just enough time to stop by Fangerella’s. Maybe. I might be a few minutes late, but like, who’s counting?
“I have to go. See you later!” I call, bolting out of our apartment, only stopping to check the handle to make sure it’s locked before I go.
I fire off a quick text to my first dog walking client explaining the situation and order a Ryde to pick me up at Fangerella’s.
The second I hit the sidewalk, I pick up my pace. The city streets are bustling with morning traffic, a symphony of honking horns and unintelligible voices all around me. I weave through the crowds, skillfully avoiding collisions with pedestrians and cyclists alike.
Man, night is so much easier.
When I finally reach Fangerella’s, my heart begins to beat faster. There’s a weird knot in my stomach, made up of fear and anticipation.
And it’s not due to losing my bag with everything in it.
It’s seeing him again.
But the closer I get, the clearer it becomes—the place isn’t open.
The neon sign is off. The windows are dark.
Dammit. Just my luck.
I jiggle the door handle anyway, hoping for a miracle. Locked. I huff in irritation.
Awesome.
I’d wondered if they were only open at night, but I’d hoped all the same. Or thought maybe he might be here getting things ready for the night. It’s still the weekend after all.
A familiar prickle climbs the back of my neck like there are eyes on me, watching me.
I spin slowly, scanning faces. The street is packed. No one’s paying attention. And yet… I know that sensation.
But there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Great. Now I’m losing my mind too.
I shake the thought off and pull out my phone, dialing the number listed on the door. It rings. And rings.
Then cuts off abruptly.
No voicemail. No answer. Nothing.
I exhale hard and check the time. My Ryde should be here any minute.
A sudden gust of wind whips around me, yanking my bun half loose and flinging strands of curly hair into my eyes. I wrestle with it, trying to tie it back up and only making it worse.
Fabulous. Windswept and late. And Mother Nature is still gunning for me.
I can already hear the passive-aggressive snark from my rich clients. Can’t wait.
“Miss?” a voice calls behind me. “Are you my passenger?”
I turn to see a little red car with a Ryde sign in the window. The driver, a bearded man with warm eyes, waves me over and opens the back door.
“Yep! That’s me,” I say, brushing hair from my face as I hurry over.
“Sorry about the wind,” he chuckles as I slide into the plush backseat.
“Not your fault,” I say, buckling in.
The car is immaculate. No food wrappers, no stale smell. Color me impressed.
“They’re calling for another storm tonight,” he adds, pulling out into traffic. “Not sure who pissed off Lady Nature, but someone better apologize.”
“I hear that,” I mutter, slumping into the seat.
I glance out the window and freeze. A man stands across the street, staring directly at me.
Tall. Incredibly handsome. Rugged-looking.
And his eyes—one blue, the other dark, almost black. They’re as striking as they are unusual. Impossible to look away from.
I blink and… he’s gone. Poof. Just like that. Nothing but an empty sidewalk where I swear he stood a heartbeat ago.
Did I just… hallucinate a six-foot slice of a hottie thirst trap?
My heart kicks like it’s trying to launch straight out of my chest.
That’s twice now—twice—in as many days that some stupidly gorgeous stranger has locked eyes with me like I’m the only girl in the world… then vanished like smoke before I can decide if I should flirt, flee, or file a restraining order.
I mean, seriously.
I’m out here in yesterday’s eyeliner and a messy bun held together by sheer spite.
There’s no logical reason hot men should be falling out of the ether and looking at me like that.
I can’t possibly be that much of a hottie magnet…
Can I?