lucky.
Fine. Luck has nothing to do with it—I work my ass off and every living expense comes out of my own pocket.
A hiccup escapes my lips and I press three fingers to my mouth. Crap. I hate the hiccups; they linger for so long.
Another erupts as a guy bursts through the revolving door, balancing a box that, although it doesn’t look heavy, appears loaded down with random odds and ends. Gadgets? I can’t tell from here, but “Come on, come on” leaves my mouth, willing the elevator to speed things up so I don’t have to humiliate myself by being trapped with this gorgeous specimen of a man.
I’ve seen this guy around, and I don’t want the first time I meet him to be in an elevator! When I’m drunk, for heaven’s sake, cheeks and nose probably cherry red.
Cue another tipsy hiccup.
And another…
He’s heading straight toward me. Okay, maybe not toward me specifically, but toward the elevator car, and I hold my breath as the electronics think, silently praying the doors will close before he reaches me.
“Hold the door please!” he calls out, box now somehow balanced on one hand like he’s a server at a restaurant, other one outstretched, beseeching me with an open palm. As if he’s about to force the door to remain open with the sheer force of thin air and a prayer. “Fuck!”
The box teeters and he careens slightly to the left. Right. A pantomime of a balancing act.
“Sorry?” Drunk me doesn’t feel guilty in the slightest about not pressing the button to hold the door for him. Sober me? She’ll regret it in the morning.
I shrug as if helpless and hard of hearing, cupping a hand over my right ear. “Say again?”
Hiccup.
He knows damn well I can hear him if his eyebrows shooting into his hairline are any indication. He’s genuinely shocked I’m blowing him off. Well surprise, surprise, pal, I’m shocked at myself, too—I’m normally so well mannered!
A flash of irritation mars his brow.
Truthfully, I’m ordinarily a really nice person—too nice, my friends have said. My nan calls me a pushover who needs to grow a pair of lady balls, preferably a bigger set than she has.
“Oh no!” I peek through the closing steel doors, the corners of my mouth shifting down into a grimace. “Shoot! I can’t… Nooooo!” My voice mimics a sound like I’m fading into obscurity, gets quieter as the guy disappears, an incredulous expression slashing his handsome features.
“I’m melting!” Drunk me adds more drama for good measure, as if I wasn’t acting ridiculously immature enough. The doors are two inches from closing. I snap my fingers in front of the diminishing crack between them and add a sassy wink. “So close. Almost made it.”
Shoot him some air pistols and blow off the imaginary smoke.
I sigh and sag against the wall when the doors mercifully slide shut.
But dang, he was good-looking.
Tall—really tall, actually—with dark hair and thick eyebrows, eyes so blue I could distinguish their color from across the lobby, almost thirty feet away. His hair was windblown, sculpted cheekbones red from the cold. Dark gray wool jacket with the collar pulled up. Black scarf. Jeans and dress shoes. I didn’t need long to get the full rundown on his appearance.
Good-looking men never take long to drool over.
And just as the door shut in his startled face, I saw the traces of a shallow cleft in his chin.
Damn him, I’m a sucker for those.
“Huh.”
That face.
That handsome, bewildered face.
It’s the last thing I see when I close my eyes that night and, let’s face it, pass out in the middle of my bed.
4
Brooks
Weekends are for: alcohol, hook-ups, sitting on my ass.
And exercise.
On days I run, when I’m finished, I take the stairs to my apartment, skipping the elevator so by the time I reach my floor, I’m panting like I’m on my last breath, almost collapsing when I shove through the door exiting the stairwell, practically falling into the hallway.
Stumble.
Panting like a goddamn dog, like I’ve just come from a one-hundred-degree room, wearing thirty layers and running backward on a treadmill.
Feebly grasping toward the direction of my apartment, I sound like I’m breathing through a metal lung and—
“Yikes,” a voice says. “Dude, are you okay?”
“Jesus Christ!” I shout, startled that anyone is standing in the hallway. No one is ever in the hallway, so this pleasant female voice takes me by complete surprise.
I wipe the sweat dripping down my brow and into my eyes, glancing up into the curious eyes of—
“You.”
Just