her medicine cabinet. There’s some medicine there. Nicole gives it to her when she’s stopped up.”
“Great.” There was an awkward moment of silence between us, then he stepped back.
“Well,” he said. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
I nodded, watching him leave, one hand fishing in his pocket for his phone. I looked down, into Chanel’s face, and wondered where in the world a Pomeranian’s medicine cabinet would be.
I was on my bed. Mine, pulled out of storage, and deposited in my new apartment. Freshly washed Serena & Lily sheets underneath me, Tegan and Sara playing on my iPhone, a candle lit. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, and I couldn’t find my hair dryer if my life depended on it, but I had privacy and a real bed and no chance of listening to Cammie’s orgasms, and that was all that really mattered.
The girls and Dante helped me move, the four of us squeezing into a U-Haul and making the trek up to the Bronx to my storage unit. I paid the past due balance, rolled up the door, and rediscovered all of my stuff. The Louboutin sandals I was wearing the night I first met Benta. The leather loveseat Vic and I got to third base on for the first time. It was strange being surrounded by my old things. I felt out of place in them. I wasn’t sure if it was because I no longer needed them to feel complete … or if it was being surrounded by pieces of a life I’d most likely never have again.
The sun came through the window, the room warming and I reached for my phone, checking the time. I groaned when I saw it, sitting up in bed and putting on my heels. I downed vitamins and snagged a banana from the counter, pausing when a knock sounded on the door. Grabbing my purse and keys, I flipped the light switch on the wall and yanked open the door.
I was late to work, a piece of banana in my cheek, unprepared to meet perfection. But there he stood, one hand on my doorframe, his head lifting when I opened the door. Pure beauty, dripping with masculinity. Real dirt on the work boots that shifted on the carpet, real wear on the jeans that hugged his thighs and hips, tan skin and biceps that bulged when he pushed off the doorframe and put his hands on his hips. I stood in place, my jaw hanging, and stared.
“Miss Madison?” His voice was gruff and sexual, the drawl you wanted to hear right before he bit your earlobe, the rasp that, should he moan your name, would combust your panties.
I swallowed. “Yes?”
He stuck out a hand, and my eyes dropped. Strong fingers. Calluses. I couldn’t think of the last time I shook a callused hand. “I’m Carter. I’m the building’s super. You’ve got a leaky shower head?”
I reached out and slid my hand into his. Swallowing the bite of banana, I managed speech. “I know you. The… umm…” I wracked my brain for the name of the hotel.
“New Year’s Eve Party,” he supplied, smiling, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth, his lips with just a tint of pink. Our hands were still held, his palm hot and smooth despite the calluses.
I blinked, pulling my hand back. “Yes.” My eyes drifted over him, this look so different from his tux, hotter in a completely different way. “You work here too?”
“Yep.” He dipped to pick up a toolbox and I remembered the reason he was there.
I stepped back and held the door open. “The bathroom’s the second door—”
“I know where it is.”
Of course he did. He walked through the door, his broad shoulders barely fitting, and I watched him pass by the kitchen, toward the bathroom. “Do you need me to wait?” I called out, glancing at my watch.
“Not unless you want to,” he called back. “I got a key, so I can lock up when I’m done.”
Not unless you want to. Oh, I wanted to. I wanted to do a hundred different things with that man, the least of which was watch him use his hands on my showerhead. But work beckoned.
“I’m gonna head out then,” I called out. “Nice to see you again.” The understatement of the month.
“You too.”
I hesitated another moment, then I pulled the door shut behind me.
And I’d thought this apartment was perfect before. I stepped on the elevator and pressed the button, leaning back