Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,43
occupies most of the ground floor, the narrow vestibule holds only our mailboxes, the basement door, and a flight of dimly lit stairs stretching upward toward the second floor.
It's perfectly quiet here; I don't hear footsteps or voices. But the familiar staircase still intimidates me. Somewhere nearby, there's a stranger who wants to do me harm. As I glance up into the stillness, it occurs to me to wonder if he’s lurking somewhere nearby. Maybe he climbed the fire escape to wait for me alone in my darkened apartment.
Turning slowly around again, I find Gunnar right there where I left him. It’s late, and he probably wants to get home. But he’s watching me patiently.
“I still owe you a slice of chocolate pie,” I blurt out. “I mean—that was kind of a ruse before. But, um, I still have the pie even if the night is kind of wrecked …” I 'm rambling like a lunatic. But the truth is that I'd rather appear even helpless and unstable than go upstairs alone right now.
“Are you offering me a piece of dark chocolate pie?” Gunnar asks, lifting his too-handsome chin. “Then I accept. Any chance you'd have a glass of milk to go with it? When it’s late, I like a glass of milk.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “No problem.”
“Perfect. Shall we?” He walks right past me and starts up the stairs with a confident step.
Feeling a little ridiculous, I close the door and follow him. “The main entrance to my apartment is all the way up on five,” I say as his long legs eat up the stairs. “But there's also a door on four. My place has two levels.”
“Okay,” he says calmly, marching up the stairs. “Why don't we stop on four, and I'll take a peek inside?”
I feel a wave of pure relief.
Gunnar checks every room thoroughly—first Ginny and Aaron’s space, and then upstairs, too.
Having Gunnar step into my bedroom should have been exciting. But here we are, with him checking my closet for intruders while I wring my hands.
“Hey now,” he says. “There’s nobody here. Except for these guys.” He points at a stack of my sister’s books on my bedside table.
My cheeks heat as he lifts the first one and studies the cover. There’s nothing embarrassing about reading romance novels. Unless you’re me, and you’re binging on them to try to learn to be a more passionate lover.
“I really don’t see the resemblance between me and this guy,” Gunnar says, tossing the book on the bed.
“Oh.” I glance down and realize that the model on the cover is the same one as on the book I’d been reading in the bar. “I didn’t notice that they were the same. The, uh, hockey padding threw me off.”
“This modeling gig must pay well, right? Maybe I should try it out for extra cash. I know a guy who used to play hockey. He could lend me the gear.” Gunnar picks up the next book, and then the next one. He’s trying to distract me from the night’s horrors. “These guys are all different. Except this one—” he tosses a book on the bed “—is the hockey player’s brother.”
“What?” I pick it up and squint at the shirtless model. “I don’t see the resemblance. They don’t even have the same hair color. Besides, it would be unusual for a hockey player to have a rock star for a brother.”
Gunnar snorts. “I’m really good with faces. Bet you five bucks they’re related.”
“How will we know?”
Gunnar reaches over and flips on my bedside lamp. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed like he owns the place. “It probably says so in here.” He flips a few pages and stops on the copyright notice. “Cover model Alex Olsen. And this one …” He lifts the other book and does the same thing. “Blaine Olsen!” He lets out a whoop of victory. “Read it and weep, honey.” He hands me the book.
“I’ll be damned,” I say, checking to make sure he’s not putting me on. “I guess I owe you five bucks.”
“And a slice of chocolate pie.” Gunnar gets up off my bed and trots toward the kitchen. “With milk,” he says over his shoulder.
I follow him to the kitchen, as if it were completely normal to have midnight snacks with my barista after a two-hour chat with the cops. “Whipped cream on top, or no?”
“No sane man ever says no to whipped cream,” he says. “Bring it on.”