Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,57

out to be more appealing than flirting with a stranger. This one is about a football player who's in love with the coach's daughter. And when they have shower sex, I forget all about the guy down the bar. By the time the scene is over, I've finished my second cocktail, and I need a cold shower myself.

And it's only eight-thirty.

I close the book and take a deep, calming breath. I should get home. Maybe Ginny and I can watch a movie together after Aaron goes to sleep. I tip the bartender and slide off my bar stool.

Just as I'm walking toward the door, I see someone emerge from the building across the street. I stop short when I realize it's Gunnar. And he's wearing a tuxedo.

Holy hell. My hormones are already in a weakened state, and the sight of Gunnar in a bow tie and a well-tailored black tux makes me go a little weak in the knees. He stops on the sidewalk, checking his smart watch. It’s a big, fancy gadget that he often glances at during the workday.

His bow tie is slightly askew. The look is very devil-may-care. Very Brad-Pitt-on-the-way-to-the-Oscars. He looks fabulous, but I still have the urge to go over there and straighten his tie, just so I can touch him.

I wouldn’t stop there, though. I’d probably untie it instead. And then the buttons of his shirt would beckon, and I’d undress him just so I could see that tattoo again. Those vines that I would like to trace with my tongue. And—

Wait.

Hold on.

That key on his chest. I’ve seen it before.

I’m still standing inside the bar, staring out the door like a weirdo. But I dig the bill out of my purse anyway. And there it is, right on the invoice. The same key, facing the same way.

It could be a coincidence. Old keys are very pretty. But that doesn’t stop me from opening the door and stepping out onto Spring Street anyway, determined to ask Gunnar to tell me more about the security company that fixed my window.

But Gunnar is already walking away. I trail after him with my eyes until his sun-tipped hair turns the corner onto Thompson Street.

Later, I won’t be able to explain why I did what I did. For no good reason, my feet turn east in hot pursuit. It’s a nice night, and there are a lot of people on the sidewalk, ambling around SoHo. I dodge them from time to time, hanging back, watching Gunnar walk farther downtown. He crosses Broome and then Grand, then slows as he approaches the Soho Luxe hotel.

As I watch, he gazes up at the building. Is that where he’s headed? There’s a lovely bar on the roof, although Gunnar is a bit overdressed. He looks more like a maître d’ than a party-hopping hipster.

He turns sharply before he reaches the main entrance, though. He’s ducked into the alley, where the loading dock is. That’s a strange way to approach one of the hippest downtown spots. Why doesn’t he just go into the front door like anyone else?

A man comes out of the shadows to hand him something. This guy is blonder than Gunnar, and he’s pinning something to Gunnar’s suit. A name tag, I think. Then he hands him a clipboard, too.

Now hold on. That blond guy is familiar, too. I remember making a latte for him. I’ve made coffee and pie for half of lower Manhattan at this point. But this latte was just two weeks ago, on the morning Gunnar’s friends fixed my plate glass window. The guy—Duff—was one of the work crew.

What the hell is happening here?

Gunnar lifts his head and glances around, and I have to dive behind a kiosk to avoid him seeing me.

But what the fuck? A favor for a friend, is how Gunnar described his evening plans. But who are these friends? And why is Gunnar dressed in a penguin suit?

He nods at Duff, checks his big watch one more time, then enters the hotel through the side door.

Since Duff is still standing there, I can’t follow. So I head in the opposite direction, right through the front door. And as I take in the busy lobby, I spot Gunnar again. He’s waiting for an elevator.

I hop behind a potted boxwood that’s been clipped into the shape of a lollipop, and I watch Gunnar’s tuxedo pants and his shiny shoes until they disappear into the elevator car.

After a count of five I scurry over

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