The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,32
Morgan in his happy place. His mother had wrapped up two slices of pizza to take home for his father and insisted she’d be fine taking a car by herself to Penn Station.
“I’m sixty-eight years old, not six, and manage every day to get where I need to go all by myself. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, but please text me when you get on the train and when you’re home.”
She kissed his cheek. “Now who’s being overprotective? I’ll let you walk me to the street.”
The car was due to arrive in two minutes, so they hurried out. Too late, as the door slammed shut, Morgan realized he’d left his keys inside the apartment.
“Shit. Oops, sorry.” He glanced at his mother, who laughed.
“Not like I haven’t heard it before. What’s wrong?”
“I locked myself out.” He huffed out a sigh.
“Oh, dear.”
Outside, he propped open the front door so he could get back into the building.
When the car service drew up to the curb, she asked, “Do you want me to stay and help you?”
“Nothing you can do. I’ll have to go to Leo and get the spare.” God, he was such an idiot. “It’ll be okay.”
“Okay, well, don’t forget to give him some of the cookies I left. It’s the least I can do, considering he was so nice.”
“I will. Love you. Don’t forget to let me know where you are.”
“Yes, Mother. I said I would.”
The car door slammed on her laughter, and she was gone. Morgan stayed on the sidewalk, dreading having to go inside and face Leo with another one of his fuckups.
“Whatever. At least I’m not destroying the place.” Resolute, he put his head down and trudged into the building to the end of the hallway, where Leo’s apartment was located. Hesitating a second, he knocked.
Leo opened the door, and Morgan didn’t know which of them was more shocked. Leo was wearing only a pair of boxers, his body on full display to Morgan, whose dick zinged to attention at the sight of all that rippling, naked skin. What did he say earlier to his mother—Leo wasn’t his type? Maybe he’d be going to hell for lying to her, but damn. He’d never wanted to lick anyone from head to toe before.
“What do you want?” Leo growled, and Morgan’s heart sank. No matter how horny he might be for Leo, it was obvious the feeling wasn’t mutual. A bad taste settled in his mouth.
“I, uh, got locked out of my apartment when I took my mother to get her car. Do you have my spare?”
Shooting him an unreadable look, Leo said, “Wait here.” He disappeared from view, leaving Morgan wishing he could sink into the floor.
With a T-shirt now covering his torso, Leo returned holding a set of keys, and Morgan attempted to maintain a neutral face.
“I’m not going to waste my time taking your key off, and I can’t give you the entire set, so let’s go.” He brushed past Morgan, leaving him standing in the doorway.
“Sure.” Morgan scrambled after Leo, who stood by the elevator with a pissed-off face—otherwise known as his usual expression whenever the two of them were together. He didn’t even dare try and make light of the situation when Leo stood silent and brooding with that impenetrable wall around him.
Once at his apartment, Leo found the key on the ring and opened the door. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
“Hey, wait a second. Leo?”
Leo stiffened but stopped. “What is it?”
“My mother wanted me to give you these.” Morgan rushed into his apartment, scooped up the cookies into a paper bag, and ran back out to the hall. He held out the bag, and Leo waited a beat before reaching out and taking it from him. “It’s her chocolate-chip butterscotch cookies. They’re really good.”
The corner of his right eye twitched. “Your mother left me cookies?”
“Yeah. She wanted to make sure you knew how much she appreciated your helping her out when she was stranded. And I do too. I know how busy you are. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
Leo’s face turned to stone. “I have to go. Thanks for the cookies.”
Without anything further, he ran down the stairs, leaving Morgan to wonder what the hell was going on. He assumed the barbecue that evening was still on, so he went to take a shower.
At six o’clock he was ready, dressed in a vintage Superman T-shirt and dark-wash jeans. He’d decided to forgo shaving, liking the way he looked with a little stubble covering his