around on one foot in a complete circle, like he was stalling for time. “I could walk you back to Micah’s.”
The prospect of accompanying him through the dark Brooklyn neighborhoods again gave me a warm fuzzy. I reached out to take his hand, but he immediately roped me over and put an arm over my shoulder, just cuddling me into him as we started walking. It felt comfortable to press into him, and I allowed myself to slide a hand up his back, just under his shirt hem, hooking my thumb into his belt loop. Here we were, out on a busy sidewalk, two near strangers, and our touch created an intimacy I craved, opened a doorway I wanted to walk through.
He sighed into my hair. “Layla.”
And in that moment, I didn’t want him to walk me back to Micah’s. I wanted him to whisper my name somewhere private. “Maybe we could go somewhere else?”
His breath tickled my ear. “I could show you my apartment.”
My chest rose and fell. “How far away is it?”
“It’s right here.”
Whoa. Déjà vu.
We turned the corner, and I saw that paint-chipped door where we’d kissed the night before. I hadn’t recognized his building from the busier avenue.
As if the location released muscle memory, he lifted a finger and ran it across my forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, before he leaned in and placed a kiss on my cheek. “We could pick up a bottle of wine.”
I shook my head, fearing something in the outside world might waylay us or detour me from breaching that door. “I want to see your place.”
Now.
His hands trembled as he punched in the security code. My own knees grew weak in the stairwell. Two flights up, he unlocked another door and gestured for me to lead the way.
The transition from public to private was exhilarating, intoxicating, and frightening all at the same time. I held my breath and stepped into his lair.
I’d expected a cookie-cutter apartment like I had back at home: beige carpets, efficient square rooms, and cream walls. Instead, I encountered a fairly open space with hardwood floors, exposed brick, and a unique decor. The vibe it gave was at once cozy and charming, and yet trendy and fun. Smoke-brown wooden floors shone where they weren’t covered by large area rugs and colorful furniture.
“This isn’t like Micah’s place at all.”
He followed me in and tossed his keys onto a distressed console table. “Thank God.”
His face held all the delight of a parent watching a child on Christmas morning. He knew this place rocked.
To my left, beside the entrance to the kitchen, a bright red spiral staircase wound up through a hole in the ceiling to another level. My curiosity got ahead of my logic. “Oh, I have to see what’s up there.”
He chuckled. “Be my guest.”
As I climbed up, intending to merely peek my head in and then come right back down, I sensed him behind me. As soon as my eyes crossed the threshold, I saw his bed looming before me, and my breath caught.
With Shane blocking my way down, I had no other option than to fully emerge onto his second floor.
The loft had soft brown walls and a loaded bookshelf running across one entire length. An open door revealed a small office with a desk and a papasan chair.
Nervous now about the implications of where we were, I stepped over to the window to check out the view, staring stupidly when the black metal of the fire escape grate met me. I wrapped my arms around my elbows and said, “It’s quiet here.”
He was behind me in another moment, hands on my shoulders.
I shivered. It had been one thing to throw caution to the wind in the heat of the moment out on the street. But here, with his bed mere feet away, possibilities gave way to probabilities.
When I turned to face him, his expression matched my thoughts. I bit my lower lip, wishing I could stop the questions running through my mind. “Maybe we should have stopped for that bottle of wine after all.”
My attempt at a laugh came out shaky, telling him everything I’d been trying to hide.
He exhaled. “Come here.” He sat on his neatly made king size bed. His whole place was so tidy, as if he’d been expecting company. As if he’d been expecting me.
“Were you planning on bringing me here?” I blurted out.
“Not planning. Hoping? To bring you to my apartment I mean. Not necessarily