Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,17

in, please?”

“Piper?” she says with her usual disapproval.

“Yes, it’s me.”

Before she’ll let us in, we’re forced to listen to her complain about the landlord for a bit.

“Sorry about that,” I say, heading down the hall once we’re inside.

“How come she calls you Piper?”

Our eyes meet and a frisson of electricity sweeps along my skin. His dirty blond hair is a bit longer on top than it was so many months ago and his lips seem fuller and his cheekbones higher than I remember . . . and he definitely doesn’t remember me.

“It’s just a nickname I’m trying to shake,” I explain. “Mrs. Stanfield is too old to get that I’m trying to reinvent myself.” Since I’d rather not talk about Piper, I quickly change the subject. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not the smartest thing to do, but I’m in a tough spot right now. You know, with money.”

At the end of the hall we go right, and my apartment is the second door on the left. Luckily, I tidied up since the guy who’s interested in the PS4 is coming. Plus, I finally decided not to get a new roommate, so I moved back into the bedroom. Starting this week, I’ll be working full time hours, so I should be able to squeeze my rent out of my pay cheques for the next few months until I finish school. But, clean or not, when the door swings open, I’m a bit rattled by having him in my personal space.

I kick off my sneakers, but tell him, “Don’t worry about your shoes.” As Piper, I had so many parties in this apartment where nobody took their shoes off. It’s not like the gray carpet is pristine or anything.

He leans down to unlace his work boots anyway. “My grandmother would kill me if she found out,” he says when he straightens and sees my questioning expression.

I barely refrain from letting my surprise show on my face. He’s kind and well-mannered? Who is this guy? Moving into the living/kitchen space, he sees the Playstation on the island.

“This what you’re selling?” he asks. “You play?”

I like that he’s not skeptical that a girl could be a gamer, but I give him the truth by shaking my head. “Not really. I like the fun ones though, Mario Kart, that kind of thing. Do you want something to drink?” I pull open the fridge, but it’s as empty as ever. Slamming it shut, I give him a rueful look. “I’ve got water, or water . . . from the tap. Sorry.”

I swear I see faint amusement on his face. “Nothing wrong with tap water, but I’m good. Have you eaten?”

“No, but I do have a date with a package of Ramen later.” My brow furrows. I guess I should offer that too. “Are you hungry? Do you want some?”

He actually laughs this time. “Tempting, but no thanks. How about I order us some pizza?”

My mouth waters at the thought, but the manners my mother taught me keep my polite front in place. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, if you’d rather eat Ramen . . .”

Something resembling a strangled groan comes out of me. “No one would rather eat Ramen over pizza.”

His lips still curved into a smile, he pulls out his phone. “That’s what I thought,” he says. “Any preferences?”

“Um, not really, but Hawaiian is my favorite.”

He looks appalled. “Hawaiian? That’s what my six year old daughter eats.”

Right. He has a daughter. I knew that. “Well, she clearly has excellent taste,” I say while casually trying to scope out his left hand. No wedding ring, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a wife or a girlfriend. I won’t be asking though. The fact alone that I’m attracted to this guy is probably bad news. I have terrible taste in men. “But since you’re the one paying the bill, I’ll gladly eat whatever you’re buying. I’m going to change quickly.” Heading down the hall, I tell him over my shoulder, “Be right back.”

In my bedroom, I rest my forehead against the closed door and take a deep, steadying breath. My stranger is here, in my house! I plan on savoring every second of this incredibly surreal experience.

After I get into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I go back to the kitchen and find Scott running a damp cloth over the game console. “I thought you’d get more for it if it wasn’t covered in dust.”

“Oh, I . . . thanks.”