Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,62

mutter to myself.

Soft, hesitant footsteps approach from behind. The good news is that ghosts don’t have footsteps. The bad news is that creepy clowns like Pennywise do.

Whiskey releases a puppy bark, and I spin around. A man I’ve never seen before is standing a short distance from us, a medium-sized moving box in his arms.

My heart rate speeds up, my palms grow slippery, and my breath slams on the brakes.

I toe the locker door shut and snap the lock together with one hand, all the while keeping my gaze glued on the man. One side of the box balances preciously on my hip.

Oh, fuckadoodle. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

A voice in the back of my head replies, You think? I ignore it.

The box slips on my hip, and I tighten my hold on it with my free arm.

The man lurches forward. “Let me help you.”

I let out a small shriek, which riles up Whiskey. He runs between my legs…then changes his mind and runs around them, tangling me in his leash.

Not very helpful, I mentally chastise him, which is about as useful as eating peanut butter to ward off vampires.

The box resumes its disastrous slide down my body. I twist around, attempting to save it from making nice with the floor.

The man drops his box, and it lands with a muffled thump. No glass was broken in the making of this disaster.

He grabs my box before it can crash against the concrete and parks it by my feet.

Whiskey wags his tail and lunges toward the man, tugging on my calves.

I’m unable to untangle myself in enough time and go down like a felled tree.

Timber!

The next thing I know, strong arms wrap around me, keeping me upright. The crisp scent of a man’s aftershave or cologne accompanies them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, releasing me once he’s sure I’m stable on my feet—or fairly stable. He bends to scratch Whiskey behind the ear and unfastens his leash.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, the tension in my muscles deflating like air escaping a hot air balloon.

I really need to work on my overactive imagination. This whole thing about having a contract on my head is making my paranoia work double time.

With his hand still on Whiskey’s collar, the man passes me the leash. “Here. You can free yourself now.” He resumes fussing over Whiskey—who laps it up like a doubly absorbent paper towel.

I take his momentary distraction to untangle my legs and click the leash back on Whiskey’s collar.

“He’s a cute dog,” the man says.

“Thanks. I take it you like dogs.”

“I love them. I don’t have one yet, but I’m looking at getting one soon.”

Part of me points out that I should tell him that Whiskey’s looking for a forever home. The other part screams out that Whiskey is Landon’s dog, and one day soon, he’ll realize that for himself.

I’m about to sheepishly point out that the apartment doesn’t allow pets, but I don’t get the chance.

“You’re Chloe, right?” he asks, and instantly my Spider-Girl senses go on high alert. I take a step back.

Before I can say anything or hightail it out of here, he adds, “My grandmother lives in the building. She’s told me all about you. I think she’s hoping I might bump into you at some point and ask you out. I’m Eric, by the way.”

Okay—that was unexpected.

I chew on my lip for a second, unsure what to say.

So I go with the partial truth. “I have a boyfriend.”

“You do?”

I feel my eyebrows shoot up my forehead at his response.

“Sorry, that didn’t come out right. Of course, you have a boyfriend. You’re gorgeous.”

A heat wave makes a beeline for my face, and he chuckles. “And now I sound like some loser using a pickup line.”

Kinda. “Not at all.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend tells you all the time that you’re gorgeous. And if he doesn’t, you need a new boyfriend.”

I laugh. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Eric bends down and picks up my box. “How about I at least make my grandmother proud and carry this up to your apartment for you?”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“I insist. But if it makes you feel better, I can give it to you once we get there. You don’t need to invite me inside if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not staying in my apartment right now. I’m staying with my boyfriend.”

“My grandmother really is out of the loop. Not only was she unaware of you having a boyfriend, but