Page 11 of The Fall Out

From the look of things, this grump was attached to me too. That wouldn’t be horrible, right?

I closed my eyes and soaked in his warmth, willing myself to doze off. Fifteen minutes later, when I was still wide awake, I carefully slipped out from under his heavy leg to search for a glass of water.

My jeans were next to the bed, but the thought of struggling into them in the middle of the night wasn’t the least bit appealing. If I wore my shirt and nothing else, then I’d end up wandering around in his apartment half-naked, and that was more than the insecure girl who lived inside me could handle. So I tiptoed over to the dresser. Hopefully Chris wouldn’t mind if I borrowed something. I cracked the second drawer and found exactly what I was looking for. I snagged a black T-shirt from the top of a stack, shook it out, and slipped it over my head. Then I snuck out of his room.

The hallway was as dark as the bedroom had been, but the lights of Boston lit up the open living area. Once again, I focused on the windows. The view of Boston Harbor was gorgeous. If he was an artist, he was clearly a successful one, because this apartment cost more than I could afford. And it wasn’t like the Boston Zoo didn’t pay me well.

I shuffled to the floor-to-ceiling windows and took in the city below. Man, what a view.

I could just make out the entrance to the zoo from up here. I’d been the avian veterinarian specialist there for two years. It had been a stroke of luck that the position opened up just as I was finishing my fellowship with the zoo. A position like mine wasn’t typical for a recent college graduate, especially at a place like the Boston Zoo,where any job was highly sought after. But my boss, George, and I had worked well together, and he’d been impressed with my work ethic and drive.

The sound of keys in the lock had me spinning around and tugging on the hem of the T-shirt that fell halfway to my knees. Light flooded the room as the guy who’d been at the bar with Chris walked in.

“Oh.” He shot me a toothy grin that made him look more like a ten-year-old than the twentysomething he had to be. “Your friends are going to be giddy. I told them there was no way you ended up back at our place.”

My cheeks heated and my stomach twisted. “Uh.” I scanned the apartment; Chris hadn’t mentioned a roommate. “I wasn’t snooping. I just came out for water, and the view distracted me.”

“Cool.” He dipped his chin. “I’m Emerson. I don’t know if I said that earlier or not. But please don’t call me Bambi.” The laugh he let out only made me more confused.

I blinked at him. Why would I call him Bambi?

He headed toward me, a lightness in his step that made it seem like he wasn’t fighting the same gravity that cursed the rest of us. Even when he crashed into the coffee table like it had suddenly jumped into his path, he wasn’t fazed. “I’m not drunk. As unbelievable as it is to some people, considering what I do, I’m just clumsy.” He stopped beside me, hands in his pockets, and surveyed the skyline. “God, this place is gorgeous.” His eyes sparkled, like he couldn’t quite believe that he lived here.

Although his word vomit was a little disconcerting, he was the opposite of intimidating. Still, it felt weird to be standing beside him, barely clothed, at almost two a.m.

“Chris is asleep, so I’m going to grab some water and…” I pointed lamely toward Chris’s room.

“I got you.” With a wink, he spun and wandered to the kitchen, bumping his hip into the marble island, then pulling the fridge open. “Think fast.” The words registered only seconds before a plastic water bottle was flying at me.

If my father hadn’t been doing the same thing to me for my entire life, I’d have been smacked in the face with it.

“Amazing reflexes, bebé.” He cracked the lid of his own water bottle and, bouncing to a beat I didn’t hear, he danced around the island and the leather sectional back toward me. “Did my boy whine about our big game tomorrow?”

I froze with one hand still on the cap and narrowed my eyes at Emerson. “Game?” Chris hadn’t mentioned anything about tomorrow. Butgame? I scanned the well-built man in front of me. Everything about his physique screamed athlete. A lot like Chris…

“He’s pitching his first major game, so he’s got the jitters.”

Ice ran through my veins, instantly freezing me to the spot. No way. I swallowed.

“You play baseball?” My voice was pitched too high. Entirely too high. The guy probably thought I was a screechy demon. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Like professionally?”

Okay, that was better. Almost normal. My face felt weird, though. My nose was scrunched, and so was my brow, like I smelled something bad. He didn’t smell, so it would probably be in my best interest to act less disgusted by the idea of America’s pastime. But these guys couldn’t really play for the Revs.

Chris…Chris. Not Christian Damiano.

Not the new pitcher…

My heart and stomach plummeted in synchronicity, right out of my body. Hell, all the way to the bottom floor of this high-rise.

Emerson chuckled and rocked back on his heels. “He was serious about the whole being unemployed thing.”

What the hell did that mean?

My grip on the bottle tightened, and apparently, I’d loosened the lid more than I thought, because a volcano of liquid erupted, shooting straight at the man in front of me.

He jumped back and waved his hand, laughing.

With a gasp, I dropped the bottle to the floor in front of me. “Shit. Sorry.”

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