Page 1 of Worth the Risk

Hannah

Igroan as I lift up my pillow, slamming it against my face, begging the bed to quit shaking from the loud music next door. I swear, whoever lives there must hate everyone. They have absolutely no respect for quiet hours. I peer out from under the pillow to grab at the nightstand, finding my watch. Fuck. Fuck! It’s three in the morning! Who plays music this loud at three a.m.?

I have to be up at six. I’m starting my new job as the social media coordinator for the Denver Wolves, an NHL team. I’m a little surprised I got this job, to be honest. I don’t know a damn thing about hockey. I grew up in southern Georgia. Not exactly a hockey haven, ya know? I can school anyone on college football, but hockey isn’t in my wheelhouse just yet.

I just turned twenty-eight, and I spent the last four years as the social media coordinator for the University of Southern Georgia’s football team, so I definitely know how to work my way around all things social media. It also helps that my Uncle Bennett is one of the coaches here, and he recommended me for the job. He knew I wanted out of Georgia. Not only was there some drama with an ex-boyfriend, but my relationship with my parents wasn’t the best. Moving to Colorado is a dream come true.

I’m staying in my Aunt Caroline’s incredibly nice apartment. My aunt is only ten years older than me, but she’s had a successful career in real estate. The Colorado real estate market has been booming, and because of that, she was able to take six months off to fulfill a lifelong dream to travel. She is taking a sabbatical and traveling across Europe, so she’s allowing me to stay here until I find my own place. The cost of living here is bonkers. Coming from Georgia, I was not prepared for this. A one-bedroom apartment going for twenty-five hundred a month? You’ve got to be kidding me. My job pays fairly well, but not that well.

I was honestly surprised when Aunt Caroline offered her apartment to me. We’ve never been close. I’ve always had a better relationship with my Uncle Bennett, but chalked it up to us having the commonality of loving sports. Caroline is … odd. No matter the situation, she remains stiff and poised. My mother routinely compared the two of us whenever she wanted me to change something about myself. Be more like your aunt, Hannah Ann. But, as I’ve never been good at living like a borderline robot, I could never take on the Caroline Davenport outlook.

It’s the beginning of August, but the players won’t report for training until mid-September. This gives me a few weeks to memorize the roster, learn the ins and outs of the team, and get my footing. I’m starting tomorrow — well, actually, today — when my uncle will get me sorted with Human Resources.

A loud crash next door jars me as I’m finally drifting off, and I shout out in frustration. That’s it. I’m pissed. I throw the covers off and stomp out of the bedroom, swiftly walking to the apartment door, throwing it open, and walking to pound on the offending neighbor’s door as hard as I can, non-stop.

“Jesus, stop already,” I hear a male voice mutter from the other side of the door, and then a few giggles from what sounds like more than one woman. Good Lord. What am I walking into?

“Open the god damn door!” I shout.

The door swings open, and I’m stunned speechless.

The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen is standing there, shirtless, holding a glass of amber liquid. Behind him are three women, all in various stages of undress. The man has tattoos down both arms, across his chest, and onto his washboard abs. He’s built like a brick wall, well over six feet tall, and his bronzed skin shines with perspiration. I don’t realize I’m staring until he waves a hand in front of my face.

“Eyes up here, darlin’,” he drawls with a smirk.

My eyes narrow as they whip up to his, and I growl. I literally growl. This gorgeous man is now enemy number one.

“Oh, you’re a spunky little pixie, huh,” he says with a wink as his eyes take a lengthy perusal down my body. “You always say hello to the neighbors in lingerie?”

Holy shit. I glance down at my body and realize I’m wearing next to nothing. A small camisole and a pair of booty shorts. I was so angry at being woken up, I didn’t even think about my state of undress.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I say menacingly.

“Umm, it’s about three, ain’t it, Luke?” one of the girls says as she walks behind him and slides her hands across his stomach.

“Do none of you work?” I shout incredulously. The girl has the audacity to shrug at me.

The gorgeous man, Luke, stares at me.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asks.

“An annoying and disrespectful neighbor? Yes, I’m aware of that,” I retort.

“I’m not …” he starts, and I hold up a hand to stop him.

“Yes. Yes, you are. It’s three a.m. I have to get up in three hours. Your shenanigans have kept me up all night. For the love of all that is holy, settle the fuck down,” I snarl, my hands on my hips.

“Jesus, woman, just chill. We’ll be quieter. Unless you want to come in and party with us?”

I snort.

“And get whatever venereal diseases y’all are passing around? No thanks,” I say as I spin around and saunter back to my open door.

“See ya around, pixie,” he calls after me as I slam my door shut. I lean against the door, and I can hear them talking.

“Luke, come back inside,” I hear one of the women whine. She straight up whines. Do men actually find that attractive? No wonder I’m not in a relationship. I couldn’t whine for attention if my life depended on it. Not only do I think it is remarkably unattractive to whine, but I was raised in a debutante world. A lady must be poised and well-spoken at all times. Ugh. I even say that crap in my momma’s voice.

“Nah. Think it’s time for you ladies to leave. Gotta be a good neighbor and shit,” the guy says. I hear the women sputtering and all talking at once, trying to convince him otherwise. “Ladies, I’ve made myself clear. You need to leave.”

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