Page 1 of My Athlete Neighbor

Chapter One

Allison Warrant tightened her grip on the steering wheel as another gust of wind rocked her packed Honda Civic. Through the windshield, fat snowflakes swirled against a slate gray sky, accumulating faster than the wimpy wipers could handle. Perfect. Just perfect.

She squinted at the brick apartment building looming ahead. After two weeks of living out of a suitcase at the Extended Stay, she'd been counting down the hours until she could sleep in her own space. Even if that space was currently empty with only just the bare required appliances like a fridge and stove. A trip to Ikea was in order as soon as it decided to stop snowing.

Her phone chirped. The weather app's latest alert flashed across the screen: Winter Storm Warning. Six to eight inches expected.

"I can see that, thanks," she muttered, checking the time. 2:30 PM. Still plenty of time to get everything inside before dark. The moving truck would be here any minute to handle the furniture she'd arranged to have delivered from storage. Then she could focus on organizing enough to be ready for tomorrow morning's preschool story time at the library.

Her phone rang. The moving company's number lit up the screen.

"No, no, no..." She answered, forcing cheer into her voice. "Hello?"

Five minutes later, she parked into the apartment building’s lot and let her head thump against the headrest. Of course, the truck was canceling. Of course, they couldn't reschedule untilnext week. Of course, she was going to have to dig out her ancient air mattress if she wanted to sleep somewhere other than her car tonight.

She twisted to survey the Tetris puzzle of boxes filling her car. The majority of her life was crammed into this Civic. Most of it was books— necessary for her job and her sanity— but books were heavy.

"Welcome to Connecticut," she sighed. "Where the weather laughs at your plans."

The snow was already coating her windshield again. Sitting here wouldn't make this any easier. Time to woman up and start hauling.

She grabbed her purse, keys, and the first box she could reach. It was labeled "BOOKS—Children's Lit A-G" in her precise handwriting. Not as helpful as the bedroom or bathroom necessities, but it was too cold to go digging. She’d get them eventually once she cleared out enough space. The wind nearly knocked her sideways as she hurried toward the building's entrance.

The lobby was blessedly warm, if dated. Cream tiles, brass fixtures, dark wood accent wall—classic New England apartment building trying to look fancier than it was. She headed for the elevator, only to stop short at the handwritten sign: "Under Maintenance. Please Use Stairs."

"You've got to be kidding me." Her apartment was on the fourth floor.

Three trips later, she was seriously regretting her lifelong love affair with hardcover books. Her thighs burned as she trudged up the stairs yet again, this time with a particularly heavy box of picture books. She couldn't see her feet around the awkward load, but she'd memorized the steps by now. Twelve per flight, three landings, turn right...

Footsteps echoed from above. She hugged the wall, trying to leave space. But between her bad angle and the weight of the box, she was already off-balance when the person came around the corner.

The impact sent her stumbling backward. The box exploded, books cascading down the stairs in a literary waterfall. She would have followed them if a strong hand hadn't caught her elbow.

"Whoa there!" A deep voice. Male. "You okay?"

She looked up. And up. The man steadying her was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of chiseled jaw that belonged on a movie poster. Chocolate brown eyes creased with concern as he studied her face. Dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that seemed deliberately tousled but probably wasn't.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't expect anyone else to be using the stairs."

"Because the elevator's mysteriously under maintenance?" The words came out sharper than she'd intended. She was tired, sore, and now her books were everywhere. She had the right to be cranky.

He grinned, transforming from merely handsome to devastating. "Yeah, that happens a lot. The maintenance guy has a creative approach to repairs." He was already crouching to gather books. "Let me help you with these."

"You don't have to—" But he was already stacking books with surprising care, checking for bent pages.

"I insist. I'm Kane, by the way. 4C."

"Allison. 4F." She knelt to help, trying to ignore how his henley stretched across impressive shoulders. New neighbor. Just being nice. Do not notice his forearms.

Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same book.The Hockey Sweaterby Roch Carrier. She jerked back like she'd been burned.

Kane's eyebrows rose slightly as he glanced at the title. Something flickered in his expression, but he just added it to his stack without comment.

Working together, they got everything back in the box. Kane insisted on carrying it despite her protests. "You've got more to bring up?"

She thought of her packed car. "Unfortunately."

"I'll help. No arguments," he added when she opened her mouth to protest. "It's practically a civic duty in this weather."

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