Page 6 of Not A Whisper

“I was looking to see if any of my neighbors have an iron I could use. No one answered upstairs, so I made my way down here.”

My brows fly upward. “You’re my neighbor now? Since when? And do you even know how to use an iron?”

Lance laughs. It’s a full belly one that makes holding onto my smile easy.

“I moved in last Friday, but I’m just now getting around to unpacking. And unfortunately, no. But I figured I'd get an iron firstthenworry about using it. Nothing a quick internet search can’t teach me, right?”

“Oh boy… That will take you hours. You have to worry about the material you’re planning to iron, if you need fabric softener, the settings on irons are different on all of them—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “I have an iron. How about I show you how to use it before you ruin whatever it is you're trying to get the wrinkles out of?”

“It’s a suit. I have a job interview tomorrow; I want to look fresh.” He puffs out his chest. “Can’t do that with a wrinkled jacket and pants.”

He’s right he can’t. I hold up a finger. “Wait right here, I’ll go grab mine.”

“I won’t go anywhere.”

I step back and shut my door. When I return, it's with my iron in hand. I yank open the door to find Lance leaning beside it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You look like a bodyguard,” I tease.

“Do you need one? I’m more of a numbers guy, but I’m sure I can manage a good glare or chest bump,” Lance offers. He attempts and fails miserably to look serious.

“I hope you’re better at ironing than whatever that was.” I show him the settings real quick on the device and run down which ones to use for what material.

Lance grimaces as he takes the iron from my outstretched hand and says, “Wish me luck.”

I give him a salute and slip back inside. I’ve barely made it back to my bedroom before there comes another knock. Doubling back, I grab the doorknob and, with a playful sigh, open the door.

“You’re back already? Should I—Oh!”

It’s not Lance on the other side of the door.

Dressed in his leather riding jacket, holding his helmet under his arm and looking roguishly handsome—Trip stands before me with one raised brow. Beneath his jacket, he’s dressed in his work jeans and his company’s shirt. My mouth dries as I take him all in. As I do, I notice the dark circles under his eyes and the loose hang of his shoulders. His exhaustion doesn’t take away from his good looks though.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Yes, but you’re a more welcomed sight.” I take him by surprise when I step out and give him a swift kiss on the lips. When I pull away, there’s some color beneath his golden brown cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

Trip doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drifts down the front of my body. His mouth presses into a tight line.

“I came to hang out for a bit.” When our eyes meet, his eyes catch the bright lighting overhead, causing them to flash. “What are you getting ready for?”

I step aside to allow him to enter. “My friend Jonathan from work invited me to come with him and his wife to see his cousin play in a band at some bar I’ve never been to.”

Trip stomps into my apartment and I shut the door behind him. “Alright, well, let me change.”

As he kicks off his boots, I stare at his profile, confused.

“Change?” Trip lives with his father in a small two bedroom house by their shop, which isn’t in the same directionas the bar. “Trip, your place is like a half hour away. I’m leaving here in?—”

“Relax, I put some clothes in a box under your bed a few weeks ago while you were out. A shower will only take me five minutes. You should change too.” He starts to brush by me, heading into the hallway toward my bedroom and bathroom, but I catch his wrist.

“You put clothes under my bed? Why?”

He huffs, exasperated by my legitimate question. “For a situation like this.”

“And what situation is this?” I’m not deaf. I heard Trip loud and clear, I’m just struggling to process it.

Trip’s indifferent expression doesn’t change. “I’m coming with you, dollface.”

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