Page 1 of Glory Hole

Chapter One

Glory

I can’t wait to get home and curl up with my book. I miss my book boyfriend, Stone Hawke. He’s a dream. That Gwyn McNamee knows how to write a panty-melting alpha. He’s everything a girl could want and then some. I lock the door to my bookstore, Just One More Chapter, and begin the short walk back to my home, my sanctuary.When I turn the corner, a moving truck parked outside my apartment immediately catches my eye. Mrs. Gilliam, bless her sweet soul, passed away a few months ago, and her family placed her home on the market. I hope my new neighbors are as nice. Mrs. Gilliam was like a grandmother to me. She baked me pies and always sent me leftovers. She was the perfect neighbor. Such a kind woman. I’ll miss her deeply.

When I reach my building, I hold the door to the lobby open so the movers can maneuver up the outside stairs and inside with a large dining table. “Thank you!” I give them a nod in reply, and they head toward the freight elevator. I press the button on the outside of the regular elevator and step inside when the doors open.

“Hold the elevator!” I press the button to hold the doors open, throwing my arm out to keep them from closing for good measure.

“Thank you.” The sound of that deep voice has me smiling as I look up, and my reply catches in my throat.

“Unh ughh…you’re welcome.” My Lord, this man is hot. I’m sure my eyes look as wide as they feel as I take in his appearance. The most beautiful, jewel-toned green eyes examine me—the green even more vibrant paired with his smooth caramel complexion. His dark brown hair, rumpled to perfection, gives him that just out of bed, sexy look. Creases form at the corners of his eyes created by his genuine smile. Lips made to be kissed and bitten showcase his perfect white teeth. And a few days of stubble does nothing to hide his chiseled jaw line.

Even in my six-inch heels, he still towers over me. A white t-shirt stretches across his broad chest, and the rest of my view is slightly obstructed by a hoodie. But the long sleeves do nothing to hide the definition of what I can only assume are well-muscled arms. My eyes track down the length of his lean form, enjoying everything in their path. They don’t care how inappropriate or unwanted my lustful gaze may be. Frankly, neither do I at this moment. You do not see men who look like this every day, or hell, any day, for that matter. This man is in a whole other league. My eyes stop on his very obvious, very large dick print trapped behind gray sweatpants. For the love of all things good and holy. Gray sweatpants. God bless the inventor of those dick-hugging things.

Am I right, ladies?

“I’m Beckett Jameson.” He extends his hand toward me, placing his large mitt in my line of sight, which is still locked onto his crotch for far longer than appropriate. I’m hypnotized. I can’t stop gawking at it. Seriously Glory, stop staring at the stranger’s dick print. Finally, I listen to myself and force my eyes to focus on his hand waiting for mine. For a minute, I think about shoving my boob into his waiting palm, but I think better of it. Probably not the appropriate protocol for just meeting someone.

“Glory Greystone.” I breathlessly manage as my eyes finally find his face again. His knowing smirk at my reaction to him only serves to make me find him that much hotter.

His giant hand wraps around mine, dwarfing it, and cradling it in his warm, calloused grip. Jesus, I want his hands all over my body. I want to know what those callouses feel like sliding along my skin. “Nice to meet you, Glory. You live in the building?” Damn, there’s that smirk again. He asked me something, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry. Would you repeat that, please?” I can’t do anything but stare at him, dumfounded by his sexiness.

“You live in this building, Glory?” His eyes are so pretty. He’s still talking. Still smiling. Still looking at me with those eyes in that face. Shit. Snap out of it, Glory.

“Um, yeah. I live here.” God, he smells delicious. I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells? I’m immediately hit with a visual of me licking all over his nude form like a lollipop, a Beckett Jameson lollipop. My mouth waters. My taste buds are totally on board with this idea.

“Glory?” His voice makes love to my name with his tongue. My name has never sounded better.

“Yes?” Whatever he wants, my answer is most definitely yes. Yes, yes, yes, hell yes. All the yeses.

“Can I have my hand back now?” There’s that smile that melts my panties.

My brain finally processes what he just said and utter humiliation seizes me. I’ve held his hand, gently shaking it, for four floors in the elevator. I didn’t even realize the elevator had moved. I pull my hand free from his and manage a nervous laugh.

“Um, sorry about that. This is my floor.” I crook my thumb toward the hallway now visible through the open doors of the elevator.

“Yeah? I live on this floor, too. I’m moving in today.” He has the prettiest teeth surrounded by those lips that beg me to nibble them and…what?

Oh fuck. What’d he just say?

“I’m moving into 4C.”

This cannot be happening. Holy shit.

“Which one is yours?”

“4B.” Heat rises to my cheeks with my answer. This man, nay, this god, is my new neighbor. Sweet baby Jesus.

Apartments don’t come up for sale very often in this building. I inherited mine when my grandmother decided to retire to Florida to one of those lively older folk’s communities. You know, the ones where the geriatrics are partying it up like they’re on spring break? I went down to surprise her for a visit not long after she moved. The surprise was on me. Some strange man, way too young for my Nana, answered the door in his boxers. He had abs, y’all. Abs.

My Nana, now turned cougar, sat at her breakfast bar in lace lingerie. She was born anew, no longer baking me treats or sewing with her quilting circle. Nana had gone wild. I cringed every time my soon-to-be step-grandfather, Kai—that’s his name, I shit you not—came up behind my Nana and dry-humped her while she giggled. Some things a granddaughter should never have to see. This was one of them.I digress, my point is that this building is full of little old ladies and older couples. It’s in a nice, high-end neighborhood. I wouldn’t stand a chance of being able to afford living here if Nana hadn’t signed the apartment over to me. Mr. Peenprint must be making some serious dough to be able to buy an apartment here.

“You’re my neighbor?” A slow, easy grin splits that pretty face.

“It appears so. Um, welcome to the building?” How the hell am I supposed to live my life with him as my neighbor? I’ll have to get made up just to go to the mailbox in the event I run into him. My normal attire of pajamas, bed head, and morning breath will no longer be acceptable. Crap.

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