Page 7 of Charlie Takes a Chance

He even looks like he’s smiling at me.

“Jim, get off of her,” that grouchy voice says again.

I blink a few more times and stare at the dimly lit hallway. Oh, that’s right. I’m in the bunkhouse behind the main house. And there’s a dog on top of me.

And a shirtless man standing at the edge of the living room with his hands on his hips, glaring down at me.

Max St. James.We have to stop meeting this way. How does he keep surprising me? And why is he in this house?

“Don’t you have something better to do with your life than terrorize me? You could have given me a heart attack,” I grumble as I scratch behind the dog’s ears.

The dog licks my face again.

“Jim,” Max growls at the dog.

I peer around the long-haired creature on top of me to get a better view of Max. “Are you mad that your dog likes me?”

“If you knew what Jim likes to eat, you wouldn’t want him licking your face either,” he explains in a dry voice.

I jerk my head back and study the dog on top of me. It could be the trick of dim light, but it looks like the dog just smiled bigger.

I dodge the next attempted lick and sit up. Jim climbs off me and sits on the floor next to my feet, his tail thumping loudly against the hardwood.

“What—” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here. Now get your butt out.” A second dog comes trotting from upstairs. It looks almost identical to Jim but a bit younger. It sits down next to Max and stares at me curiously.

There’s something that doesn’t seem right. Magnolia told me there was a bunkhouse behind the main lodge. Hopefully, I didn’t walk into the wrong one, because it sure seems like Max and his dogs spent the night here too. “How many bunkhouses are behind the main house?”

He looks confused by this question. “This is the only other house.”

That doesn’t make sense. That means I’m where I’m supposed to be but why is he here? “Well, then, what are you doing here? And why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“I’m wearing pants,” he replies.

I stare at his sweatpants that are hanging low on his hips. ‘Wearing’ them might be a loose term. They appear to be barely hanging on. And I can’t tell if it’s the shadows playing tricks on my eyes, but it sure looks like I can count his ab muscles.

I sit up slowly and press a hand against my face—anything to stop ogling the man in front of me. “This is where I’m supposed to stay.”

“Ha!” He stomps past the couch and flips a light on that’s brighter than the sun. “I don’t think so. You stay in the main house. This is my house.”

“It can’t be. Magnolia said there was a bunkhouse back here for me to stay in.”

“Nope.” He’s standing in the kitchen, staring at a coffee pot that’s spitting out delicious-smelling coffee.

I stand up and shuffle after him into the kitchen. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it’s okay to give more than one-word answers. This can’t be your house. Magnolia didn’t say anything about it.”

Max grabs a mug out of the cupboard and pours a full cup of coffee.

I gasp when he takes a sip of steaming black coffee. “No wonder you’re so cranky. You need some sugar in that cup.”

His eyes darken. “Get out of my house.”

“I’ll text Magnolia. Do you live here? Why would she say this is the bunkhouse I should stay in?”

“She probably didn’t realize I’m living here,” he replies and takes another sip of coffee while maintaining eye contact with me.

Jim walks over to sit on my feet and leans against my legs. He smiles up at me. “Wait, you said you’restayinghere, not that youlivehere.”

---