Page 42 of Leashed

*

Sage felt asurge of guilt as Bo fumbled his keys for a second time, cursing under his breath before he finally opened his apartment door and flicked on the light. He kicked off his shoes and shoved his hands into his pockets. “So this is it. I guess I should call for delivery. It’ll just be us because I think C is out for the night.”

“Sounds good,” she called over to him, taking her boots off and placing them on the rug. She opened the hall closet, picking his jacket up from the floor and hanging both of theirs before she joined him in the kitchen. “Nice place.”

He gave her a tight smile, muttering their pizza order into the phone while he paced the kitchen.

The idea of sitting in a restaurant booth surrounded by dozens of other people hadn’t appealed to either of them. But when Bo suggested they head to her apartment for delivery, she’d put up a small fight.

All she wanted to do was kick back, eat, and watch bad TV.

And she wanted to do it at his place. Not hers.

She wanted to see where he lived, see where he went when he wasn’t working or drinking or hiking through forests at midnight.

She wanted to get a better sense of a man she was beginning to truly feel a kinship toward.

And it was just Bo.

“Pepperoni?”

She nodded, glancing around the immaculate kitchen for signs of the guy who had left his muddy shoes dripping on the floor in the front hall.

He’d been reluctant to have her over, relenting only when she suggested they call it a night.

She’d assumed it was because the place was a mess.

She hadn’t expected it to look like an unoccupied showroom.

Stainless steel and black slate floors stood out against the white marble countertops and tile, the only color she could see from her vantage point a silver bowl of green apples placed on the glass dinette.

Setting his phone down, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “So this is the kitchen. That’s the table.”

Hiding a smile at his awkwardness, she walked over to him and ran her hand over his coffeemaker. “This is the only feature I’m interested in right now.”

“It’s 9 p.m.”

“Your point?” she asked, stepping aside as he rifled through the cupboards, running his hand through his hair every time he came up empty. “May I?”

“Go right the f…hell ahead.”

Opening the pantry, she grabbed a tin of coffee, the filters, and got to work. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” she asked, turning the coffeemaker on and following him into the living room.

“I’m not much of a homebody,” he muttered, stepping aside so she could see the linear white leather furniture strategically placed around a thick gray rug and angled toward an enormous television. “Living room. Obviously.” He led her to the end of the hall. “Ryan’s room. Or it was. I guess it’s C’s room for now.” He pushed another door open. “Bathroom.”

She poked her head in, impressed with the neatness of the black granite countertop. “I expected you to have more beautifying products.”

“I’m naturally hot,” he stated without bravado, attempting to bypass the last room of the tour and narrowing his eyes at her when she stopped at the door. “Fine. My room.”

The place was a disaster, work clothes strewn across the floor, shirts and jeans tossed onto every flat surface, books in a failed stack on the dresser, pillows and blankets hanging off the bed. Three damp towels were piled in the corner by the open closet, hangers heaped on top of them.

Bo reached past her and yanked the door closed. “And that’s why I don’t have chicks over.”

Blinking the unsightly mess from her sight, she followed him back to the living room. “Good thing I don’t count.”

“Exactly. Pizza will be here in ten.”

---