Page 14 of Someone to Have
Rhett pokes his head out as I turn. Eric walks toward us wearing loose joggers, a baggy sweatshirt, and a black beanie with some emblem stitched on the front. Heat pools low in my belly, which is a stupid and ridiculous reaction. My pulse kicks up a notch, and I have to consciously tell myself to breathe normally. Idon't want to notice how broad his shoulders look or the way his dark hair grazes the sweatshirt's collar or the sheen of sweat on his neck.
His casual clothes somehow make him look even more attractive, all rumpled and approachable. My mouth goes dry as I watch him move with that easy, athletic grace, and I have to swallow hard before I can trust my voice. Idefinitelydon't want to think about flicking out my tongue to taste the salt on his skin or imagine what those big hands would feel like tangled in my hair.
“I’m here because the music is too loud.” Awesome. I sound like I’m auditioning forTheGolden Girlsreboot.
“Dude, I told you to keep it at a respectable volume.” Those dreamy brown eyes roll toward the ceiling. “We’ve been lectured by every tenant in the building.”
“I wouldn’t call this a lecture.” I pause as the reality of the situation catches up to my discombobulated brain. “Wait. You’re tenants in this building?”
Eric shrugs. “Your dad offered us the apartment. Toby helped arrange it.”
Would have been nice if my father or brother had mentioned it to me. Not that Dad owes me an explanation. He owns several rental properties around town. Why did mine have to be the one with a vacancy when Eric Anderson came to town?
“Seriously, Rhett, no more cranking the volume, even when I’m not home.”
“Fine,” the kid mumbles, glancing at me before his gaze drops to the floor. “Sorry again. Your eye looks worse.”
“Black eyes look worse before they get better.” I keep my tone gentle. “It hurts a little less.” That’s a lie, but I’m glad I told it when he breathes out a relieved sigh.
“Hey, buddy, check on dinner, okay? If the cheese is bubbling, you can turn off the oven.”
As Rhett disappears into the apartment, I register the delicious scent wafting from inside.
“Dinner smells good,” I tell Eric, like this might be news to him.
It can’t be more than twenty degrees outside, but the ends of his hair are damp, and his cheeks are flushed from either cold or exertion, or a combination of both. The combo looks good on him.
“Also, did you go running in the dark?”
He pulls out a headlamp from the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “I was safe but appreciate your concern.”
“I’m not concerned aboutyou.” I shake my head. “I’m concerned about Rhett’s hearing with that music.” I’m for sure giving offGolden Girlsvibes but can’t seem to stop myself.
He grimaces. “You and the rest of the neighbors. Trust me, I’m working on it. Sorry about your headache. And your face.”
I choke out a sputtering laugh. “Did you just apologize for my face?”
“It was a joke,” he says, then he reaches out and touches the tip of one finger to my cheek.
“It was an accident.” I swat his hand away, because even that casual touch makes my stomach dip and swoop like I’m on a rollercoaster.
“How many times have you said those words today?”
“A few.” Alot. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“It’s a white chicken lasagna with spinach,” he says.
“Your frozen food game is better than mine,” I tell him.
“It’s from scratch,” he answers, looking adorably offended that I’d think otherwise.
My stomach growls, earning a smirk. “Do you think a guy like me survives on protein shakes and arrogance?”
“No.”Yes.
Cooking is right up there with taking care of his nephew on the list of last things I’d expect from Eric Anderson. Can I please go back to believing he’s a meatstick manwhore? These domestic god vibes are sending my ovaries into overdrive.
“I’m just surprised. Enjoy yourhomemadedinner,” I amend.
