Page 96 of Broken Pieces
“Didn’t figure you’d want the floor.”
She snorts, but it’s short-lived. Her gaze flicks across the room, landing on the mess, the chaos I call home.
“This place… it’s not what I pictured.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? What did you picture?”
She takes a slow sip from her mug, eyes skating over the couch, the counter, the stained wall near the door.
“I don’t know. Something filthier. More empty bottles, less furniture. Maybe a thong hanging off a ceiling fan. A pile of lace and bad decisions on the floor.”
I huff out a breath through a crooked grin. “Harsh assessment.”
She meets my gaze, steady. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Well, you’re the first chick that’s been here.”
Her brows lift. “Bullshit.”
“Swear on my shitty furniture.”
She studies me for a second, searching for the lie. “Guess that explains why the place doesn’t reek of cheap perfume and regret.”
I can’t help it. My mouth curves.
“Give it time.”
She rolls her eyes and brings the mug to her lips, hiding the smirk she doesn’t want me to see.
And fuck, it’s almost a smile.
I finish my coffee in one long swallow and set the mug down.
Then I pull on my jeans, drag on my boots, and reach for my shirt.
I pause when I feel her eyes on me.
I turn slowly and catch her watching.
Her eyes drop fast, pretending she wasn’t just checking me out.
She can hide her eyes all she wants, but I know what I saw. And fuck, I like that she was checking me out more than I should.
“You need somewhere to crash, this place will do,” I say, keeping my voice as casual as I can. “Just until you get your shit sorted.”
Her brow lifts, that teasing glint back in her eyes.
“Are you offering me a home, Zane?”
I scoff, tugging my shirt over my head.
“Don’t get misty-eyed. You snore, you’re gone.”
She smiles and for a second, I forget what fucking day it is.
“I mean it,” I say, “You can stay as long as you need.”
She nods, and I move for the door. Just before I step out, I glance back over my shoulder.
