Page 39 of Average Joe

“I know, right? Think they’d notice if we moved in?”

“They’d never find us in here. My voice is echoing.”

“I thought that was in my head. You hear it, too?”

We laughed hard belly laughs. Then I pushed open another fancy door, locked myself inside, and took care of business. “This stall is bigger than my bedroom.”

“I’m telling Marco to build me a bathroom like this.”

“If he does that, I’m moving in with you.”

We met at the sink and primped.

“Did Marco tell his friends to keep their hands off me?”

“Yes. Years ago.” Lilly turned to face me, one hand on her hip, the silver dress clinging to her every curve, her long, toned legs on full display. “They’re all players, and Marco didn’t want them hurting you. Oh, my God. Did Singleton try something? That fucker is dead.”

“No. Jeez. Singleton has been a perfect gentleman.” I dried my hands, tossed the towel into the basket, and headed toward the exit.

“What would you do if he made a move?” Lilly asked, holding the door open for me.

“Nothing.” I blew a raspberry, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “He’s not my type.”

“Who is your type?” she asked.

My rough-and-tumble neighbor came to mind. “The wrong type, apparently.” I turned to face her, backing into the hallway.

Lilly’s eyes widened at the same time my foot landed on something foreign. My ankle turned, and my drunk body careened sideways. Someone caught my waist, setting me straight. Someone quick on his feet and scary strong.

“Christ, woman. Those are deadly heels.”

A giggle erupted. “I’m so sor—” I looked over my shoulder, then up, up, up to find a set of angry eyes. Turning in his arms, I whispered, “Joe?”

“Neighbor.”

He wore a blue dress shirt that slipped beneath my fingertips like warm butter and a tie that complemented his steely eyes.

Lava flowed under my skin. “What are you doing here?”

His roguish gaze dropped to my chest, then his nostrils flared before he hooked an arm around my waist and spun me until I landed between him and the wall. “Jesus. Cover yourself.”

I looked down and, yep, my dress had twisted during my almost fall, and there was boobage, a full nip peeking out.

Personal boundaries be damned, Joe groped the exposed flesh and stuffed the naked tit back into my halter.

“Hey. Hey. Hey.” Lilly smacked at his arm. “Hands off my girl. Don’t make me call—” Eyes widening in recognition, she stepped back and pointed. “Oh, it’s you. Motorcycle Guy.”

Joe didn’t bother a glance her way, his ire aimed at yours truly. “Isn’t there some kind of magic tape you ladies use to keep those things covered in a dress like that?” He continued straightening and tugging, his gaze bouncing from my chest to my waist to my hips. “I mean, seriously, why you gotta show so much skin?”

His comment snapped me out of myoh, my God, Joe is heretrance.

I slapped away his wandering hands. “Stop touching me. Get off.”

The man eased back, only enough to allow breathing room, but certainly still blocking me from any onlookers, not that there were people in our private hallway that led to our supposed private restroom, which reminded me…

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Checking on you.”

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