Mr. Wrong Number(23)
I touched the door only a millisecond before the dude, but winning tasted good. He smiled like he didn’t mind losing and said, “A deal’s a deal. Guess I’m buying you a coffee.”
I smiled back at him, panting and feeling like my lungs might explode. “I guess you are.”
We went inside together and ordered, both of us breathing heavy, and he went to the restroom while I waited for our drinks. I slyly watched him walk away, and the view was pretty good. Nice stride—confident steps, prominent calf muscles, rounded derriere; so far, so good.
Side note: This was the weirdest way to meet a guy. I mean, we hadn’t even exchanged names yet officially—even though I heard him tell the barista that his name was Paul—but we were together at a coffee shop. I pulled out my phone and texted Mr. Wrong Number, who must’ve crashed hard the night before because he’d gone radio silent on me after dinner.
Me: Get this. I went for a jog, tripped over a dude tying his shoe and I ate it, complete with bloody knees. But now hot runner dude and I are getting coffee together, which begs the question. Soul mate or serial killer?
“Here.” He came back with a wet, soapy paper towel in his hand that he extended to me and said, “Clean up your knees before they get infected.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really with that, Mom?”
He smiled again and got bonus points for good teeth, grabbed both of our drinks, and gestured with his head for me to follow him to the outdoor seating area. “Really.”
He had my coffee so of course I followed him, exiting the cool air-conditioning and grabbing a table out in the hot, humid summer morning. I wasn’t sure I cared for his bossiness, but I was definitely going to drink his coffee while I pondered that decision.
He picked a spot, and as soon as I plopped down in a chair, I kicked my right leg up onto the empty seat beside me and started wiping my knee.
“I’m Paul, by the way.” He gave me a nice smile, and I noticed that a fairly thick gold chain rested somewhere under his T-shirt.
“I heard.” I returned the grin and pointed to myself. “Olivia.”
“I heard,” he said, his smile growing a little bigger.
I cleared my throat and said, “By the way, did I apologize for almost trampling you?”
He gave his head a slow shake. “You did not.”
“Well, I’m sorry. Although the coffee is delish, so perhaps it all worked out just right.”
He smiled at that, a nice big grin, and said, “You might just be spot-on about that.”
* * *
? ? ?
I WAS NO less taken with Colin and Jack’s showerhead that day than I’d been the very first night I arrived. It was glorious, like hot summer rain, and it made me never want to get out. So much so, in fact, that I tended to take luxuriously long showers and completely lose track of time.
That morning was no exception.
I’d run home—nearly collapsing from oxygen deprivation, of course—and the apartment was quiet when I went in. Either the boys were both still asleep or they’d both already left the house, but neither mattered because that delightful shower was available.
As I washed my hair and carefully shaved around the enormous wounds on my knees, I felt pretty good about the whole run-in with Paul. I mean, the dude turned out to be a total nonstarter. I was meeting him for brunch tomorrow, but only because I’d agreed to it before learning that, one, he’d never heard of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and two, he and his buddies loved the wings at Hooters.
Combine those factors with his ridiculous necklace, and it was like the trifecta of meninist bullshit.
But it still felt like a win. I’d managed to charm a handsome guy after eating pavement in front of him, and I must’ve been marginally interesting that morning because he’d asked me to brunch.
I still had some kind of mojo, right?
After I got out and wrapped myself in a towel, I opened the bathroom door and nearly ran over Colin.
“Ohmigod!” I put my hand over my wet, towel-wrapped chest and looked up at him. Man, he was tall. “How do you keep scaring me?”
And how do I keep running over boys?
He grabbed my upper arms to stop me from tackling him, but his tense jaw and burning blue eyes made my body hyperaware of exactly where each of his fingers were on my skin. I’d barely dried off, so there was water all over my arms and my hair was dripping, but I managed to feel hot in spite of the goose bumps that covered me from head to toe.
Because Colin’s tanned, sweaty, über-defined naked chest was also right there. And just below those beautiful pecs were the sinful abs that could only be described as perfection. I knew I needed to force my eyes back up to his face, but it was hard because there we were, inches apart, both slick and baring a lot of skin.
“My apologies for interrupting you at my house.” He let go of my arms and I saw him flex his fingers before his hands dropped to his sides. Seriously? He was flexing his hand like he was Mr. Darcy at freaking Netherfield? He gave me a dickish smile and said, “How dare I?”
I clutched at my towel and matched his dickish tone. “You know what I mean. That’s twice that I didn’t even know you were here.”
He made an intentionally assholish confused face. “But you . . . know I live here, so . . . ? Next time should I schedule my day with you, just so you know where I am?”