Life's Too Short (The Friend Zone #3)(28)

I licked my lips. “Getting close to somebody right now isn’t a good idea for me.”

“Why?” he asked.

I let out a sigh. “Adrian, my life is a mess. It’s a mess. You have no idea. My whole world is like a muddy hill of shit, and if you get too close, you’ll be sliding down it with me.”

“Because you have family problems? There’s no such thing as a perfect family. There are just families that do better PR than yours.”

The corner of my lip twitched.

“I like hanging out with you,” he said. “And I need to watch more of The Office. I’m still not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Well, at least there was that. God.

My fucking life. Imagine the hot, smart, incredible guy not hitting on you being the preferred scenario.

“I’ll make lamb shanks,” he said.

I wrinkled my forehead. “I thought you said you don’t cook.”

“I may have misstated that a bit. I don’t like to cook just for myself. It’s not worth it. But I do very much enjoy cooking for someone else. Especially someone who will appreciate it.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know. I have to do laundry, and if I eat with you, I won’t get to it until tonight. The laundry room is crowded after eight.”

He shrugged. “Do it here. I have a washer and dryer.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You do? Really?”

“My apartment’s a lot bigger than yours, remember? Do as many loads as you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I smiled. “You’re making this very hard to say no.”

“That’s what she said.”

I snorted. “Ha! Office humor. I’ve already changed you for the better. All right. Let me go take a shower. I just cleaned a house that should have been condemned,” I said, looking down at my clothes.

He stood and reached for Grace. “I’ll take her.”

I tilted my head. “Really?”

He smiled at Grace in a way that made my heart hurt. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Let yourself back in when you’re ready.”

*



I got ready. I got more ready than he’d ever seen me. Not because this was a date, obviously, but because having somewhere to go and getting dressed up was a luxury I hadn’t been afforded in weeks. I was usually just different versions of rolling out of bed these days. Plus, my personal presentation had to be equal to the dish. The man was making lamb shanks.

I put on a slouchy pink sweater and jeans, curled my hair, and did my makeup. When I let myself into his apartment an hour later, classical music was playing. Harry Puppins was curled up in his diaper, sleeping on his dog bed by the sofa. Grace was sitting in her swing at the mouth of the kitchen, where Adrian could see her.

Adrian had a fire going and he stood in the kitchen with a spatula over a copper frying pan, a black kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. He was wearing jeans, a white apron, and a burgundy sweater with the sleeves rolled up. The whole thing looked like a page in a damn Williams-Sonoma catalog.

There had to be an imbalance in the universe. Some poor guy probably got shorted so Adrian Copeland could get his disproportionate share of good looks.

“Hey,” I said, bringing in a basket of laundry and a bottle of wine.

All my fan mail was by the door, carefully organized and in banker’s boxes.

“I had Becky take the donations to the Salvation Army for you,” Adrian said over his shoulder. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

The place smelled amazing.

He nodded to the hallway. “The laundry room’s the second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can I help you with anything first?”

He looked up at me for the first time since I’d walked in and paused a second. “No. I’ve got it.” His eyes lingered another moment and then he went back to his cooking.

I smiled to myself. He just checked me out.

It was nice to know maybe the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Not for any practical purposes, of course. Nothing was going to happen between us. But it did wonders for my self-esteem.

I stopped and checked on Grace. She was watching Adrian cook with her pacifier in her mouth, eyes wide. I tucked her blanket around her, then took my basket and wandered down the hall.

The apartment was a three-bedroom. The master was to the right of the living room where it shared my wall. That door was closed.

Then there was the kitchen, a nice open dining room in the middle with a table that seated six, and the hallway I was wandering down to the left. I peeked into rooms as I went.

One spare room was a lawyerly-looking office with a floor-to-ceiling cherrywood bookshelf behind the desk. He’d turned the other room into an impressive home gym. There was a full bathroom between them, and then finally a decent-size laundry room.

The whole apartment was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. He was meticulous. Even the laundry room was organized and spotless. All his detergents and fabric softener were lined up in a perfect row on top of the washer.

The walls in the apartment were cool grays with white trim. He had dark hardwood floors, except for in the bathroom. That was some sort of slate-type stone. It was all very cold and masculine.