Worth the Fall (The McKinney Brothers, #1)(102)
She should probably take off.
But then he was dragging the rag he’d made of his shirt across his face, gritting out a curse that had her mouth snapping closed and her chin pulling back. Not because of what he’d said—please, she heard worse on an almost hourly basis—but because of the way he’d said it. There was something altogether too revealing in that one word. Something broken and tired and raw and, yeah, she should definitely go. She’d keep the cookies.
His head swung around, and his eyes, flinty gray, hard and accusing locked on hers. “What the—?”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped on a nervous laugh, trying to pull it together in front of this guy who’d just busted her fresh off the ogle and was going to be living above her for some unspecified duration. “I—I came up and then—there you were—and I wasn’t expecting—”
This was totally something they could laugh about, if he got with the program and gave it a shot.
Only apparently not. Shoving his arms back into his shirt, he stalked to the door, making his big body as imposing a “do not enter” sign as she’d ever encountered. “What do you want?”
Well, she had cookies. Still warm from the oven. And a pint of milk.
He’d spent hours moving in to the apartment directly above hers. He was her new neighbor.
What did he think she wanted?
It didn’t matter. An instant on the receiving end of this guy’s humorless glower was enough to know he wasn’t going to be another swell addition to her group of friends.
Not a problem. But for the sake of civility and because she was actually standing there, baked bounty in hand, she pushed an imitation of the smile that had been genuine when she’d started into place and tried again.
“Sorry to interrupt. I stopped up to say, ‘Hey, neighbor,’?” she offered, adding one of those cheesy half-circle waves that smacked of a classic Karate Kid wax-on. “Tyler, right? Yeah, okay. So. I’m friends with Ford…our landlord…and he asked me to swing by. I live down in Apartment Two.”
“The girl next door,” he bit out, eyes pinching closed in what looked suspiciously like a plea for patience.
Though honestly, it couldn’t have been even a full minute since she’d first darkened his doorstep, so, seriously with the attitude? Sure, she’d been looking. But the door was open. And he’d been the one stripping in front of it.
“Mmm-hmm…okay, or…umm…girl downstairs technically. But either way—”
His jaw twitched twice. “Christ, I don’t need this.”
Maggie’s wide-eyed stare shifted from the six-foot-plus stretch of hard-cut, stubble-rough, and overtly hostile male braced against the doorframe, down to the seemingly benign plate of cookies and back.
Was she missing something?
Only then the guy raked a hand through the damp mess of his hair and blew out a strained breath. “Look, Apartment Two. Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested.”
No. Way.
“Whatever I’m offering?”
The hard slant of his mouth and pointed jut of his chin were as much as he had to say on the subject. More than enough to make his meaning clear.
Her mouth gaped as disbelief and outrage kicked off a turf war deep within her chest.
Did this knuckle dragger actually think he—?
And worse, was he suggesting she—?
Not in this lifetime, bub.
Sure the guy wasn’t an eyesore. He had a built-tough body going on with all the hard-packed and high-definition to boot. But so very special? So irresistible Maggie figured her best bet for getting a jump on the competition was to make her move…with cookies at nine on a Sunday morning?
Uh-uh.
And to think, she’d felt bad for him lugging all his crap up the three flights on his own. But yeah, didn’t that make perfect sense now.
What a dick.
“So we’re clear, the only thing on offer here, Apartment Three…,” Maggie tucked the milk into the crook of her elbow and folded the plastic wrap back from the plate, infusing the air around them with the pure essence of melted chocolate, toasted oats, and the rich buttery goodness of a family recipe so sacred, only three people in the world knew it.
Helpless under the aromatic assault, his eyes went briefly unfocused before dropping to the cookies.
Selecting the biggest one, Maggie lifted it to her mouth and bit, chewing with deliberate relish before cracking the lid on the milk and taking a long, slow swallow.
Satisfied when the muscles of the guy’s throat worked up and down, she re-covered the plate. “…is my suggestion you look over your rental agreement regarding noise pollution and turn your music down. Or at least close your—”
The door swung shut in her face.
Unbelievable. But at least she didn’t need to waste another breath on the jerk.
—
“He actually called you ‘Apartment Two’?” Ava Meyers, Maggie’s best friend and fellow abstainer in all things “relationship,” shook her head, her mahogany shag catching in the light breeze and blowing around her face. They were settled in on their favorite bench with the usual Sunday assortment of accumulated mail, magazines, electronic devices, and what remained of the cookies. “Like you didn’t merit an identity beyond the female occupying space beneath him.”