“I told her to lay off theForensic Files. I swear, she sees serial killers around every corner. She’s driving me crazy.”
His phone buzzes again, proving his point. He reads the message, sighs, and stuffs the phone back in his pocket, rising from his chair. “I’ve got to go deal with this before she tries to get the FBI involved.”
“Wait.” This may be a huge mistake, but I can’t let him—and his parents—suffer any longer. “I know where Brie is.”
His brows draw together into a dark, confused line. “You do?”
I briefly debate standing and crossing to him but decide to stay seated behind my desk. I’m not exactly sure how he’s going to react to what I’m about to tell him, and having a thousand-pound hunk of mahogany between us suddenly seems like a good idea. “She’s at my place.”
His confused frown deepens and he drops back down into my guest chair. “Your place?”
I can’t tell whether he’s pissed or relieved.
“She showed up this morning with all her stuff stacked in the hall outside my door. I couldn’t very well turn her away. It’s only temporary,” I add hastily. “Until she finds another place.”
The bastard takes what seems like forever to answer, sipping his coffee like he’s the fucking king of England and our friendship isn’t hanging in the balance. The entire time my heart’s pounding so loud I swear he must be able to hear it across the desk.
“Thanks,” he says, finally. “I owe you one.”
My heart rate slows down a hair. “So, you’re okay with her moving in with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like she’s your type. Or you’re hers.”
Now it’s my turn to scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “You know Brie. She’s reckless. Impulsive. She usually goes for the dangerous, live-in-the-moment, bad-boy type. And you’re not exactly Mr. Spontaneous. Hell, you color code your underwear drawer.”
“I do not.” Any more. Of course, my closet is still organized by hue.
“You know what I mean. You and Brie are nothing alike. It’s not like I’m worried you’ll be getting jiggy with it.”
I want to argue with him. But that would be a huge red flag. Plus, a huge part of me is afraid he’s right. Brie and I are polar opposites, personality wise. She’s shiny and sparkly, built for the spotlight. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. That’s another reason I haven’t acted on my obvious physical attraction. As if her being my best friend’s sister wasn’t enough.
“Getting jiggy with it? What are you, thirteen?”
“Truth be told, I’m glad she’s at your place. At least there I know she’ll be safe.” He stands, pulling his phone out of his pocket again. “I’d better let my parents know. And read my sister the riot act for scaring the hell out of them. And me.”
The second he’s gone, I grab my cell and call Brie. The least I can do is tip her off about the shit storm that’s coming her way.
I don’t have her cell number yet—I make a mental note to exchange digits with her now that we’re roommates—so I try my land line. Yeah, I’m one of the ten people in the five boroughs who still has a land line. What can I say? I like to err on the side of caution. You never know when you might need a backup.
Fuck. Jake is right. I am so not Brie’s type.
I’m still mulling that depressing thought over when she picks up the phone, breathless.
“Hello?”
One word. That’s all it takes for my body to respond. But it’s not my fault. Or my dick’s fault. It’s her voice. So fucking sexy. She sounds husky and breathy, like she’s been running around unpacking boxes—which she probably has.
Great. Now I’m picturing her all sweaty, stray strands of hair clinging to her cheeks and her damp T-shirt hugging her curves.
I brush off that mental image and adjust my fly. “Hey, Brie. It’s Connor.”
“Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure if I should answer the phone or not. Didn’t want to scare away any potential conquests.”
“Conquests?”
“Yeah. You know. Women.”
