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So… maybe I can one-night-stand this sweet little thing.
“OK, well, here we are,” she says, stopping in front of her place. It’s a three-story Victorian that has been clearly refurbished in the past few years. “I’m on top.”
I chuckle at her innuendo.
“Oh.” She blushes. “No,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face. “I mean, top floor.”
“Your mind is in the gutter this evening, Miss Amherst.”
“Really.” She blushes again.
It’s so cute I can’t take it. I take her hand, walk her up to the porch, and say, “Take me upstairs.”
“Right,” she says, pulling her hand out of mine so she can fish for her keys inside a little purse on a long strap. She finds them, unlocks the door, and waves me in.
“Oh, no. After you, sweet thing.”
She exhales, a short burst of breath that lets me know she liked the term of endearment, and then begins walking up the stairs. Shooting me a nervous look over her shoulder every few steps as I try my best to hide the fact that I’m totally looking up her skirt at her creamy thighs and pink underwear.
CHAPTER FIVE – ARIA
It occurs to me, when I get to the top of the stairs, that he might think this was an invitation for something other than coffee at my place.
Then I think, Aria, you are so stupid.
Of course he does! He’s like forty or something! This man has probably been going home with women as long as I’ve been alive!
So then I get nervous and I can’t find my key. I fumble with them. Then when I do have the right key, I can’t seem to get it in the lock. And then when I do get it in the lock, the doorknob won’t turn because this door is old, and weird, and—
“Here,” he says, pushing his body close to mine. “Let me help you.”
I back away, bumping into his chest as he reaches past me, brushing his arm against mine, and turns the handle to swing the door open.
I take a deep breath and hold it. Then walk forward so he can’t hear me exhale, flick on the lights, and say, with all the control I can muster up, “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he says, closing the door behind him.
I set my purse and keys down on the small dining room table and turn to look at him. What the hell am I doing in my sister’s apartment alone with this man? One day. I’ve been here one day and—
Felix meows, rubbing his body up against my legs. I bend down to pet him to take my mind off the fact that this guy now thinks I’ve invited him over for sex.
“So…” North says. “This is nice. How long have you lived here?”
“Um… four and half years,” I say. Because that’s how long April has lived here.
“Really?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “How old are you?”
“Me?” I laugh nervously. “I’m twenty-five, why?”
He shakes his head. “No way.”
“What do you mean, no way? I am. People always think I’m younger and I get carded all the time. I hate it.” April says this kind of stuff because she has a young look to her as well. So I’m just… channeling my older sister, I guess. When in Rome, you Rome.
Or something.
“You are so sweet, Aria. I swear to God, when you hit thirty you’re gonna thank the gods for blessing you with youth.”
I smile. Because that was nice. And if I really was twenty-five I’d probably want to hear something like that to make myself feel better about being old.
Especially coming out of this handsome man’s mouth.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“How old do you think?”
“Mmmm… forty?”
“Forty?” He laughs.
“I mean, I can tell you’re over thirty, but… I dunno. Everyone looks the same to me after that.”
“What?” He chuckles again. “You’re killing me, Aria.”
He walks forward, closing the distance between us, but I whirl around and walk into the kitchen. He follows me halfway, leaning against the half wall that separates us.
“So… coffee?” I ask. Then I squint at the old-fashioned coffee maker April uses. Oops. I forgot. She has one of those French presses. Which I don’t know how to use because we have a real coffee maker at home that just requires you put a cup under the spout.
“Forget the coffee,” I say, opening up the fridge. I’m just about to reach for bottled water when he leans in past me—how did he get behind me so fast?—and pulls out a bottle of wine.
“This’ll do,” he says. “Got a corkscrew?”
“I’m sure I do.” I laugh, then look at the drawers. I’ve seen a corkscrew. I know she has one, but where would it live?
I pull open the silverware drawer and yes, there it is.
“Here you go,” I say, thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to try to actually use it. Because I have no clue.
