Page 24 of What About Us

Because when I was a teenager, Xander was the bigger-than-life athlete who came to my rescue whenever the bullies got to be too bad.

He rescued me from being shoved into a locker our freshman year.

He punched Alfie Reynolds in the face and broke his nose when he called me a fat retard at lunch our sophomore year.

I have at least a dozen more stories, all similar to that. And yet, Xander doesn’t even remember that he’d always pat me on the head and say Don’t worry about them, Red.

So there’s no feasible way that man used the word sexy yesterday.

“I was delirious,” I mutter as I pull up to his house and cut the engine.

I’m twenty minutes early because I was paranoid about being late today, so I’ll just sit out here and answer some emails on my phone.

The team wants me to report to them with my notes at least three times a week, so I shoot over the past two days’ worth of my observations.

I frown when I see an email come in from the electric company, telling me that the check I sent them for the bill for Lucky’s bounced, and I feel dread set up residence in my belly. But before I can log in to the business account, there’s a knock on my window, and I jump, tossing my phone on the seat next to me and letting out a loud squeak.

Xander grins and gestures for me to unlock the door.

“Why are you sitting out here?” he asks when he opens the door and leans his long, muscled arm against the top of the frame.

“Because I was way too early.”

The man that stars in all my dreams shakes his head and opens the back door to grab my bag for me.

“We’re pretty casual around here, Red. Just come in whenever you get here.”

“Maybe you’re busy, or with someone, or doing something.”

Or doing someone, and I don’t want to consider that.

“I’m not,” is all he says as he leads me to the front door, which is standing open. “And for the record, I’m not with someone.”

“You know what I meant.”

“And I said what I said,” he replies, repeating what I told him via text last night. It was busy at the bar, but those texts made me smile. “What about you?”

“I’m right here.”

He takes the water bottle that he loaned me out of my hand and lifts an eyebrow.

“I washed it.”

“This is yours now. I’ll fill it up for you.”

“I have my own⁠—”

“I left that in the truck. You’ll use this one here.”

He strides to the fridge to fill the bottle with ice and water. After screwing on the lid, he passes it back to me.

“Um, thanks. Are you always this bossy?”

“No. You seem to bring it out in me.”

I snort, not believing him at all.

“Now, answer the question.”