Page 2 of Hooked on Love

The fourth-floor hallway’s quiet as I flip to the door key on my keychain that opens apartment 402. The key slides into the lock like always and I push open the weighted door. Stepping inside, I pause.

Something’s different.

There’s a purse on the entry table. Small, beige, definitely not Luke’s style. Or Molly’s. She’s more of a bright colors and excessive patterns kind of woman.

I kick off my boots, frowning. Women’s shoes line up by the door. Sandals. Expensive-looking ones with little straps. And the air smells…floral. Not Molly’s usual vanilla-and-sugar scent from the bakery. Jasmine, maybe?

Maybe Molly’s started leaving more stuff here. They’ve been talking about making things more permanent. This could be her moving in, finally. Though, I could have sworn Luke mentioned they were considering making her apartment home…?

I shake my head, clearing my confusion and drop my duffel by the couch. I peel off my shirt as I head down the hallway. God, I reek. I need to get in the shower before I stink up the place.

The bathroom door is closed, however, with light coming from underneath it. Is the water running? No, wait. Not running. The shower just turned off.

Luke must be here.

I should just wait. Use the kitchen sink to wash my hands and face, let him finish up, but my hand is already on the doorknob. I’m not thinking, too damn tired to think. I move on autopilot toward the promise of hot water and soap.

I push open the door.

And freeze.

A woman stands in front of the mirror by the vanity. Appearing as though she just stepped out of the shower. Her sun-kissed skin flushed pink from the heat, water droplets trailing down her shoulders. Dark, wavy hair, wet and dripping. A white towel wrapped around her body.

A small, white towel.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and she stiffens.

She’s gorgeous. That’s the first thought that crosses my mind. Delicate features, wide eyes, full lips parted in surprise. She’s young. That’s the second thought. Mid-twenties, maybe. Younger than me by at least a decade. She’s naked. That’s the final thought, the one that has me jerking my gaze away from the mirror and the towel that barely covers the smooth curve of her—

Her ear-piercing scream tears through the apartment, and chaos erupts.

Unwelcome Guest

Peyton

I scream.

The sound rips out of me before I can think, raw and terrified and loud enough to wake the entire building. My hand flies to the towel covering me, gripping it tighter as my heart slams against my ribs.

There’s a man in my bathroom.

A shirtless stranger with broad shoulders, dark hair, and wide eyes that just raked over me in the mirror before snapping away.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god.

“Woah, woah, woah!” He stumbles backward, hands up, his voice rough and as startled as my scream. “I didn’t—”

“Get out!” I turn my back toward the sink, scanning for anything I can use as a weapon. Hairbrush? Plunger? The decorative soap dispenser?

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demands, like I’m the one who doesn’t belong.

“I live here.” My voice cracks on the words. “What are you doing breaking into my apartment?”

“Your apartment?” His brow furrows, genuine confusion crossing his face. “This is my brother’s place.”

“Your brother?” I’m shaking now, adrenaline flooding my system. Water drips from my hair down my back, cold against my overheated skin. “I don’t know who your brother is, but you need to leave. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”

“Luke,” he says, still standing there like he has any right to. “Luke Harrison. He lives here. I’m Jake.”