Page 20 of Hate It with You

“As you wish.” My tone is hushed, and her lips part at the sound. Her eyes glimmer with a playfulness I have rarely seen from her at the usage of the phrase from one of her favorite movies. I found out that piece of information when we were all at the lake house last summer.

This conversation has gotten away from me, and when my cock is all but aching for her to touch me, I shake my head, knowing that I must regain control of the situation.

Taking a step away from her, I take on a casual tone as I say, “I have a few training sessions this morning, but I’ll be by later to get a list of everything that needs to be fixed.”

“I can do it myself.” She juts up her nose the slightest.

“Clearly,” I deadpan.

Moving toward the kitchen, Beth begins filling a teapot with water, determined to ignore my current presence in her living room.

Following her, we’re separated only by the kitchen island, the bouquet lying next to a discarded mug of tea. By the steam still coming off the liquid, she must have made herself a mug before the incident.

“Look, I didn’t realize how much needed to be fixed around here. It’s my responsibility as your landlord to fix it. So that’s what I will do,” I tell her in the most serious tone I can muster. Though it slips slightly toward irritation when she scoffs at the word “landlord.”

“Don’t bother, I have a meeting with a lawyer later this afternoon to see how I can get out of the lease.” She avoids eye contact with me.

My eyebrows scrunch together. “You can’t.”

She finally puts the useless teapot down on the counter and looks at me. “No, what I can’t do is stay here.”

“So you found another place then? At the same price? For a better deal?” I challenge her words, knowing the answer already.

When she doesn’t respond, I continue, “It’s my building. Let me fix it. Otherwise, more instances like this will put me out of business, and I’ll be back at Roman’s house. And he has shit taste in music.” The last sentence gets the tiniest smile out of her, and I’m relieved to know I’ve cracked the ice between us.

“I’ll be by this afternoon. I’ll drop some extra towels off before heading to my first training session this morning.” I take a step toward the front door as she nods slightly.

Before exiting, I remember how I got into the apartment in the first place. Turning, I look back at Beth, who I catch admiring the flowers I’ve left behind. A chuckle gets caught in my throat when she jumps from being caught in the action.

“You know, you should really lock your doors.” I tap on the door to emphasize my point. I wasn’t going to say anything to her, as it isn’t my business, but over the past month, I’ve noticed two notes left on the front door of her bookstore.

No flowers, no gifts, no packages, only a note. In my experience, a note without a gift isn’t usually welcome. Although Beth receiving a welcoming note from someone other than me doesn’t please me either.

I couldn’t help myself the other night when she left to take her brother to the airport. I knew I was probably crossing a boundary, but I stayed up until she got back—unable to sleep until I knew she made it home safely. I don’t know what came over me, but it was late, and I didn’t have much brain power left to think through my actions.

When she got home, I watched from my bedroom window, waiting for her to enter her bookstore when she picked a piece of paper off the front door. I wouldn’t have given it much thought if she hadn’t looked around, then rushed inside with a terrified look on her face.

“Oh, I had to step out this morning real quick and just—” I cut her off before she can give me an excuse.

Deepening my tone, I make my point clear. “Lock your doors, Beth.”

A small blush spreads across her face again at my command, and her only response is a nod before I close the door behind me.

9

BETH

The only thing worse than my bathroom sink exploding on me this morning was the fact that Alex showed up to save the day. Shirtless, leaning against the doorframe, shorts barely hanging off his hips. I hate the way heat pooled in my lower stomach watching him in the doorway as water ran down his exposed abdomen.

Alex’s body is adorned with tattoos the same as mine, and I can never keep my eyes from drifting to them anytime he’s around. The tattoo of his birth year, etched in Gothic font and sitting just above his right knee, was a gift I hate my eyes for greedily accepting.

The edge of the register counter digs into my side as I lean against it, attempting to read a new release I just purchased. Though the task is proving difficult when my mind keeps wandering back to Alex. The words on the page blur as visions of what his hands would feel like roaming my body float through my head.

I shake the thoughts away, hoping to refocus on the novel in front of me. The only thing more annoying than living and working next to Alex is that I’ve been in a reading slump for months now and can’t seem to escape it. Since finding out Alex is next door, I’m lucky if I can get past the first chapter of a book.

The ringing of the front door bells washes over me like a cold shower when a cool breeze flows in from outside. The cold is brief, my skin heating to a burn when I look up to find the tattooed man I’m desperately trying not to think about waltzing into my bookstore. Dressed in dark sweats, a black T-shirt, and carrying a toolbox, he looks relaxed in a way that’s too domestic for my liking.

If I had never met him, I’d think he walked right out of one of my favorite dark romance books. My eyes track the way he runs a silver-ringed finger along one of the dark romance books lying on a table as he approaches the front desk. Having no choice but to abandon my book, I mark my place with my bookmark and set it aside.