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“You saved my life. I would’ve died if you left me out there.”
“I’m not responsible for you. Your life is in your own hands.Especiallywhen you leave with the likes of Archer Malone.” He drags his eyes open and looks me up and down. “You’re wearing the same clothes you left in. That makes youhisproblem. Why are you here?”
“Do you live here?” I approach the bar, and though I consider sitting and asking for coffee, I skip that step and save my own life. Asking him to get up again might be a dangerous sport.
Moving to the end of the bar, I step around to the back and go in search of coffee paraphernalia. Before long, I find a tin of cheap coffee—my favorite kind—and a moment later, I find the drip machine. Pleased at my success, I pull it up to set it on the back counter so I can reach a power outlet.
Taking the glass jug, I fill it with water at a sink I suspect Tim uses to wash his hands on the run. Then I go to work setting everything up. “Tim? Do you live here?”
“Upstairs,” he grumbles. “You woke me up.”
“I appreciate you getting up. Do you want coffee?”
“No. Sleep,” he mumbles and somehow manages to doze in his half-standing position. “Don’t wake me up. Don’t like it.”
“I can’t get into my apartment until nine.” I pour coffee granules into the top of the machine and hit the button to get the water started. “I would’ve died if I stayed outside till then.”
“And you didn’t stay with Arch till ninewhy?”
My body quivers; I could say it’s from fear or disgust, but I know exactly what it is and choose not to lie to myself so early in my new life.
“I think he’s an axe murderer. Or a criminal of some sort. Or maybe he has a regular job amongst regular people, but he’s a psycho in general. Those are the most dangerous types.”
“So you were happy to go home with him in the dark. But daylight hours are too dangerous for you?”
“Yes.” I study the shelves beneath the bar and search for a coffee mug. “Last night, I was flying on vodka and exhaustion. Today, I’m thinking clearly, and my brain says that guy is bad news.”
“You consumedhalfa shot of vodka last night.” He drags his head around to look at me. “Total.”
“A drinkyoupoured. That makes my death this morning your responsibility.”
“Nuh uh.” Pushing up to stand, he moves past me close enough that his arm brushes my back and his beard tickles my ear. Then he shuffles to the other side of the bar so we’ve effectively switched roles.
I’m the server, and he’s the stumbling guy at a bar way past closing.
“You’re alive, so still not my responsibility. But I’m about to fall and die because you woke me up in the middle of a sleep cycle.”
He moves to a booth on the far side of the room, then collapsing so fast the faux leather of the seats puffs up and whistles empty again, he snuggles in and leaves his legs dangling. “Don’t wake me up.”
“Can I stay here till nine?”
“Don’t care.”
“Do you mind if I drink a pot of coffee and chill out?”
“Still don’t care,” he rumbles. “Don’t wake me up. People who wake me up can’t be my friend. And eventually, they die slow, painful deaths after I tear their fucking esophagus from their throat.”
Warned, I smirk and turn away from the deviously sexy man who is like a big bear woken during hibernation, and instead focus on the drip machine and consider my morning as steaming coffee slowly fills the glass pot.
My one-night stand may be a psycho. He’s definitely intense, demanding, and bossy. But what he demands, he also returns. My thighs tingle in remembrance, and my stomach spins with delight.
My new friend Tim is grumpy and sweet, and though my suitcase was stolen last night, and this morning, my panties were taken, I still choose to believe this move was the right choice for me.
New beginnings. New crowds. New lab, and new colleagues.
In a little over an hour, I get to step inside my new apartment, and if at any point it looks like my builder, who starts at nine, is Archer, who also starts work at nine—according to Fletcher—then I’ll throw myself back into the storm and wait until my ceiling is finished and my privacy is restored.
No way could the universe be so harsh. No way will my builder be the man whose abs taste like sin and his penis feels like heaven.
Nope.
No way.
Not happening.
I refuse to believe in such cruel coincidences.
