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We looked up at the same time, my now wide eyes meeting his brown ones.
Amusement entered his expression. “Good catch, Rosie.”
I let go of him immediately, as if those three words had blasted me backward.
“Of course,” I rushed out, clasping my hands in front of me and averting my eyes from his face. They set up camp on a point below his chin. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, nothing to worry about.” He waved a hand in the air. “I should have probably stretched my legs a couple times instead of sleeping through most of the flight.”
“Right.” I nodded my head. “You just got off a transatlantic flight.” Because this was Lucas Martín and he had just crossed half the world to get here. From Spain, where he was from. And what had I done? Locked him out, called the cops, and then left him lying on the floor for a stupidly large amount of time.
“Oh no,” he said. “I flew in from Phoenix.”
Oh.
Oh?
“Was that a layover or were you already in—” I stopped myself, realizing it really wasn’t my business whether Lucas had been in the country or not. “Either way, here I am anyway, keeping you at the door. Please, come in.” I stepped to one side to let him into his cousin’s apartment feeling all kinds of… out of place.
Lucas lifted a heavy-looking backpack off the floor and walked in, allowing me a clear view of his backside. Now that his eyes weren’t on me, I finally let myself take him in. Take him really in, eyes traveling up and down the length of his body a couple of times.
And oh boy. He had long, lean-looking legs. Lucas was taller than I thought he would be based on what I’d seen of him during my online lurking. Even his shoulders were wider than I’d imagined. And the wrinkled gray sweatshirt he was wearing did nothing to hide them—or the muscles I’d noticed when I’d felt him up a few minutes ago. Or the way you could tell only by looking at his back that he was a professional athlete. That he surfed, competitively.And we were talking championships and tournaments and beautiful but scary-looking waves that reached incredible heights. Lucas had probably spent most of his life on the water and his body could endure—
The sound of his backpack falling snatched my attention. He had come to a stop next to the island that separated the kitchen and living areas in the cozy studio apartment.
“So, Rosie,” he said as he leaned down to pick up the stool I’d knocked to the floor earlier. He placed it upright next to its twin. “If you didn’t know I was coming…” He turned around, facing me with an easy grin. “And you wouldn’t have been here if you had known I was coming, then I guess you’re not my welcome committee, huh?” His voice was deep, his tone kind but playful. It made something in my belly take notice, something I pushed down immediately. “Pity, I was starting to think I should really thank my cousin.”
That something fluttered, making me stumble for an answer and immersing us in a strange silence.
Lucas’s smile fell.
“It was a joke,” he explained. “A really bad one, it seems. I’m sorry, I’m usually smoother than this.”
I blinked.
Think, Rosie. Think. Just say something. Anything.
“Ashton Kutcher,” was what my brain decided to go with. Lucas’s brows drew together. “The host ofPunk’d, the prank show. The one you couldn’t remember.” I threw my hands in the air and lowered my tone. “You’ve beenpunked!”
He tilted his head, and I wished I could take back the last ten seconds of my life. Rewind, and say something else. Something smart. Flirty. Because was that too much to ask? I wasn’t even asking for the last ten minutes of my life. Or the last ten hours.
But then, he let out a laugh. It was a deep and happy sound. And for some strange reason, I knew it was genuine and not at my expense.
“Yes,” he said, shaking himself off his laughter. “That was the show I was talking about. And that’s him, the guy with the good hair.”
I stared at him—at his face, his upward lips, his beautiful eyes,his hair, which was far, far better than Ashton Kutcher’s ever was—and I felt myself smiling. I couldn’t help it.
Lucas’s gaze dipped to my mouth, though, and that kind of wiped the smile off my face.
“Okay,” I said, squaring my shoulders and averting my eyes. “This was fun.” It really hadn’t been. “But I think it’s time for me to go and leave you to… to it.”
Without wasting any time or considering the knot that had formed in his forehead, I moved in the direction of my belongings and kneeled in front of my two suitcases—one of which was open, and half unpacked—a filled-to-the-brim blue Ikea bag, and the box containing all my perishable groceries.
I heard a few steps to my right. Then, a pair of white sneakers came into view.
“You’re leaving,” Lucas said, just as I grabbed a stray shoe I couldn’t recall pulling out. “With all of… that.”
It hadn’t been a question, I knew that. But I answered anyway.
