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He sounded casual, but Gabe knew better. For the last three years, his friend had some kind of weird tension going on with Ivy. Both were too damn stubborn to admit it or put a name to it, but in times like these, Gabe knew that something was definitely there.
“Actually, Greg Lewis is coming by this weekend to take a look at it.”
Sean almost dropped the weight bar onto his neck. Luckily, Gabe grabbed it in the last second, lifting it back onto the rack.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Gabe demanded, after ascertaining his friend had survived. He’d never ever seen Sean lose control during a set like that.
Sean scrambled to a sitting position and eyeballed Gabe with a look of horror. “What’s wrong with me? You want fucking Greg Lewis to move into your apartment, and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?”
Gabe frowned, confused. He thought Sean liked Greg. He was a personal trainer who had rented training space from Sean in the gym.
“Dude, you want a player like Lewis living across from your girlfriend?” Sean said, totally incredulous. “He’ll be on those two like butter on toast in under a week unsupervised.”
First of all, he was still counting on the fact that he could break down the final barrier between him and Hope, whatever it was, and convince her to move in with him and Ruby sooner rather than later, and second—
“Ivy would gouge out Greg’s eyes with a kitchen spoon before she’d let him make a move on either her or Hope.” Gabe said.
It was true, and they both knew it. Ivy mostly distrusted men, and if there weren’t this obvious tension burning between her and Sean, he would have guessed she batted for the other team. She especially hated guys like Greg. Smooth, confident, boyishly good-looking, sun-streaked blonde surfer types.
Sean, however, didn’t look convinced.
“He’s a decent guy, if not a bit of a Casanova. Plus, he’s willing to pay rent. Who else do you know is ready to move above a bar on short notice?” Gabe asked.
“Easy.” Sean selected a weight and began doing bicep curls. “Me.”
* * *
Hope sat on Gabe’s couch, waiting for him to come home while she worked on her laptop doing upgrades to her Etsy site. Her art had been more popular than she imagined it’d be, and her impromptu business was taking off.
She wasn’t making thousands per painting, choosing instead to keep her prices purposefully low so she could draw a wider range of customers. Her new Instagram account was also a work in progress. She was only just mastering Reels and still felt a rush every time her followers shared one in their stories.
But whatever she’d been doing was working, because she’d sold more than a dozen paintings since she opened the site, and even had a few commissions.
And then there was the other thing. The thing where she’d received a message from a gallery owner in Detroit. He had found her through Instagram and liked what he saw, so he’d kept researching her background. When he’d discovered her business qualifications, he’d asked her to interview for the manager position at his gallery.
She’d ignored his request at first, but when he reached out again, she figured there was no harm in interviewing via an online meeting. So, last week, she’d done just that. It’d gone very well. The owner was a lovely middle-aged, art-loving man, with very few business skills. He’d taken a leap opening his gallery in Detroit. And against the odds, it had done well. Now he wanted a manager to help him with the business end of things.
When she’d left home, this had been the exact opportunity she’d been looking for. But now, the thought of moving to Detroit held little appeal, and that rested solely on the fact that Detroit was missing a few people she realized she’d have a hard time living without.
And that was probably the very reason she should take the job if she got it. Her goal when she’d come here was to find a purpose, an identity all her own. Not to leave one family and latch straight on to another. No matter how much they felt like her true home.
In any case, maybe it was all a moot point because she hadn’t heard back since the interview. She also hadn’t told Gabe about it, figuring there was no point bringing it up until official decisions had to be made.
At two in the morning, she heard a key unlocking the door, signaling Gabe’s return home. As always, her nipples hardened, and she felt the familiar tingle between her legs. The man turned the key in the lock and her body responded like clockwork.
She slapped her laptop closed.
“Hey,” he said, joining her on the couch and immediately nuzzling the sweet spot under her ear.
Aaanndd she was aroused.
She wondered if her instantaneous reactions to him would ever stop. Or when this ended, how she was going to walk away from him and move on. Every day they were together made it harder to imagine leaving, even if it was to a dream job in a new city. She pushed the thought out of her mind. The past hadn’t caught up with her, and the future lay ahead of her. She still had time.
“This place smells like heaven,” Gabe murmured as he kissed her neck.
“Roast chicken,” she murmured back, her body catching fire with the embers his lips were stoking. When he kissed her like this, she had no chance. “There’s some left in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I’m hungry, Hope,” he murmured, and instead of sounding cheesy, it turned her on even more. “I might even want seconds,” he continued as he pulled her onto his lap to straddle him and guided her shirt up and over her head. “And thirds.” He unhooked her bra and caught her breasts in his hands. “Maybe even fourths.” He bent his head, teasing a nipple into his mouth, and her head fell back with a sigh.
