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I shuffled on wobbly legs toward the door. It was impossible to see over or around the oversized load in my arms.
“Edwardo,” I called. “Can you help me with the door?”
He didn’t respond.
“Edwardo?”
I couldn’t hear him doing anything at all, certainly not coming to my aid. He was probably taking a nap on the toilet at this very moment, lucky duck.
There was only one way I was getting this door open.
I lifted a leg and kicked it Leonidas-style. “Ya!”
“Ungh.” A deep and deeply pained voice responded to my war cry.
I rushed forward through what I knew was a quickly closing door, and I was right, the cold air did perk me up.
As did the startling sight of a seething, snarling man.
The first thing I noticed about him was the murderous look contorting his face. The second was that he was significantly taller than me, which didn’t happen all that often since I was five ten. Third, he was wearing a skin-tight bodysuit that flaunted an action star physique.
I knew him—ish.
I’d seen him before, every night or morning or whatever you call the ungodly hour of five a.m., running down the sidewalk in his yellow and gray spandex. The get-up showed off his ridiculously fit body, and the weirdness of wearing the exact same outfit every day made him seem more like a cartoon character than a real person.
Not to mention the fact that he was out here the same exact time every single day. Sleet could be pummeling down from the sky, and he was here. I’d bet my left shoe that if there was a flaming sharknado barreling down the street, Running Man would be here at five a.m. in yellow and gray spandex, with Olympic-level athletic dedication.
I’d never really gotten a good look at his face before, though I’d definitely appreciated his butt from afar. Up close, aside from the vicious expression on his face, he was surprisingly hot—like alate-twenties Justin Theroux with that dark beard and wild, bad-boy hair.
My arms were going numb, so I tried to adjust the towering boxes of muffins I was holding. It didn’t really help.
Why were we standing here like this when I could be home sleeping? And why was there blood dripping from his nose?
“What’s wrong with you?” Running Man gritted out.
“What’s wrong withyou?You’re the one with blood on your face.”
“I’m injured because instead of behaving like a rational human, you kicked a door into me.”
Oh. Why hadn’t I realized that sooner? Probably the whole sleep zombie thing I had going. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, so I felt a little bad about that. Still, getting accidentally bumped with a door wasn’t a good enough reason to snarl at someone.
“Well.” I licked my lips.“Youshould have been watching where you’re going.”
His eyes went wide.
I should have been angry that he was looking at me like that. Instead, excitement thrummed through my veins. It was definitely the sleep deprivation making my nervous system go haywire.
My shoulders ached and I’d lost all feeling in my hands from clutching the boxes so tight. The smart move would be to apologize and go. But that just wasn’t my style.
I said, “If you hadn’t been flying down the sidewalk like a freight train in the dead of night?—”
He interrupted me through gritted teeth. “It’s morning.”
“—bulldozing your way through darkness,endangering the rest of us,it would be safe to open doors at a reasonable speed and?—”
“You saw me coming, decided you didn’t approve of my pace, andpurposefullykicked the door into me?”
He thoughtIwas the psychopath? Fine, let him.
