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“Is that the nice young man who helped me with the groceries the other day?” Mom starts gathering the empty bowls into a stack. “Adam.”
“That’s the one,” Gigi says triumphantly. “See? The boy has manners.”
“He’s not a boy,” I mutter, not sure why I’m annoyed. I remember Jasper calling Matt a boy. So condescending.
“Where does he live?” Mom asks.
“Old Mr. Collins’s house.”
She frowns. “Didn’t know he’d moved out. Him and all his cats. Maybe he’s renting out the house?”
Maybe.
“Adam likes you, Tati,” Gigi singsongs, stuck in that rut. “I saw him talking to you the other day. He only has eyes for you.”
Merc makes gagging noises.
“He doesn’t like me,” I say firmly and get up to help Mom. “He was just being polite.”
But I’m not sure about that, either. He did seem to be flirting with me. I’m not an idiot. I can tell when a guy wants into my panties, even if I’ve never let anyone try.
“Oh come on. Live a little, Tati,” Gigi whines.
My mind flashes to Matt standing with me by the window, tall and powerful and mysterious, dark hair gleaming, his profile strong, handsome and forbidding.
Dark to Adam’s lightness, a brooding beast versus the boy-next-door charm of our brand-new neighbor.
“I think he’s going to ask you out,” Gigi says, and I frown, because Matt doesn’t even look at me that way. “Adam,” she clarifies.
Oh right. Adam.
Can’t figure out why for a moment there I wondered how Matt’s mouth would taste if he kissed me, how his strong arms around me would feel.
What I’d do if he gave any sign that he finds me pretty.
But that won’t happen, and I know it.
Chapter Nine
Matt
I ignore her.
Most of the time I manage pretty damn fine, keeping my gaze anywhere but on Octavia, keeping myself busy before I leave for work, or when I return in the afternoon.
That’s easy. Lots to do between the kids and the house. There are still boxes to unpack, furniture to fix, walls to paint. It’s an old house and lots of repairs needed.
Not that I had any interest in making them when we arrived. I had no interest in anything, and nothing has changed, but it takes my damn mind off her, turns my focus elsewhere.
But this morning is rough.
The kitchen is a fucking mess, milk and soggy cereal dripping from the table, the shards of a bowl all over the floor. I have Cole squirming in my hold, and I swear, the kid has eight legs and arms, while Mary is pulling on my hand like she wants to tear it right off, and then the doorbell rings.
The bright, brittle sound shoots through my skull like a bullet, and I groan.
Cole pats my face with a sticky hand, and Mary tries again to escape. This time her small fingers slip from mine, and she runs to the door.
Dammit.
