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The tension is just beginning to ease from my body when I hear Allie’s bedroom door down the hall open. Fuck, she’s not out. Seconds later, she dances into the room with her earbuds stuck in her ears and humming an indistinguishable tune. Swaying and skipping, she makes her way over to the windows and draws the curtains, blocking out the city lights. The room is plunged further into darkness with the only light now coming from the kitchen. She’s completely oblivious to the fact that I’m even here. Then with her back to me, she leans down to switch on a lamp, and I get my first proper look at what she’s wearing. I sit up straighter, nearly choking on my last gulp of whiskey. Her casual wear is bordering on indecent. The white fitted tank top hugs her chest and the tiny cotton shorts covered in what looks like foxes, are doing their best to climb up her ass. I don’t blame them, as her ass is gorgeous.
If I’m really honest with myself, that’s the main problem I have with Allie living in my spare bedroom. Every part of her body is temptingly gorgeous, and my traitorous thoughts have my body paying too much attention.
Stop, I shout in my head, that is wrong on so many levels. This is Allie, not some hot stranger bending over.
I look away, clearing my throat loudly. She spins, sees me, and squeals. Damn, her shrieking is even worse than her singing. One hand flies to her chest drawing my eyes to her barely hidden braless tits that moments ago were jiggling to the song she was attempting to sing. The other hand comes to rest on her hip bone, which is jutting out like she’s standing at the end of one of the runways she regularly struts up and down. She slips one earbud out of the shell of her ear and flicks her silky long chestnut-colored hair over her shoulder. I only just hold back the groan creeping up my throat. Are you fucking kidding me?
“Geez, Logan, you scared me,” she accuses.
“What? You’re surprised to find me sitting on my sofa in my living room.” My words are dripping with more sarcasm than melting ice cream on a midsummer day.
She rolls her emerald eyes. “Of course not. I just didn’t hear you come in ... and didn’t expect you to be lurking in the dark.” Damn this woman. Her snarky comments still grate on my every last nerve just like they did back in school.
“Well, if you ever took your earbuds out and stopped screeching like a couple of seagulls fighting over a chip then maybe you would have heard me.”
She scowls at me, her perfectly arched eyebrows drawn down low. “I was singing Taylor Swift’s new song.”
I stare wide-eyed at her. “Whatever you were listening to doesn’t matter, it’s what was coming out of your mouth that was making my ears bleed.”
She strides toward me with a clip-clop of her feet against the parquet wood flooring. What the fuck does she have on her feet? It looks like she’s shoved them into a couple of feather boas. I drag my gaze from the fluffy monstrosities up her body. And before I can reach her glowering face, she dares to lean down to wave her perfectly manicured finger in my face. “How can you still be as rude and obnoxious as you were in high school? I’d have thought you’d have grown up just a little.”
My problem now is not her words but the fact that she’s giving me a front-row view of her breasts as her top gapes open. My gaze shoots up away from temptation.
“For fuck’s sake, Allie, will you stop flashing your tits at me. Please put some more clothes on.” I brush my hands through my hair. “All those clothes I saw you drag into my spare room a week ago and you can’t find a bathrobe to cover yourself with.”
She looks down at her chest, not in the least bothered that she’s just flashed me. “I’ll have you know this body is in high demand by the top fashion designers around the world. You should be so lucky as to get a glimpse.”
“I don’t care whether you want to flaunt your assets on a catwalk or not. However, I do care when you are displaying them in my apartment every time I turn around.” I wave my hand in the direction of her chest, which is now suitably covered since she stood up straight.
She huffs, then fires back, “Well, you’re always walking about without your shirt on, showing off your assets.” She mimics my hand gesture, pointing at my chest and grimacing like she’s just sucked on a slice of lemon.
I’m currently completely covered with only the top button at the neck of my shirt undone and I spread my hands wide. “Your point is?” Sure, she may have found me in the kitchen Sunday morning without a shirt on, but it’s only been the one time and my excuse is that I’d just finished a workout. I didn’t expect her to be sitting there eating her breakfast at that early hour. “My assets look to me to be suitably covered.”
We stare at each other. Her green eyes shooting icy daggers at me and my brown ones firing a warning back at her. It’s a battle of wills and typical of how our arguments ended up back then and every time since. Nothing appears to have changed.
With another huff, she declares, “You’re an asshole, Logan.”
“On that point we can agree,” I confirm and drop my head back on the sofa cushion, closing my eyes and shutting out her skimpily clad body.
For once, she didn’t want the last word and a few minutes later, I hear her stomp her way out of the room. Her ridiculous fluffy slippers make a surprisingly loud noise as they slap against the wood. The thought of the feathers bouncing with each step involuntarily makes the corners of my mouth curve up. The exchange with Allie, and her slippers, has managed to achieve the impossible. My bad mood has lifted, and the stress of a day spent with the auditors has faded.
But in its wake, I’m left with a guilty silence that quickly settles heavily on my shoulders. I know I never wanted Allie to stay at my place, even temporarily, but the reality is that I agreed. Now I need to get my head out of my own ass and stop finding fault with everything she does.
Maybe it’s time I acted like an adult and stopped arguing with her. Period.
Chapter three
Allie
Logan is still an asshole. Let’s put aside the fact that he’s also ridiculously handsome. Not that it’s easy to ignore when every time I look at him my heart beats a little faster. It could be his Clark Kent-style glasses that hide his intelligent brown eyes; I could get lost in them and never want to find my way out. Or maybe it’s his firm, permanently scowling but still sexy lips.
It’s more likely because he’s the complete package. Perfectly aligned chiseled features and brown hair with lighter golden strands which hint at a summer spent outdoors. Probably weekends at the beach house.
My career means I’ve spent a lot of time up close with gorgeous male models and I consider myself a bit of an expert in these things. Logan wouldn’t look out of place at New York Fashion Week in his custom designer suits. I guess that’s why he was voted New York’s most eligible bachelor last year.
What a shame that he has the personality of an ogre.
If he thinks his old don’t mess with me look that he’s perfected into something more intimidating, will make me back down, then he’s a damn fool too. I don’t get scared away that easily. The serious intensity I remember from high school has morphed into a protective shield against humanity. And I suspect I’m at the top of the list of the people he wants to keep out. Not that our friendship started out that way.
