Chapter 12
WREN LIVINGSTON COULD MULTITASK, there was no doubt about it. But carrying four bags of groceries while walking up a flight of stairs in a maxi skirt and trying to deflect sisterly guilt was pushing it. Even for her.
Add to the mix the fact that her new and insanely hot next-door neighbor was coming down the hallway toward her, and Wren was at her limit. How was one supposed to carry on a normal conversation with all those muscles staring back at you? Impossible.
“Sis?” Debbie whined on the other end of the phone. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Uh-huh.” Wren watched as the guy stopped in front of her, his pearly smile gleaming bright against warm brown skin. The black tail of his headphones curved up from an armband sitting snugly over his biceps.
Oh yeah, muscles... Had she mentioned them? He had a lot.
“Can I give you a hand with those bags?” he asked, pulling one bud from his ear.
He must have been about to go for a run, if the gray shorts and navy cotton tank were anything to go on. The fabric hugged a solid chest and caught her eye, drawing her attention up until she set her sights on a sharp jaw, broad nose and sparkling warm brown eyes.
Sweet mother of...
“Oh.” She shook her head, cheeks fiery hot as she realized she must have been gaping at him. “No, I’m fine. Very fine. I mean...uhh...thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely sure. One hundred percent.” A nervous giggle bubbled up in her throat that she tried to tamp down—and failed. The fizzy sound burst out and she cringed.
Total brain cell destruction in three, two, one...
“Okay, then.” His voice was rich and deep, smooth like satin sheets.
He stuck the bud back into his ear and gave her space to shuffle awkwardly past him in the tight hallway. Her shopping bags knocked against the wall and she almost tripped on the sweeping hem of her skirt.
Can you at least stay upright for the next three minutes so you don’t embarrass yourself? You’re walking like a drunk llama.
She told herself not to turn around and look back at him. But she couldn’t resist. Her mouth dried up when her gaze landed on the wide expanse of his shoulders as he jogged down the stairs.
“What was that all about?” Debbie asked, and Wren realized her sister was still on the phone. “Since when do you giggle like a little girl?”
“It’s nothing.” She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder as she reached the front door of her new apartment. “Nothing at all.”
Let’s keep it at nothing—you’re not here to ogle men.
Her arm ached from carrying all the shopping bags in one hand, the burn in her muscles getting hotter as she fumbled for her keys. Sweat beaded at her hairline. What in the world had possessed her to move into a building with no elevator?
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Debbie...” Wren sighed as she pushed the door open with a grunt. “It was just my neighbor.”
“What’s he like?”
Delicious. The word sprang to her mind immediately. The guy from apartment 401 was definitely all that and a bag of chips, as her old boss used to say. So far she hadn’t done more than return his friendly hellos and now turn down his offer of help in a most embarrassing way. But she’d be lying if she said he hadn’t made an appearance in one—okay, two...at least—dirty dreams.
“He seems nice. Friendly.” She let out a silent gasp of relief as she set the bags on the kitchen counter. “Same as everyone else here.”
“And where is here, exactly?” Debbie’s tone was sharp. “You still haven’t told me where you’re staying.”
“I’m in New York.”
“New York is a big place. How about you narrow it down to a borough for me?”
Her sister was exactly the kind of person who would show up on her doorstep, wanting to “help” and be part of the action. But Debbie, while she was a great person and the shining star of the Livingston family, was not exactly street smart. Or subtle.
“I don’t want anyone else getting involved.” She turned and sagged back against the counter, pushing her hair from her eyes.
“You shouldn’t be involved,” her sister huffed.
Maybe. But her best friend, Kylie, had been attacked and she refused to talk about it.
Wren had a strong suspicion the incident had something to do with the gallery where Kylie had been working because anytime Wren mentioned it, Kylie went white as a ghost.
Originally they had both applied for the gallery internship, but only Kylie had been successful in gaining one of the coveted spots. Then, after she returned home, the gallery’s owner had called Wren to offer her Kylie’s old spot. Seems she’d been next in line.
And just like that, Wren had packed her bags and moved to New York.
“I still can’t believe you’ve gone on this vigilante mission,” Debbie continued. “Now I have to miss out on seeing my sister because you’ve once again taken on other people’s problems. I can’t even send you a goddamn Christmas card.”
“It’s not even June yet. Christmas is ages away and things will be back to normal by then... I promise.” She spoke the words with way more confidence than she felt. “As for Kylie—”
“I’ll look after her, I promise.” Debbie sighed. “Although I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep dodging her questions about where you’ve run off to. She knows something’s up.”
“We stick to the story—I’m away at an art retreat and they have a no-cell-phone
