Totally done. She’d trusted her ex, had even flirted with the idea of getting hitched in the late darkness of night when she’d curled up against him. But it turned out that she hadn’t really known him at all...and he clearly hadn’t known her.
She wouldn’t put herself in a position to be ripped apart like that again. But she could still have some fun...right?
Wren drew a knife from the wooden block next to her stove and placed it on her cutting board. She didn’t have to make any decisions right now. She would be in New York for at least a month, so she could take her time. Maybe talk to Mr. 401 a little more before she made a move.
But first she had a pizza to make; she wasn’t in the habit of doing any serious thinking on an empty stomach.
* * *
RHYS GLOVER ROUNDED the last corner of his run, dodging a couple with linked arms as he pounded his feet into the pavement. He loved nothing more than getting fresh air on the weekend, be it running, biking or otherwise. He put long hours into his job—which he wouldn’t trade for anything—but it didn’t exactly make for an active or healthy lifestyle during the week.
So Saturdays and Sundays were all about getting out of the house. Getting his blood pumping and his heart racing. Getting his sweat on.
You might be able to do a few of those things indoors if you had the stones to ask Blondie on a date.
He shook his head as he slowed to a stop in front of his walk-up, detouring to collect his mail. Blondie—aka the smoking-hot fox who’d recently moved into the apartment across from him—occupied far too much of his headspace lately. But, try as he might to evict her image from his mind, the waist-length hair that shimmered like spun gold and those long limbs tempted him beyond belief. Rhys prided himself on being a man of solid self-control, but one glance at her and he was as horny as a teenager.
Chiding himself, he shoved the key into his box. A small stack of letters sat inside, mostly bills. A bright blue envelope caught his attention. It bore his stepbrother’s neat, utilitarian print and the childish scrawl of his niece. A happy face decorated one corner. They insisted on sending him a real birthday card, even when he told them he was happy with an email or phone call. A wave of jealousy ghosted through him.
It wasn’t fair to resent his stepbrother, Marc, for the perfect, happy life he’d been gifted. But it was hard not to compare. Or compete. They were the same age and had grown up together as best friends before their parents had gotten hitched. He’d always envied how easily everything came to Marc—grades, girls, sports. Everything.
And now, as adults, Marc still had the edge. He’d given their parents two grandchildren and he had a beautiful wife whom he adored. Marc often joked that he envied Rhys his bachelor lifestyle, but Rhys didn’t believe it for a second.
Rhys knew part of the reason he felt compelled to settle down was because it was the one thing Marc had over him. In their parents’ eyes, he’d achieved the dream. Happy wife, two healthy kids...and Rhys was still lagging behind, as always.
But it was hard to have a relationship when he didn’t even put himself out there. He was just too busy with work to meet people.
“You don’t even know if Blondie’s single,” he muttered to himself as he started up the stairs.
But she hadn’t looked at him the way a woman in a committed relationship would when they’d almost bumped into one another earlier.
The pink blush that had crept into her cheeks had done crazy things to him. The kind of crazy things that were not so easily concealed in a pair of running shorts.
The fourth floor was deserted, and Rhys couldn’t stop himself from glancing at number 402 as he walked up to the door of his own apartment. Maybe he should formally introduce himself? It would be the neighborly thing to do.
He glanced down at his sweat-soaked tank and shorts. It might be the neighborly thing to do, but he wasn’t exactly going to make a great impression if he knocked on her door smelling like a locker room.
Tomorrow.
Satisfied that he’d committed himself to an action, he pushed open the door to his apartment with his free hand. Toeing off his sneakers, he hung his keys on their designated hook and placed the letters into the inbox he kept on the bureau near his desk. All except the blue envelope, which he tore open as he walked into the living area.
Inside the brightly decorated, homemade card—which looked like an insane craft teacher had thrown up all over it—were messages from his stepbrother and sister-in-law, his eldest niece and a proxy message from the little one. They’d even drawn on a paw print to represent the dog.
He put the card on his entertainment unit, next to his new fancy universal remote—the birthday present he’d gifted himself since his family didn’t really get his love of technology. The card looked totally out of place in what Marc jokingly referred to as “the computer nerd’s bachelor pad.”
By the time he reached the bathroom he was itching to get out of his workout clothes. He pulled off the soaked cotton. A light ache had spread through his muscles, a sign he’d pushed himself hard today and he’d need to spend some time on the foam roller to ease out the knots.
He’d been tighter than usual the last few weeks. Stress, his trainer had said. Lack of stretching, according to the remedial masseuse. Working too hard, his buddies at the security company admonished. But he knew it wasn’t any of those things.
Dissatisfaction. A lack of purpose. He’d felt it burrowing slowly under his skin, creating an incurable itch that niggled at him in the quiet portions of his day. In the dead of night. In the dark corners of his dreams.
He shook off the troubling thought and stepped under the running water, sighing as warmth seeped into him. As he lathered up, the scent of soap filled his nostrils. Perhaps it might be a good idea to put himself out there again. After all, his life couldn’t be all work and no play.
Tomorrow.
The promise rolled around in his mind, and just like that Blondie popped back into his head, soothing all his worries away. God, she was gorgeous. Fair skin and rich golden hair, bright blue eyes. And perky breasts that seemed to often be uninhibited by a bra. This morning he’d noticed the way the pert mounds moved beneath her white tank top, the stiff little peaks of her nipples pressing forward against the fabric.
He was hard as stone just thinking about it. He wondered if those nipples would be golden like the rest of her, or would they be rosy and pink? Would she have a dusting of hair between her legs or smooth, silky skin?
He’d gone way too long without sex and now all the carnal thoughts had piled up like traffic on a highway. But a knocking sound snapped him out of the fog of arousal. He rinsed off the last of the soap suds and shut off the water. Another sharp knock rang through the apartment.
“Hang on!” he called out as he wrapped a soft gray towel around his waist, knotting it to conceal the still-raging erection he was sporting.
His wet feet skidded on the floorboards as he hurried to the door. Who on earth would be dropping by without calling first?
Grasping the knob, he pulled the door open and was greeted with the very object of his fantasies. Blondie.
There she was in all
