Page 102 of I'm Your Guy
“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”
I ease the door open and find him cross-legged on the bed, wearing flannel pants and a tight T-shirt that clings to his trim chest. There’s a sketchpad open on his lap and a metal tin of colored pencils on the bed beside him.
My heart tumbles at the sight of him. I know in my gut that we belong together. That there’s a world in which I could come home to this man every night. At least I hope so.
But that’s not the world I live in tonight, so I remain in the doorway. I’m not going to crowd him unless he asks me to come closer.
“Good game,” he says, looking up from his work to give me a shy smile. “Nice assist. Rigo was blowing up my phone to make sure I’d seen it.”
“And had you?” I ask, prepared to hear no.
“Well, yeah.” He clears his throat. “I watched your game. I always do lately. Thanks for making me admit that.” He gives me a bratty look from under the lock of hair that’s falling into his face.
I give him a cocky smile, even though I don’t have much to be cocky about just now. “I like hearing that. If you thought I was the worst guy ever, you might not bother.”
He looks up, his face serious. “You’re not the worst guy ever, Jersey. I never thought you were.”
“Thanks. But not the worst guy ever is still a low hurdle to clear.”
He gives his head a shake. “I have a big decision to make, and believe it or not, it doesn’t have a thing to do with you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He beckons to me, and my heart leaps. I walk over to the other side of the bed and sit down beside him. I have yet to change out of my suit, and so I loosen my tie and roll up the cuffs of my shirt. “What are you drawing?”
“Rigo called me today from a jobsite. He was painting this place.” Carter holds the sketchbook so I can see it.
“Whoa. I had no idea you could draw like that.” He’s done a 3D rendering of what looks like a colorful office space. There are big windows fronting onto the street. There’s a desk along the wall, but most of the space is dominated by furniture arranged for conversation.
And it’s so realistic, I feel like I could step right onto the page.
“Drawing is part of the job,” he says, staring at the image. “This place is for rent, and it’s unusual because it’s zoned for mixed use.” He flips the page, and I see a floor plan.
In this view, there’s a wall behind the office space, and behind that is a bedroom and a tiny kitchen. A small bathroom completes the space.
“So…” I try to make sense of it. “You’d live there, but you could also see clients during the day.”
“Right,” he says. “The guy who rented this place before was a sales rep for a clothing manufacturer. He kept racks of clothes in the front office and lived in the back. The top half of this wall…” He points at the divider between the bedroom and the front room. “…is made of glass bricks. So it’s private, but not a cave.”
“That’s a pretty cool setup,” I have to admit. Even if I’m not in a hurry to send Carter away. And even if I think he deserves twice as much space as that.
He closes the sketchpad and leans back against the headboard. “It’s basically perfect for a guy trying to get a small business off the ground. But it costs more than I was hoping to spend. So I shouldn’t do it unless I feel sure I can make it work.”
“And you don’t feel sure?”
He turns to face me, and those blue eyes I like so much are troubled. “I don’t feel sure of anything, Jersey.”
THIRTY-SIX
Carter
Tommaso doesn’t say anything for a moment. By now, I know him well enough to recognize his thinking face.
Now that we’ve spent time together, I’ve learned to appreciate his silences. I admire the way he doesn’t feel a need to fill up a room with the sound of his own voice. He always weighs his opinion before he gives it.
And, fine, the man rocks a suit. Even if he’s quiet, his presence is not. He’s all furrowed brows and muscular forearms and a chest that rises and falls with each thoughtful breath.
“So…” he finally says. “I have a couple of thoughts.”
