Page 31 of Anti-Player

But also... it's an opportunity to see if someone else is visiting Mikel.

There, I think, my heart thudding. Gardenia Flam, who the hell is that? She'd signed in just ten minutes ago. Was that why she sounded so flustered on the speaker? She didn't expect someone, like I didn't?

No, stop, control your paranoia. But damn, it's hard. Mikel claimed he was an anti-player, but what reason do I have to believe that? His word? I want to trust him—I really do—yet my ability to trust others cracked years ago.

“Okay, have a good day,” the man huffs, closing the book on me. I give him a wry smile before walking to the lone elevator. The mirrored interior is beautiful, the buttons a brassy gold with black panels that match the Rometto's aesthetic.

Tapping Mikel's floor, I watch the button light up. That's when it hits me. He lives on the top floor. Of course he does. All the rich people in TV and movies do. God, if he has floor to ceiling windows with an ocean view, I'll die from the cliché.

The elevator doors split apart. A large furry black animal rams into me, knocking me against the mirrors. “Whoa!” I gasp.

“Hey! Beanie! Stop, no, no jumping!” A panicked woman shouts, her hands clutching the leash attached to the dog that has excitedly jumped on me. “I'm so sorry,” she says, hoisting the dog out of the elevator to give me room to exit. “He's got a lot of energy, he's ready for his walk and I was a bit late today.”

I can't quit gawking at the dog. I've seen him before, but where? “Beanie?” I ask, feeling the name, digging for a memory. I straighten as it hits me. “Wait, is that Mikel's dog?”

The woman eyes me like I'm about to try and kidnap them both. Then she smiles shyly. “Oooh, you're the friend he said was coming up! I talked to you on the intercom!” She thrusts out her hand, but then Beanie takes the chance to tug, so she grasps the leash in two tight fists and grunts. “I'm Gardenia, Mikel's dog walker.”

I laugh, flooding with relief. I'd been more nervous than I realized, and now I feel a bit terrible for suspecting Mikel of anything sneaky. “I'm Paige. Nice to meet you. And nice to meet you,” I add, holding out my palm for the dog to sniff.

He pants, licks me, then tries to jump again. Both of us giggle and I create a wide berth so Gardenia can pull the labradoodle into the elevator. “Okay, well, maybe I'll see you later!” she says, “I'm usually gone with Beanie at the dog park for a good hour or so.”

I wonder if I'll be here that long. Mikel hadn't clarified what he wanted me to come over for. I'm happy he asked me, it's an opportunity to see his place, which feels... intimate. Like some sort of next step towards whatever is growing between us.

The door to his place is at the end of a short hall. He's the only one on the whole floor. A ratty brown doormat with a corny black rubber font that reads Home is waiting for me. It's out of place among the glossy tiles and ceilings with recessed lighting. I wonder if he bought it himself. Feels like the kind of oblivious purchase he'd make.

Breathe. Relax. This isn't a big deal. My knuckles tap the burnt-orange painted door. It opens right away, like Mikel had been standing on the other side, waiting for me. He's dressed in gray joggers and a tight, white, short-sleeved shirt with a v-neck. It's gym wear, and he has no right to look so sexy in it.

It's so casual I feel over-dressed in my blue jeans and green crop-top, my long tan cardigan draping down to my knees. “Hi,” I say.

His blue eyes take me in, lingering on the strip of naked skin between the hem of my top and my high-waisted jeans. “Hi,” he repeats.

Both of us stand there for an awkward minute. “I met your dog-walker,” I blurt.

“Oh, Gardenia? She was late, Beanie was going nuts, I almost took him for a quick jog myself.”

“You mean down by the beach?”

He arches his dark brows. “Huh. How did you know?”

Flushing pink, I throw up my hands and laugh nervously. “I sort of saw an article about you online. It had a photo of you and your dog in it by the pier.”

“Oh, right, I forgot I did that interview.” Shaking his head, he moves back a step—a subtle invitation for me to enter. “Come inside.”

I run my tongue over my lips. “Right. Okay, thanks.” Jesus, relax, you already had sex with this guy! He's been in your home! Going inside his isn't such a massive deal. Stepping through, my white sneakers scuffing over his wooden floors, I see what's waiting for me.

Big open space, luxury yellow couch, giant silver fridge, a granite island, and...

“Wow,” I whistle, noting the floor to ceiling window I jokingly expected but am still blown away by in person. “You really do have a great view, huh?”

“Yes,” he agrees, coming to stand next to me. His body gives off waves of warmth without touching me. He gazes out at the rolling waves as he talks. “I've always loved the ocean. It helps me focus.”

“Do you do most of your work here instead of your office?” I ask, turning to look at him. I'm close enough to see his day's worth of stubble, and when he smiles at me, my tongue tingles with the memory of our kisses.

Mikel doesn't take his eyes off mine as he nods towards the window. “I do better work here, but the majority happens at my office, yeah. Programming and coding are solitary things, but creating a product takes a team. Well, most of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

He steps towards me—my heart bolts off like a wild horse—and then he keeps going until he's across the room. “I do some things, personal projects, alone.” Mikel crouches behind his couch, then lifts a box that's wrapped in bright white paper. “Here, this is for you.”

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