Page 26 of From Nowhere

Maren giggles. “I’d better not. I think my metabolism took a nosedive just dreaming about it. Besides, you have work to do, and my offseason client is taking me to lunch. I just wanted to tell you that I had a great time. In case you were wondering.”

I cringe. “I should have called earlier. That’s probably proper dating etiquette, huh?”

“I’m not sure,” Maren says. “I’ve never dated anyone who’s taken the time to consider proper dating etiquette. I’m sure my eagerness to message you seems a little desperate.”

“I rode my bike in the rain just to spend time with you. Who’s the desperate one?”

She doesn’t respond right away. There’s a pause, and then she hums like she’s eating something good, like carrot cake. “Ozzy.” I swear she purrs my name. “You’re not desperate, but thank you for making me feel better. I hope you get things worked out with Lola. And I’m sorry if I caused any tension between you.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can I ask about your offseason client?”

“He’s a professor and a friend of my dad’s. I fly his private jet in the offseason, and he has another pilot friend who only likes to fly during the summer, so it works out perfectly.”

“Always in the air,” I murmur, feeling a pang of envy.

She hums again. God, I love her hums. “Yes. It’s the best place to be.”

I like living vicariously through her. “I’m sure. Is your first shift Monday?”

“Wednesday,” she says. “My shifts are ten days on, five off.”

“Oh, Maren, Maren, Maren . . .”

She chuckles. “What is it, Oswald?”

I gaze at the mostly sunny sky just as a plane leaves a vapor trail. “You’re my idol.”

Chapter Eight

Maren

“Hey.” Jamie peeks into my bedroom while I hang my laundry before heading out. “Where are you off to?”

“Ted is taking me to lunch.”

She sits on the end of my bed, cheeks red from three hours of sex that I assume were broken up with a few catnaps.

“How long are you home?” I ask, threading the hanger into the sleeves of my white button-down.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t taken another job yet.”

“That’s awesome. Lots of time to catch up.”

“You can help Fitz and me look for a house.”

I close my closet door and open my shades. “You have a house.”

Jamie chuckles. “Will has a house. We have a room, a shared kitchen, and a living room.”

Leaning my backside against the oak dresser, I cross my arms. “You want to have sex in other rooms of the house?”

Jamie curls her hair behind her ears, lips tucked between her teeth.

“You two are going to guilt me into moving out,” I grumble.

“Not at all. I think Will would be heartbroken if he lost all of us. Do youwantto move out?” She tucks her legs into her gray, oversize sweatshirt, which I think belongs to Fitz.

Do I want to move out? No. Do I want to have a three-hour sexcapade with a man who adores me beyond words and who makes me want my (our) own place?

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