Page 13 of His Hot Mess

“Of course,” I said, throwing a last warning glare at Chris to keep his yap shut at least until I’d gotten Charles downstairs.

I should have remained ecstatic.I got the store.But waving goodbye to Charles Haverford as he pulled away in his sleek BMW, all I could think about was Chris Know-it-all Slade.

My stomach did another little flip as I thought of Chris, alone in my apartment. I’d have to play nice if I wanted him to convince Graydon they’d need to make space on their schedule to help me do all the work I was envisioning.

I ran back up the stairs so fast I was panting as I reached the top. Pushing through my apartment door, I opened my mouth to call his name. But all thoughts of business, leases, Charles, and vintage clothing went out the window as I took in Chris’s backside sticking out of my bedroom closet.

SADIE

Istood there staring, unable to move, as Chris’s ass flexed under his pants as he rummaged around in the bottom of my closet.

Heat curled low in my belly.

He backed up, knocking me out of my ogling-trance. I walked towards my bedroom, heart thumping. Do I get in there and awkwardly stare? Offer to help? Tap him on the shoulder and throw myself at him?

Heat rose in cheeks at that last one.

I settled for standing awkwardly at the threshold, leaning on the doorframe. I considered whistling a tune to let him know I was standing there, but then he came out far enough that I could see the bulk of his arm as he reached back and patted the floor behind him. He was looking for something. I should have helped him, but there were those triceps again, and those thick forearms. His fingers wrapped around his phone, which he’d left on the floor. When he had it firmly in hand, he lowered his body to the ground.

I sucked in a breath.

Watching him bring himself down low like that, I couldn’t help picturing him lowering himself onto a bed. Thrusting his hips forward. Me underneath him.

Holy shit, Sadie.

I held a fist up to my mouth and cleared my throat, if only to redirect my suddenly overstimulated thoughts.

No men, remember? Least of all Chris.

“Sadie?” Chris said. His voice was muffled.

“Yeah.”

“Could you get me that flashlight?”

I forgot he’d asked for a flashlight when we first got up here earlier.

“One minute,” I said. “I have to find it.”

Chris got up onto his hands and knees and emerged fully from the closet. His hair was rumpled and his expression was… annoyed. “I thought you said you knew where one was?”

“I do!” I lied, irritated. What was it with him? I had such a physical reaction to the way he said things. The way helookedat me. I could go from wanting him to wanting to sock him one in the space of a sentence.

As I went to the kitchen to dig around in some of the boxes I had yet to unpack, the annoyance buzzing in my chest grew. Why the hell did he have to be here messing with my head, anyway? How had I gone from dreamily scrawling notes and designs on a piece of notebook paper yesterday to this guy who literally made my knees weak digging through my messy closet?

This wasn’t what I’d come to Barkley Falls for. I’d come to turn over a new leaf. I hadn’t known what that leaf was exactly but now I did. Sadie’s Vintage. And I didn’t need some infuriatingly hot man messing it up for me.

Because god, it was infuriating how hot he was. It wasn’t just how he looked—though his broad chest and thick arms and all-American dimpled face made me go gooey inside, no matter how much I tried to deny it or shove it away. It was also the fact that he moved around, just—existing—as if he didn’t know all this. It was the way he fought me on everything. The way he spun me from one intense feeling to the next with only a handful of words from his stupid hot mouth.

There was no sign of the flashlight in these boxes. Still grumbling, I began pulling open the kitchen drawers, which, like the rest of the apartment, were somehow already a mess.

His self-assurance wasn’t quite like cockiness. It was like he was just plainly confident about everything he did and had nothing to prove.

I wanted to see him trip up; to fall on his face or be wrong about something.

Then I felt like an ass for wanting that.

Finally, as I knelt down under the kitchen sink, my hand clasped on something cool and cylindrical: the flashlight. I depressed the button and lo and behold, it even worked.

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