Page 33 of I Could Be Yours

I take a steadying breath, adopt a smile, and open my apartment door. “Hey, Nate.”

“Essie.” His gaze meets mine, then drops for a couple of beats before it lifts again. “This was delivered to the wrong location.” He taps the box under his arm.

“Thanks for bringing it over.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” He doesn’t make a move to hand it to me.

Maybe it’s heavy. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”Looks like we’re being formal and appropriate, not antagonistic and competitive. At least for now.

His eyes dart briefly to my mouth. “Sure.”

Rix appears, purse slung over her shoulder. “Hey, Nate.”

His expression softens. “Hey, Rix.”

She comes in for a hug, which he returns. “Thanks for bringing that all the way over here.”

“It’s not a problem,” he assures her.

She kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll message when I get home, and I’ll probably see you tomorrow, unless work gets in the way.”

“Sounds good.”

She slips on her flip-flops, waves, and walks out the door. I secure the safety out of habit, then turn to Nate, who’s now standing inside my apartment looking uncomfortable and unreasonably sexy in a pair of black shorts and a black shirt. The bulk of his wardrobe is funeral appropriate.

I remind myself that I’ve sworn off men. Then in the next beat, I internally debate the merits of a fuck buddy. I need to learn not to get attached. Nate has made his stance on love and relationships clear. He’s not interested. Our life goals do not align. Which could make him a good option for no-strings fun, if I could learn how to do that…

After a moment I realize that while I’ve been up in my head, he’s been standing in my kitchen, still holding the box. My manners kick in. “Can I offer you something to drink? I have a few beers and some white wine.”

“I could have a beer.” He sets the box on the counter.

I head for the fridge, glad to have somewhere else to look.

The telling buzz of a phone has me looking for mine—my mom is supposed to call after her pottery class tonight—but Nate pulls his out of his pocket, frowns, jabs a button, and shoves it back in. His mood seems to shift, eyes darkening. I swear it’s like a rain cloud has just rolled into my apartment.

I grab a beer and the bottle of wine Rix and I opened earlier. Iuncap the beer and pass it to Nate. “Everything okay?” I pour myself a little wine.

“There’s a lot of color in here.” Nate’s gaze moves around my apartment. It makes me self-conscious, especially knowing what I do about him, and how people perceive me. There are pink bows adorning my bookshelves, and aOnce Upon a Timeposter is hanging in the living room. I’m in love with love. I always have been. Fairy tales bring me joy.

“I like bright things.” And apparently dark things with the way my body is responding to his presence in my apartment.

“You’ve really leaned into the whole princess fantasy, eh?”

“You’re really leaning into the total asshole fantasy, eh?” I fire back.

His expression shifts, and he runs a hand down his face. “Sorry. It was my mom that just called. I’ve been avoiding her for a while.”

“Oh.” My defensiveness tones down a notch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We’re not the kind of people who talk about things, are we?” His gaze moves over me in an assessing, not unappreciative sweep.

“I guess not.” I pull my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck.

I’m used to being looked at. Admired. As a teenager, I was flattered. As an adult, it’s become a curse I can’t escape. Yet also a reflex.

Nate could have just dropped off the box and left, especially after dodging a call from his mother. But he didn’t. He’s still here, of his own free will. “Do you want the grand tour?” There isn’t much to my apartment, but it’s better than standing here staring at each other.

“Sure.” He takes a long swig of his beer.

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