Page 15 of Hoax and Kisses
Zoey climbs the stairs behind me. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize you’re one of those people who tie their worth to where they live.”
Annoyance builds in my gut. “I didn’t realize you’re one of those people who tie their worth to their expensive shoes,” I shoot back.
She holds my gaze, and I don’t budge. The seconds tick by, but eventually, she looks away. “You know what? Thanks for the lukewarm welcome to town, but I’m exhausted and cranky. I could use a shower and some sleep.”
“Here.” I dig my keys out of my pocket, find the one for Oli’s place, and slide it into the lock. “Welcome to your home,” I bite out as I open the door.
Zoey blinks at the door standing ajar. She opens her mouth, then closes it. This happens once or twice more before she finally blurts, “Youhave a key to the house I’m staying in?”
“You’re staying at my best friend’s place. Of course I have a key. But I won’t use it while you’re here. It’s for emergencies only.”
She narrows her eyes at me, unconvinced.
I shrug, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I swear on your shoes.”
With a tired exhale, she walks past me. “Thank you for the ride.” She puts one hand on the door, her attention darting from me to it and back again.
Message received.
I take one last look at her—her eyes, her mouth, the tips of her dark hair curling on her shoulders, her tight dress, hersculpted legs—and allow myself to feel the physical attraction. But I leave it at that, a physical thing, and back away.
Though as heat colors her cheeks, I can’t help but grin. “Enjoy your stay in Sticksville, city girl.”
Chapter Five
ZOEY
The minute the door closes, I slump against it and slide to the floor with a heavy sigh.
Did the guy who almost ran me over seriously just check me out?
Yes, he certainly did.
And something is wrong with me, because I enjoyed it. For a second, I forgot I was in the presence of a perfect stranger, and I let the weight of his attention lull me into a spell. It was as if the longer his gaze lingered on my body, the more eagerly I invited him to take his fill, to indulge himself.
I can’t recall the last time a man looked at me with such hunger. I can’t recall the last time it had such an effect on me.
It’s been years since anything but my job has given me that rush.
I gave up on men a long time ago. Even before Jake, if I’m honest with myself. I don’t have the time or the interest needed to sift through the ocean of liars, cheats, and boys who refuse to grow up. We had a good run, my love life and I, but finding outJake spent his Saturdays with his tongue down my best friend’s throat was the nail in her coffin.
I push myself up and shed my damp coat. Once I’ve hung it in the entryway, I begin my exploration of the house.
“Not too shabby,” I murmur as I walk into the main space. The living room is open to the kitchen and dining room, every inch wrapped in warm wood. Huge windows line one wall, as though the forest is branching inside. On the opposite side, tall bookshelves stretch from the floor to the exposed beams, crammed with colorful spines, photos and other memorabilia.
“That must be Oliver,” I say as I shuffle over to the shelves. In one photo, Charlee and a man stand at the top of a cliff, his arms lovingly encircling her waist. Next to it, another frame holds a bunch of folded letters addressed to Charlee.
Against the farthest wall, I spot a fireplace, and a shiver rushes through my body. Time to ditch these wet clothes and get warm.
If only I knew how to make a fire. I can picture it perfectly: me, swaddled in flannel, lounging by the crackling logs, wine in hand, casually flipping through a novel I plucked off the shelf like I do this sort of thing all the time. But let’s be honest. I’d look up a tutorial, fail, and possibly set off the smoke alarm. The furnace will have to do.
I scour every inch of the main space for the thermostat, even behind the books and the frames hanging on the wall. But still, nothing.
“Don’t tell me there’s no other way to heat this house…” I groan.
I glance behind the couch and under the windows for vents that hint at the presence of a furnace, but the more I search, the more defeat sinks in my stomach.
That’s it. This is how I’m gonna die. Not even a day out of Vancouver, and I’m already screwed. Doomed to slowly slip into hypothermia because I don’t know how to start a fire.
