Page 14 of The Ruckup
Leo fills the doorway. His tall, broad body hasn’t even crossed the threshold, and already my little apartment feels smaller. He might be the most physically imposing person I’ve ever met. The kind of man a woman like me might shy away from. If I didn’t know him, I’d probably see Leo and run the opposite direction. But Idoknow him. At least I used to. And the Leo I knew would never hurt anyone.
Well, off the pitch anyway.
He gives me a lopsided grin as he holds up two plastic grocery bags, the handles pulled tight against his fingers from the substantial weight they’re carrying. “I come bearing gifts.”
Yeah, he does. The bags aren’t totally transparent, but I can see through them enough to identify the shapes of the items packed inside. “Did you buy all the frosting in existence?”
“Nah.” Leo’s grin widens. “Just everything at Publix.” He gives me a wink. “Thought we could do some taste testing. Decide which one’s the best.”
I don’t know why, but my chest feels weirdly warm over his eagerness to indulge with me. “You are a brilliant man.” I step back, making room for him to pass. “Come in.”
Leo barely hesitates, a flicker of something I can’t identify passing over his handsome features, but disappearing before I can even begin to read into it. Then he’s in my home, blue eyes taking in my apartment. My sanctuary.
Also occasionally my prison.
I go to the kitchen to retrieve a couple spoons and give my heated cheeks time to cool. “Sorry there’s not many places to sit.”
I’ve put off getting a table and chairs because I haven’t really felt like I’ve needed them, but now the empty dining room has embarrassment gnawing at my insides. I can’t begin to guess how much a professional rugby player makes, but I bet it’s more than enough to afford furniture.
“Have you lived here long?” Leo follows me, his presence palpable but not oppressive.
“Not too long.” I retrieve the spoons from the cute little spinning organizer on the counter and turn to him. “I moved here when I got the job as property manager.” I almost cringe, hoping he doesn’t see through my words to the reasons beneath them. I could have simply answered his question, but I couldn’t stop myself from squeezing in the only bit of my life I’m proud of.
Because I don’t want him to think I’m a mess. Even though I am.
“Property manager, huh?” Leo continues trailing behind me as I go into the living room, moving toward the only seating I have. “You like it?”
“I actually do.” A smile curves my lips as I settle onto the comfortable cushions, tucking one leg under my butt. “It’s definitely entertaining.”
Leo sits beside me and leans back, stretching one arm along the headrest of the couch. “Tell me about it.”
He wants to hear about my job?
That’s…unexpected.
My parents don’t have a great marriage—one reason I’m not sure how interested I am in their opinions on how I live my life—and I can say with complete certainty I’ve never heard my dad ask my mom about her day.
I can also say with complete certainty, Drake never asked me about mine. He wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t involve him. It was irrelevant, and had nothing to do with the purpose I served in his life.
“Well…” I turn, angling my body so I’m facing Leo, surprisingly excited to tell him about my new career. “It’s a fifty-five and up community, so I expected it to be pretty tame.” I snort. “I wassowrong.”
I recount my conversation with Mrs. Dorsey and her desire for a skylight. Leo’s attention stays on me the whole time, like he genuinely wants to hear what I have to say. He laughs at Mrs. Dorsey’s hate for her upstairs neighbor and cringes at her use of the word ‘juices’. By the time I’m done, I realize, not only am I more relaxed than I’ve been in months, but I’ve also managed to get myself tucked close to his side.
Like we do this every night. Like we’re a couple.
A happy one.
That sobers me a little, the smile making my cheeks ache slipping from my face. I start to lean away, feeling silly for letting myself think?—
Leo’s hand curves at my shoulder, keeping me in place. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
My eyes jump to his, finding nothing but warmth and patience reflecting back at me. “What do you mean?”
His gaze moves over my face. “Why did my parents tell me I had to stay away from you?” His fingers stroke along my shoulder through the thick fabric of my sweatshirt. “And why did your parents make you leave the party?”
I swallow hard, wondering how much Leo already knows. Probably more than I think based on the careful way he asked his questions.
Normally, I sort of glaze over the full scope of what happened, but it feels wrong to do that now. To hold back on what I’m facing.
