Page 2 of Love Lessons
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After we sign off,I pop out of my chair, throw my keys in my pocket, and stomp out of my first-floor unit. I already know who is causing me all this trouble—my new neighbor. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
And I’mnotgoing to get distracted by his biceps, either. Or his broad shoulders.
I fly out the front door and jog down all seven steps to the sidewalk. I live in a brownstone building on Hudson Avenue, and I used to consider this the perfect apartment on the perfect block. My cozy one-bedroom has an original prewar fireplace in the living room, and a bow window that faces the street. I’ve lived here for four years, and I never want to leave.
Now that I’m starting my own business, I spend a lot of time at home. That fireplace in my living room makes a great backdrop for the photos I often send to clients. It’s classic and stylish—all the things my new business is trying so hard to be.
And yet one muscular hockey player in ripped jeans and safety goggles is ruining the whole neighborhood.
He doesn’t even look up as I park my seething self on the sidewalk in front of his godawful saw. Instead, he runs a rugged hand over the beam he’s just cut.
I wait. I fume. And I also mentally restyle him, which is kind of an occupational hazard. But nobody needs a glowup quite so badly as Ian Crikey. His brown hair is in need of a trim. He’s wearing a threadbare Metallica T-shirt that ought to look like trash. It practicallyistrash—I count three holes along the side seam. Yet it hugs his powerful chest so perfectly I really want to kick something.
This is the other problem with Ian. I’m secretly, uncomfortably,outrageouslyattracted to him. And it makes no sense to me.Hemakes no sense. The man has enough money to buy the building next to mine, which is more money than I’ll ever have in my lifetime. The place was listed for over three million dollars.
He’s a highly paid famous athlete, and yet I don’t think he owns a comb or any clothes without holes in them. It’s ridiculous. Bearded men arenotmy type. And don’t even get me started on those tattoos peeking out of his T-shirt sleeves. That’s not my thing, either. But they work on him somehow. I can’t stop staring at them.
It’s horrible.
Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he looks up and removes his safety goggles.
Yikes. Now I’m confronted with his cool blue eyes. Their pale, luminous hue is just too pretty for that rugged face. And nobody who’s ruining my day should look that good. It’s unsettling.
“Something I can help you with, countess?” he asks.
“Are youkiddingme right now?” My voice is already high and hysterical. “It’s the middle of the workday. I’m trying to do calls with clients, but we can’t hear each other talk. At all. You’ve basically shut down my livelihood. There are probably regulations against making so much noise.”
He gives me an irritating smirk. “Regulations, huh? This neighborhood is big on those.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a muscular arm that I’m absolutely not admiring right now. “Somebody called the cops last night on me and my teammates. Said we were a nuisance.”
“Well? Were you?” I demand, trying to keep the guilt off my face. I’d called the precinct last night at midnight, but I probably hadn’t been the only one. All I’d wanted was for someone to knock on his door and tell him to turn the music down a little. It had worked—a cop car had pulled up outside, lights flashing. A few minutes later—while I hid in my bathroom, brushing my teeth—everything had gone quiet.
“We weren’t that loud.” Ian adjusts the Brooklyn Bruisers baseball cap on his head and sighs. Who looks good sweaty and covered with sawdust? It’s just not fair. “Would have been better if the neighbors knocked on my door and just asked me to be quiet.” He smiles suddenly. “But I guess that’s what you’re doing right now, yeah? I ’spose the saw is pretty loud.”
“Horribly loud,” I agree. “You could do this workinside, you realize.” I point toward the open door of the building he’s purchased.
He laughs. “I’m not standing here on the sidewalk for my health, countess. The lumberyard dropped off these posts at a length too long to fit around the corner in there.“
“Oh.” My face reddens. “Is it going to be like this all summer, though? I’ll have to find somewhere else to work.”
“Nah, once I demo that awkward entryway, fitting stuff through the door will be easier.” He lifts his square chin to indicate what is indeed a narrow doorway with a claustrophobic little hallway beyond. “Live and learn. But after one more cut, I’ll be out of your very carefully styled hair.”
One of my hands flies up to the chic waterfall braid that keeps my dark hair looking tidy. “What’sthatsupposed to mean? If we’re comparing hairstyles, I have a few thoughts on your sawdust look.”
He shrugs. “Real work is messy. You should thank me. This building was an eyesore. I’m gonna make it look good again. So thank you for welcoming me to the neighborhood with a whole lot of attitude.” He pauses to allow those blue eyes to do a slow scan of my body. “Although, the view sure is nice.”
And, wow, I am not a fan of the way his hot gaze makes me feel so reckless inside. I let out a squeak of irritation. “Thankyoufor making my workday excruciating and not caring all that much.”
He shrugs. “You seem a little wound up, countess. How about I make this up to you? We’ll go out for a drink tonight and then work out ourdifferences.” A smug smile lights his face as he says this, and somehow it comes out sounding dirty.
I give a slow blink, and for half a second, I try to picture it—sitting on a barstool right beside him. He’d prop an elbow on the bar, his big hand cupping a pint glass.
Then I also imagine his devious smile and the swimmy, off-kilter feeling I get when those blue eyes focus on me.
Nope. That’s not going to happen. I’m not exactly famous for letting go and having fun. The last guy I tried to date told me in no uncertain terms that I was hopeless.
Besides, it’s probably not even a real invitation. He’s just trying to throw me off my game. “Even if you were serious,” I say swiftly, “I’m sure I’m not your type.”
