Page 41 of Sweet Caroline
Neither is the uncertainty in his voice when he buzzes me in.
The elevator up to the fourth floor squeaks slightly, then the door opens with a grinding thump.
I’m still getting my bearings, inspecting the number on each door I pass, when I hear Miles’ deep voice behind me. “Over here, fancy girl.”
I turn and?—
Ohhhhh boy.
He’s standing in his doorway with his arms crossed over his chest—his bare, heavily inked chest. A cascade of tattoos snakes over his left bicep and shoulder, spanning from his collarbone down to wrap around his rib cage. It’s not a single design but many smaller ones in different artistic styles, somehow merged and blended into a cohesive whole. I can barely process the details, though, because navy blue sweatpants are slung low on his hips, anddamnif he isn’t wearing the heck out of those sweats.
I swallow, ripping my eyes away from his skin. “Were you sleeping?”
“Not yet.” He lets his arms fall, tucking his hands into his pockets. The movement tugs his pants slightly lower and all coherent thoughts seep out of my brain when I notice the treasure trail that disappears below his waistband.
Catching myself again, I snap my gaze upward.
“You gonna come in?” There’s a hint of amusement in his expression. He definitely caught me looking.
“Yeah, okay.” Hugging my arms, I rub them to dispel the chill still clinging to my skin and slip into his apartment. I take a moment to look around. His place is small and sparsely furnished, like he hasn’t been here long. Or hasn’t cared to decorate much, maybe. Small piles of clutter are scattered here and there, but it’s not messy. There’s a simple, lived-in warmth to it that suits him. What little I know of him, anyway.
“Can I get you a glass of water?” he asks, closing the door. “Ormaybe… I dunno, a sweatshirt? You look frozen. I could make tea or?—”
“No, I’m fine.” I can’t help but envy how comfortable he seems to be despite being shirtless. The contrast between my glittery dress and what he’s wearing—ornotwearing, rather—is stark. Was he in bed? Did he just throw on whatever he could find before I came up? That would mean…
Great. Now I’m picturing him shirtlessandpantsless.
So… very… pantsless.
“You left,” I say, pushing away the image of Miles naked.
“Yeah, I did.” He doesn’t elaborate, though my confusion and curiosity must be obvious. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Why?” I almost whisper.
“Uh, how long you got?” he asks, tilting his head toward the door. “Is your driver waiting out front, or?—?”
“I sent him home.”
“Oh.” He nods. Then, the implication dawns on him. “Oh.”
I hold out a hand, eyes wide. “That’s not what I— I didn’t mean to imply any…”—a grin splits his face as he watches me scramble—“I wasn’t planning tostay, I just?—”
“It’s okay, Caroline. I can give you a lift home.”
“No, no, you don’t need to. I—” I sputter. “I can get a cab or?—”
God, I can’t even finish a full sentence around this man.
“Like, after we…” He makes a generic gesture between us. My eyes must bug out, because the corner of his mouth starts to twitch. “After wetalk.”
“Yes! That’s all I came here to do, I swear.”
“Just messin’ with you.” Smirking, he guides me toward the couch. “C’mere.”
We sink down onto the cushions, and I take a moment to un-fluster myself. “So? Why’d you take off earlier?”
He looks like he can’t quitefind the words.
