I don’t need Brennon’s latest toy treating me like a toddler.
Just how often did the man’s charms work on women like me?
“Don’t be an idiot,” I mumbled out loud, sitting on his bed and looking anywhere but the photo that was several years old, at least. “Why should I care if he dates other people? It’s not like we’re officially a couple, and I barely know him. I have no intentions of falling in love—ha!—and neither does he, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts then head back to Boston where I belong.” And stop talking to myself before Steve decided I was crazy, since I would guess his hearing was definitely better than his eyesight.
Suddenly in a bad mood and exceptionally tired from a long couple of days, I slid beneath the covers and promptly fell asleep in the bed of a man who was probably a terrible idea.
* * *
At first, I wasn’t sure what woke me, though I recalled something crashing in my dream. Maybe I hadn’t heard anything at all. But then a rough curse carried down the hallway and made me sit up. Steve?
Rubbing sleep from my eyes and wondering what time it was, I stumbled down the hall into the bright lights of the front room. Upon first glance, I saw nothing, but then Steve appeared from behind the counter with what looked like a handful of sopping noodles in his cupped hands. What in the…? Slowly, trying to decide how best to announce my presence as he ducked down again and brought up another handful of wet cavatappi to dump into the sink, I made my way around the counter and discovered an entire pot of soup spilled across the floor and a lit burner currently heating nothing but air.
I knew I shouldn’t laugh, and I really tried not to, but a snicker escaped me anyway.
Steve froze halfway through his next scoop of noodles and shut his eyes tight. “Don’t say it,” he begged.
I grinned. “Want me to make you some food?” I offered again. “Or are you planning on licking that up off the floor?” Given what little I knew about the guy, it was so not my place to find anything about this funny, but I couldn’t help it, especially when his ears burned red beneath his curly hair but he tried so hard to look unaffected. If he had been nicer to me earlier, it would have been a lot easier to feel bad for him.
“Fine,” he grumbled after a few seconds then grabbed a towel where it hung by the stove and began sopping up the broth at his feet.
He’d washed his face, I realized as I watched him. Most of the blood was gone, leaving just the strips of adhesive over the gash above his eyebrow. Now that he wasn’t strapped to a hospital bed beneath fluorescent lights, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. If not for his too-long hair and unkempt beard, he might have been a handsome sort of guy, though his overlarge sweatshirt and worn jeans didn’t quite fit the image of the sort of man who would likely be best friends with someone like Brennon, who had been nothing but style so far. I wondered how long they’d known each other.
Once Steve had cleaned up most of his mess and returned to the couch and his earbuds, I set to work, digging in the pantry and fridge. I wanted something quick and easy but just complicated enough to get my mind off the girl in the photo and the strange friendship between Brennon and Steve. There wasn’t much to work with—I remembered Brennon needed to go to the store—but I found some chicken thighs in the fridge and enough veggies to make a big enough salad for the both of us.
I tossed together a bunch of spices, coating the chicken and popping it into the oven to broil, and set about making a honey glaze for the chicken and chopping up the veggies. It would be simple, but at least it wasn’t on the floor.
Just as I was pulling the now-glazed chicken from the oven, Steve suddenly appeared at my side and nearly scared me out of my wits. “Brennon didn’t say you were a chef,” he said.
I stared at him, my hand on my heart and incredibly grateful I managed to get the tray of chicken onto the stove before I dropped it all in fright. “What?” I gasped.
He nodded toward the chicken, a little wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t quite decide what to make of me. “It smells…impressive.”
“I’m not a chef,” I said, though a bit of heat spotted my cheeks at the idea.
Without a word, he reached into the drawer next to him, pulled out a knife and fork, and cut himself a bite, which he chewed slowly as if he were a judge on those cooking shows I probably spent too much time watching. My heart kept pounding, and I told myself it was because he had scared me. Not because I genuinely wanted to know what he thought about the chicken.
“This is delicious,” he said finally, grabbing a couple of white plates from the cupboard above the counter and holding them out to me. “If you’re not a chef, you should be. Where did you learn?”
Now he wanted to hold a conversation?
Dumping half the salad and a piece of chicken onto each plate, I followed him to the table and sat across from him, trying to figure out why his temperament was so different from how it had been earlier. He sat and picked up his fork, but he just watched me. Waiting.
Fine. “My mom,” I said, rolling my eyes when he took a bite now that he was sure I would tell him. “She’s a chef, and I spent a lot of years watching her work and learning from her.”
“In Boston?”
I shook my head then realized he probably couldn’t see me doing it. “No,” I said, “in Vermont.”
“You grew up there?” He paused eating when I didn’t answer, his eyes searching for mine but coming up short. The wrinkle in his forehead deepened, joined by a downward tug of his lips beneath his thick beard. “What?”
“Why the inquisition?” I replied. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell him, and my childhood was a relatively happy one, especially since Gordon Hastings hadn’t been a part of it, but there was something about Steve that just wouldn’t settle right. I couldn’t figure out who he was, and men were generally pretty easy to read. Steve was not.
Shrugging, Steve pushed a carrot across his plate. “I don’t need you to babysit me,” he said.
“That wasn’t an answer,” I argued.
“I was getting to that.”
“Get to it faster.”
His frustration was almost tangible, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I know Bren,” he said. “If not you, he’ll find someone else to stay with me. If I’m going to be stuck with you breathing down my neck, I might as well get to know you a little better.”
The familiar phrase rankled, momentarily transporting me back to staff meetings I wasn’t invited to, mainly so the men could complain about my management style. If I’d been a man, they would have done their jobs without encouragement, but because I was of the “lesser sex,” I’d had to push them just to listen to simple requests. Yes, I was definitely glad to get out of that world, but I had fallen into something that was feeling eerily like the same thing on a smaller scale. At least Steve appreciated my cooking, though that thought alone seemed to shove feminism back a decade or two.
“Yes,” I said finally, and his lips twitched upward. “I grew up in Vermont.” And if he was going to ask questions, I had the right to ask my own. “Have you always been…” Don’t ask that, Lissa. Don’t go there. “Blind?”
His almost-smile immediately morphed back into a scowl. “What did Brennon tell you?”
I shrugged. “Not a lot.”
With a sigh, he mirrored my movement without knowing it. “Not always,” he said. “And I’m not blind. Technically. Cortical visual impairment. My eyes work fine. My brain does not.”
Well that had to be a good sign, right? Eyes weren’t exactly easy to repair, but brains could be manipulated. Right? Maybe I had that backwards. “Can they fix it?” I asked.
Steve just laughed once, shaking his head.
“I don’t see why that’s funny,” I said.
“Well you wouldn’t,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re too busy seeing everything else.”
Clever. “How did it happen?”
“I’m going to bed.” Without ano
ther word, he stood and disappeared down the hallway, his door shutting behind him a second later.
* * *
I was deep in the middle of a horror movie I hadn’t had time to watch before now when something touched my shoulder and made me shriek. I jumped up and was just about to launch into some strange ninja move when I realized it was Brennon standing behind me and trying his hardest not to laugh. He wasn’t doing a very good job, but that was probably because I looked ridiculous with my hands in the air, ready to do some karate chopping.
“Brennon,” I gasped as my heart kept racing.
He grinned. “You don’t seem the type to scare so easily,” he said and glanced at the TV to see what I was watching.
Normally I wasn’t, which made my embarrassment that much worse. “Well, you know,” I said, sinking back onto the couch before my legs gave out from under me. “First day in a strange place and all that.” I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten in the room, and I was glad when Brennon flicked on the light overhead before he sat next to me.
He wasn’t quite as close as I would have liked, especially because the movie kept playing, but he did take my hand, which made it easier to smile. “And how goes our invalid?” he asked.
I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Steve since lunch, though I had knocked on his door a couple of times to make sure he was still okay. He had responded each time with a growled, “Go away.”
I sighed. “He’s fine. I’m glad you’re back, though.” I had expected Brennon to be gone for only a couple of hours, but it was nearly eight o’clock. I wouldn’t have thought looking after a grown man would be as exhausting as it had been today, and I badly needed the company of someone who actually wanted me around.
Though he still smiled, Brennon’s brightness faded a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back sooner,” he said and scooted just a little nearer, which made my heart pick back up into its fast pace. “But at least I can honestly say I was thinking about you all day.”
Well if that wasn’t a way to make a girl blush, then I didn’t know what was. Leaning closer, I tried not to look too eager as I said, “You were, huh?” I had done my very best not to think about Brennon, because if I thought too long on that kiss he’d given me before he rushed off to his office, it was particularly hard to concentrate on anything else. The man may have not had much game when it came to pick-up lines, but he sure knew how to kiss.
Lifting his hand to my neck, Brennon gave me the same smile that had drawn me into his apartment in the first place, and he moved in close enough to touch his nose to mine. “You, Lissa, make it extremely difficult for a man to concentrate on stock exchanges,” he said. So maybe he was good at the lines too, but I was far more focused on the way he leaned in.
His kiss was even better than I expected, and it left me wondering how I could have gone my whole life without someone like Brennon Ashworth in my life. He made me feel like I was actually worth something, and after so many exhausting years fighting my way through the male-dominated world of finance, being around a guy like Brennon was wildly refreshing. “You make it hard to concentrate on anything at all,” I admitted.
Then, to my utter dismay, Brennon’s phone started to ring. Sighing, he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen for only a second before he answered the call. “What’s wrong, Jake?” he said and was on his feet a moment later, moving to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. The last words I caught were, “No, I told him to drop the shares as soon as possible,” which meant apparently he wasn’t done with work just yet.
Disappointed, I settled back onto the couch to watch the rest of the movie, though I wasn’t sure I understood anything of what was going on. Both in the movie and in my life. Today had been chaotic enough, and tomorrow I would have to start thinking about where the rest of my life was headed now that I was jobless and directionless. The future, as much as I hated to think about it, was looking rather bleak.
Chapter Seven
A girl could only do nothing for so long before she cracked. True, reading wasn’t nothing, but for some reason I couldn’t seem to focus on any of the books I pulled from Brennon’s shelf. Brennon was probably partially to blame, giving me a knee-weakening kiss before heading to the office early that morning. In a surprising act of chivalry, he’d offered up his bed to me and slept on the couch, coming into the bedroom only to grab a shirt and slacks to change into. I had tried to argue that I had a whole apartment just across the hall I could use, but he told me he wanted to spend every moment he could with me and begged me to stay at his place. How could I argue with that?
While I was a little disappointed that he’d been so exhausted after his ridiculously long phone call with whoever Jake was and had gone to bed soon after, I was optimistic that tonight we could spend some real time together.
Until then, I had to find some way to entertain myself.
Steve was no help. He spent the morning on the couch with his earbuds in, whatever music he had on drowning out the rest of the world. Including me. I almost envied his ability to do absolutely nothing for so long, but seeing him on that couch all day made me feel sorry for Brennon, who clearly did all the work around the apartment. How was it they were such good friends when they were two completely different people?
When my stomach started demanding lunch, I rummaged through the many cupboards again only to discover I’d used most of the food for last night’s dinner.
“Could you stop?” Steve said suddenly.
I turned to face him, letting another cupboard door fall closed. “Stop what?”
He winced when it shut. “I’m blind,” he said. “I’m not deaf. You’re being ridiculously loud.”
Well I’m sorry for trying to keep you from starving, I kept myself from saying. Going full bitter wasn’t going to help either of us. “What is it you do all day, anyway?” I asked, wishing he could see my raised eyebrow.
His expression was completely blank as he said, “I’m doing it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumbled, pulling my hair back with the fingers of one hand. God give me the patience. “We need food,” I announced, watching his expression shift to confusion. “Which means I have to go to the store.” He immediately started frowning. “Which means you, my friend, have to come with me.”
“Nah.” He pulled his phone right up in front of his face and squinted at the screen. As soon as he found what he was looking for, he settled back against the pillows on the couch.
“Yeah,” I replied and grabbed his arm to pull him to his feet. If he’d been any bigger, I wouldn’t have been able to move him, since he was several inches taller than me, but he was a lot lighter than his clothes implied and practically flew upwards with my tug. He grabbed my shoulder as his swollen knee gave out, but even that barely pushed me. How thin was this guy?
“I’ll be fine on my own,” he said, trying to free himself.
I linked our arms and pulled him toward the door. “I’m sure you would be,” I replied. “Now, where are your shoes?”
He mumbled something about them being by the front door. He mumbled all the way down the elevator ride. He mumbled when I shoved him into the passenger seat of Brennon’s car, and I half expected him to make a run for it. I was curious how far he’d get without being able to see, but I wasn’t about to test it. My goal was to keep the guy safe, not get him hit by another car.
I quickly searched for the nearest grocery store and plugged it into the GPS, and then I took a deep breath to calm my nerves as I pulled onto the street. I was grateful Brennon had trusted me with the keys when he said he was taking the bus this morning, but I never drove in Boston. It had been almost a year since I’d even sat behind the wheel, so it was probably a good thing Steve wouldn’t be able to see my nerves or comment on how slow I was going. As long as no one ran straight into us, we’d be fine.
The silence, however, was not going to make anything easier. “My cousin was hit by a car once,” I said to make conve
rsation. Why in the world would I say something like that?
Steve gave me a deadpan look that clearly said, Really? Of all the topics I could have chosen, I had to pick that one.
Oh well. “Yeah,” I said. “He was fifteen. Knocked him right into a hedge. And it took him four years before he was brave enough to take Driver’s Ed. True story.”
Muttering something that sounded like, “You’re an idiot,” Steve turned his head to look out the window.
So maybe my conversation skills could use some work. “Sorry,” I admitted, though I smiled to myself. “It’s been a while since I talked to anyone about something that wasn’t money-related.”
“I can tell.”
“Then why don’t you pick the topic?”
“Why don’t we sit in silence?”
I huffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than was probably necessary. We were only halfway to the store, and it was only the first full day of my week-long vigil. How long could I keep this up, really? Maybe I could convince Brennon to take a day off so we could tackle this whole Steve thing together.
“Stop the car,” Steve said suddenly, and I nearly slammed on the brakes before realizing it would probably be safer to pull over instead.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as soon as we were stationary, turning to him in a panic. Was he dying? I didn’t have any medical experience, and I could barely get a Band-aid to stay in place longer than an hour. Should I call 911?
“Coffee,” Steve said.
Halfway through searching for the nearest hospital on my phone, I looked up at him in absolute confusion. His head injury. It was addling his brain, and he was completely losing it. Was that still something 911 worthy? I had no idea. “What?” I gasped.
He very nearly smiled, probably hearing the panic in my voice. “Coffee,” he said again, tapping his knuckle against the glass next to him.
I glanced out his window, and to my surprise we were parked right outside a bustling coffee shop called Indiana Brews. I had so many questions, but the first was, “You saw that?”
In Front of Me Page 6
