by T Gephart
No.
If I was going to be a washed up nobody, then it would be on my terms alone. I didn’t need anyone to help me with my fall from grace, and I wasn’t going to allow writing that had been the bright spot in a fairly bleak creative landscape, be the source of my undoing.
“You know where he lives?” My body stiffened with a renewed sense of purpose as I focused on Scully.
Luke shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”
“Yes,” she answered, choosing to ignore Luke and his warning.
My heartbeat thumped out of control under my skin as I looked to the open doorway of my bedroom. “Then let’s go.”
I was no closer to knowing how I was going to get my manuscript back than a few minutes ago. Who knew if he’d even be back? He could’ve potentially still been partying somewhere in Hollywood, celebrating being awesome while I was having my nervous breakdown. But encouraged by Scully’s claim he’d been uninterested by women and the surrounding festivities, it was worth the risk he’d ditched the crowd and headed home. Or I could be delusional, always a possibility. Either way, I was damn well sure not going to sit in my room and watch my world burn.
Resolution settled in. I was willing to do whatever it took.
Let’s hope “whatever” didn’t see me end up with a conviction and shitty mug shot.
LUKE DROVE.
He pretended like he didn’t want any part of my madness, citing it would make him an accessory, but deep down there was no way he wasn’t going to be involved. He was like a magnet to drama, pretending like he didn’t buy into it but being unable to resist the allure. Of course he wanted to be involved, he didn’t move from Peoria, Illinois to sit at home and play it safe. Plus, his shiny new Lexus was a better getaway car than either of us had, and he’d offered to be the wheelman when we’d planned our fictional heist. #NoTakeBacks
Scully was our lookout and if need be, the diversion. It was the least she could do considering she was the reason we were in the mess to begin with. Like me, she was a native to L.A. and she knew the right level of crazy to bring. If shit went down, she knew how to cause just enough of a distraction so no one would call the cops.
Our mission was simple, get in, get the story, and get out.
Of course, the closest thing I had to breaking into anything was the one time I jimmied open my mom’s snack stash when I was sixteen. She had a drawer in the kitchen she’d put all the good stuff in—Peanut Butter Cups, M&Ms and enough candy to make our Halloween haul seem like amateur hour—and I had managed to force it open with a ladle and a wooden spoon. It wasn’t epic level gangsta stuff by any stretch, but in the eyes of my younger brother Cody and sister Courtney I was a hero of unrivaled proportions.
“You know this is crazy, right?” Luke again tried to persuade me to forget our planned lawlessness as we rolled to a stop two houses away from Nick’s duplex in West Hollywood.
“I’m already committed.” I squinted my eyes, trying to see the front of the house.
Except for the streetlight, it was mostly dark. There was a big hedge to the side, which was currently obscuring my view but from what I could see, it looked to be empty. While I hadn’t known his exact address, I didn’t need Scully to tell me he lived alone. He’d previously shared a house with his brother Dave, but thankfully his older brother had recently moved in with his girlfriend. It was a useful piece of information too, because no roommates meant less chance we’d be discovered. Unless his neighbors had a strong sense of civic duty and were watching from their windows.
Or he had surveillance cameras.
Or an alarm.
Shit.
Maybe I hadn’t thought this all the way through.
“Or you should be committed.” Scully laughed, finding it amusing that she was soon going to be party to a crime.
“Just make sure you do your job,” I warned, popping open the door of Luke’s black sedan. “If I go down, I’m taking you down with me and no one wants the baby to be born while you’re serving time in lock up.”
“It’s a first-time offense, we’ll get off with community service.” She waved me off, watching as I slipped out of the car and onto the street.
If I was trying to be inconspicuous, I failed miserably, tiptoeing like a moron on the sidewalk as I stalked closer to his house.
In my perfect world I would have been dressed in a sleek black full-length body suit, wearing sexy and yet practical boots. But there hadn’t been time to procure a Catwoman costume, so I had to make do with skinny jeans, a black T-shirt and a pair of Converse that had seen better days. I was still wearing my makeup from when we were going to be going out for dinner/breakfast, so at least my mug shot would look good.
With the blood roaring in my ears, I slowly climbed the couple of steps that led to Nick’s front door. I’d watched a dude on YouTube pick a lock with two paperclips, but as I pulled mine out of my pocket, I didn’t like my chances. I hoped by some miracle he’d forgotten to lock the door, or left a side window open wide enough for me to shimmy through.
“Fuck.” I felt my feet go out from under me as my body crashed forward. My hands reached out, bracing myself and stopping me from falling as I looked down to see what the hell I’d tripped on.
Oh.
Fuck.
What I had suspected was some crazy or intricate security measure was actually a body. A very tall, very muscular, and very horizontal body that was strewn on the front stoop like a prop for a crime scene. And if not for the two beautiful eyes looking back at me, I’d have assumed that was exactly what I’d stumbled into.
“What are you doing here?” he slurred, his keys dropping to the ground as he tried to shuffle himself into a sitting position.
“Ummm.” My brain scanned for any plausible explanation and came up blank. “I’m here to help you back up?”
It probably would have sounded more convincing if I hadn’t phrased it as a question, or if I had offered to do anything that resembled helping him up.
But I hadn’t.
Instead I was staring at what seemed to be a very drunk Nick Larsson, who looked so gorgeous it didn’t seem fair. God he was hot, his messed up hair and glassy eyes somehow working for him. He clearly wasn’t human because no mortal man looked that good when they were struggling with gravity and sobriety.
“My agent sent you, huh?” He used his hand as leverage as he slowly rose off the ground.
Did I lie? Pretend that his agent had sent me, help him into his house, steal back the manuscript—I mean, I still had an objective here—and then disappear into the night?
Who would even do that?
What kind of sick, reprehensible—“Yes, your agent sent me.” It left my mouth before I had a chance to stop it.
I’d admit that when it came to being decent, I didn’t always do the right thing. That didn’t mean I was a bad person, it merely meant that sometimes I made bad choices. Case in point, me putting my arm around Nick Larsson and helping him with his keys while he believed I was there for altruistic reasons.
“I told him I was fine.” His weight pressed against me like his feet weren’t up to the challenge of holding him up. I didn’t mind, the heady mix of cologne and beer wafting up my nose as I helped guide his hand to the lock.
“Yeah, you look fine too,” I muttered under my breath.
I meant it sarcastically because he was far from “fine.” But even though he was inebriated, Nick Larsson was still most definitely fine.
What I was doing—entering his house under false pretenses—was thirteen types of wrong, but I tucked away my conscience for later. It served me no purpose, especially as Nick unlocked his door and I was granted access to his house. I hadn’t even needed the paperclips, managing by some insane strike of luck to score an invite—well the closest thing I was going to get—as I waltzed through the front door.
He moved forward, dragging me with him as he tossed the keys on the coffee table, my body tingling at the contact.
Nick Larsson had his arm around me.
And I was holding him.
It was totally not in the context I had ever imagined, and so far away from anything romantic it was almost pathetic it got me excited. But I wasn’t going to argue semantics at that point. Or give up the opportunity. For whatever reason, the universe had thrown me a bone, and I was going to be grateful.
Please God, don’t let him realize he let a strange woman into his house and call the police.
His head dipped down as his eyes tried to focus, looking at me properly for the first time. “You’re not Audrey.” He swayed unsteadily on his feet.
Busted.
“No, I’m not.”
Part of me—the irrational, moronic part—wanted to ask who Audrey was and what was her business with him. Not because I was jealous—because that would be dumb—but because if I’d known maybe I could have done a better job at impersonating her.
There you had it, ladies and gentlemen, not only had I been ready to commit a crime—my first foray into breaking and entering—but I was willing to carry on the charade of impersonating Audrey if I’d only been given enough information.
His hand moved across my face, his fingers grazing my chin like my bone structure would yield some hint as to who I was. And for someone who had let a strange woman into his house, he sure was calm. I mean, I could have been a psychopath or a crazed fan, he really should have been more concerned than he was.
“You going to tell me who you are? Or am I supposed to guess?” His mouth twisted into a smirk that could only mean trouble. Not just for him, he was clearly waaaaay too intoxicated for his own good, but also for me because I had trouble thinking straight when he looked at me like that.
The manuscript, I reminded myself. Asking him out on a date wasn’t an option; that ship had well and truly sailed. Also “out” was staring at him adoringly and cataloguing every inch of his body for future reference. The research argument wouldn’t fly in a courtroom.
“I should go.” It had been almost a whisper because I wasn’t convinced it was what I should be doing. It sure as shit wasn’t what I wanted to be doing, because if I was doing that we’d have already been on the couch and making out by then. Because that was smart, making out with a man who was clearly not able to give proper consent. I swear if I didn’t end up in a jail cell before the night was up I was going to hand myself in.
“Really?”
He didn’t let go, his hands moving from my face down to my waist as I was frozen in place. I had no idea what he was doing. If his handsy approach was an attempt to try to steady himself—most likely—or it was some weird version of flirting. For all I knew he had a strange and dangerous kink and liked to make out with strangers.
Lord, please.
Please.
Please, please let it be the latter.
Stop it. I chastised myself as my eyes widened no closer to knowing. There is no way he is trying to seduce you.
Why the hell not, my hormones argued. If the man wants to kiss you, drunk or not, we’re going to reciprocate.
“I think I—” Even if I had known what the rest of that sentence was going to be, I didn’t have a chance to finish. My feet lost contact with the floor as he pulled me down with him, my body landing on his as he hit the couch.
I didn’t dare move, holding my breath—lying on top of him—undecided if it was the best thing to ever happen to me or some cruel joke.
Oh.
Dear.
God.
He was hard.
And I was turned on.
His hand touched my ass as his lips made contact with my neck, and I felt every cell in my body simultaneously jerk awake.
Like I’d been electrocuted, I leapt off him, landing on the floor in an ungraceful and uncoordinated heap. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice the pile of arms and legs tangled on the floor beside him, closing his eyes like he hadn’t witnessed the most awkward dismount of all time.
I was definitely going to jail.
Ignoring my impending future with a cellmate named Brenda and chunky shackle jewelry, I was positive was not going to look cool, I tucked and rolled on the floor trying to right myself with some dignity.
Not sure why I bothered. Dignity, self-respect and common sense hadn’t been with me when I showed up and I highly doubted they were going to make an appearance any time in the future.
As I rose to my feet, still silent because I didn’t trust my mouth and/or didn’t know what to say, and I noticed that sexy hot Nick was also silent. Not totally like he-might-have-died quiet, but other than the heavy breath pushing past his lips, there was no other noise.
Holy shit.
Was he . . . unconscious?
Still unsure as to what I wanted the answer to be—it might be easier to ghost out of his apartment if he was out for the count—I tentatively moved closer, keeping a safe distance in case he was faking me out and going to tackle me the moment I got in striking distance. You could never be too sure, and the night had already taken a weird and unexpected turn, so I wasn’t about to assume anything.
“Nick?” My hand curled around his shoulder and gave him a hesitant shake.
No response.
Nothing.
Satisfied that he wasn’t using his superior acting skills, and he really was asleep, I moved closer to examine him. I mean, I had to make sure he was okay and not going to choke or something. Not that I had any first aid experience and/or knew what the hell I was doing, but I wasn’t going to let something like logic get in the way. It was probably a little late in the game to start acting smart.
My eyes were drawn to his face, his beautiful dark lashes resting peacefully on the top of his cheeks hiding those stunning chocolate eyes. His plump lips—almost too perfect to belong to a man—were slightly parted allowing the soft rush of air to pass them. I swallowed hard, my gaze following the curve of his muscular neck down to his impressive chest. The T-shirt did nothing to hide the masterpiece underneath, his strewn arms and legs giving me a front-row seat to the magic that was Nick Larsson’s body. He was a work of art, perfection in the purest form, and even casually draped across furniture, he looked beautiful.
Seeing him on television was one thing, appreciating him and marveling at how hot he was. But up close like this—close enough to touch him—and my skin broke out in goosebumps so badly I wasn’t sure they weren’t hives. The lingering memory of him five years ago was nothing compared the reality of how perfect he was, the view almost overwhelming. The butterflies in my belly were also disconcerting, throwing my game off further as I wondered what the hell I was supposed to do.
Caught in a tug of should-I-stay-or-should-I-go, I moved closer, my hands tentatively reaching for the strong, sexy curve of his neck. His steady pulse thumped against my fingertips as I hovered above him like a creeper.
“What the fuck?” Luke’s voice hissed from behind me. “You killed him?”
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. I mean, I was supposed to get in, find the manuscript and get out, and who knows how long I had been gone. I’d say if Luke, Mr. I-don’t-want-to-be-involved, had left the safety of his car and come to investigate, it had to have been a substantial amount of time. Not that it mattered anymore, the problem of what to do next not made easier with an extra participant.
My head whipped around, trying to keep my voice low as I hissed back. “I didn’t kill him. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Well, considering you broke into Nick Larsson’s apartment, not really sure how to answer that.”
At least he was honest. I wasn’t sure what kind of person I was either considering I should have already left but there I was, still in the unconscious man’s apartment, touching him. Oh, and side note, I had yet to feel regret or remorse.
“I didn’t break in, I helped him unlock the door,” I whispered, ignoring the fact it didn’t make the situation in any way better than the mess it currently was.
Luke
moved closer, inspecting Nick carefully before turning back to me. “So what, you knocked him out?”
Funnily enough he didn’t sound surprised or shocked. Not sure what that said about me that he thought A. I was capable and B. I had the physical strength to accomplish it. I sat on my ass for eight hours a day and got winded doing Pilates, rendering a grown-ass man who had close to eighty pounds on me incapacitated was something I’d put in my resume if it was anywhere close to true.
“No, Jesus, Luke. He was drunk.” I huffed out an exasperated sigh as I quickly explained. “I found him on the floor at his front door, struggling with the keys, and he thought I was some girl his agent had sent to check on him. I didn’t correct him.”
I didn’t bother with the extra stuff—Nick’s hands on my body, me considering kissing him and then finally falling on top of him—because it sounded sleazy. Let’s be honest, it was sleazy, and even still—no regrets.
Luke screwed up his face in horror, recoiling from me like he’d discovered I was carrying some hideous horrible disease. “You pretended to be someone else? Deceived him?”
“Wait a minute.” I waved my hands in the air, trying to get a handle on his shock. “I came here to break in, and then you assumed I’d either killed him or knocked him out, but me pretending to be someone else has your panties in a twist? And here I was thinking I was the craziest person in the room.”
Luke opened his mouth ready to respond when he was stopped by the soft groan coming from the couch.
Oh, I hadn’t forgotten that our little disagreement was happening in the living room of a man who didn’t know either of us. Or that at any minute Nick could wake up, see two strangers in his house and call the cops. Realistically, calling the police was the best-case scenario. Him thinking we were thieves and trying to take us out was also a very real possibility, and we’d already established I got winded during Pilates. I wasn’t at all confident I was going to be able to defend myself against a not-so-sober man-giant who probably fought like a ninja, even three sheets to the wind.
