“So, are you new to the building?” Michael asks.
“Yeah, just moved in about a week ago. It was my boss’s old apartment, but since she and her fiancé just bought a townhouse, she’s subletting it to me. You?”
“I’ve been here about a year. I live with a buddy from college.”
“I used to live with my boyfriend, but I don’t now. Nope. Now I’m alone. Totally alone. And single.” I’m also wondering if I can sew my mouth shut to stop myself from blurting out stupid stuff.
Michael gives me a smile and runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, that’s …”
“A lot of info?”
He laughs.
“I swear, I have my shit together most days, but it’s been a rough week.”
“Well, the holidays are either great or total shit, right?”
“I’m definitely on the shit end.”
His eyes roam over my body and his lips turn up as my blood heats under his stare. “Here’s to hoping today shows you it’s not all shit, then. Maybe we can turn your luck around.”
He stands there, holding the trunk of the tree and then the elevator door opens, not allowing me to think any more on that statement.
Chapter 2
Michael
Do not stare at her ass. Do not stare at her ass.
I try to tear my gaze away, but … it’s really fucking hard to do with those leggings she’s got on.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a reaction to a woman like this. I could’ve stood in that hallway all damn night watching her. She’s beautiful in an imperfect kind of way. Her long brown hair is falling out of her ponytail, and there are a good amount of pine needles stuck in there too, but it just makes her more adorable. Not to mention how the tip of her nose is just a little bit red from the cold. I can’t remember the last time I found someone’s flaws so cute.
We get the tree into the apartment without any issues. “Do you have the tree stand?” I ask.
“The what?”
“The stand … that the tree goes in.”
“You mean, it doesn’t just … stand on its own?”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding, and I fight back laughter because the look in her eyes says she’s not and she’s halfway to tears.
“Not a big deal,” I say quickly. “It can sit in the corner while we go get a stand.” I don’t know what possessed me to say it. I don’t know this girl and she doesn’t know me, but I’ll do anything to not have her cry.
“Right now?”
I look down at my watch and then back at her. Fuck the family party I’m supposed to be at. I didn’t want to go anyway, and I’d much rather help someone who is clearly having a bad day. My sister will understand, and if not, she can kiss my ass.
I smile at Harlow. “Yeah, we’ll go to the store, and then I’ll help you set it all up.”
Her eyes brim with unshed tears and now I wonder if I fucked up by offering to help. “You’d do that? You don’t … I mean, you’re all dressed up. Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
I lift my shoulder, not really thinking much of it. “I think helping a neighbor is the Christmas spirit thing to do, don’t you? Besides, if you don’t get it in the stand with water, who the hell is going to help you get it out of here when it’s dead?”
The sound of her laughter goes straight to my cock. It’s soft but lacks all restraint, and I find that I want to hear it again.
“I probably would just toss it out the window,” she tells me.
“And that is why we’re getting a stand now.”
“Can you give me a few?”
I nod. “I’ll wait here.”
Harlow rushes out of the room and I look around at the apartment. Knowing she just moved in a week ago, I’m shocked at how organized it is. There aren’t any boxes, unlike in my place, where my buddy and I have lived in for two years and still haven’t finished unpacking. Everything in here is neat and clean. There are a few photos on the table where she tossed her keys, and I wander over to them.
I pick up a framed picture of an older couple, assuming it’s her parents. Harlow looks exactly like the woman in the photo, only younger. A guy I’m guessing is her brother is in a cap and gown next to her.
Ugh. Northwestern.
“Hey, where did you go to college?” I yell out.
It’s best to get the important things out of the way.
“Me? Oh, I went to U of I!”
Okay, so it’s just her brother that is the enemy.
Setting that frame down, I move to the next photo, where Harlow stands next to another woman in an office. The other woman’s arms are wrapped around Harlow’s middle and the smile is so wide, it could break the glass. Who the hell has photos in their house with their boss? They must really get along.
“Hey. Sorry,” she says quickly as she comes up behind me. “Find anything interesting?”
I laugh because it’s clear I was doing what any normal person would when left alone in a stranger’s house. “Nope. Seems you’re normal.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Is that your boss?”
Harlow nods quickly. “That’s Willow. She’s my boss-slash-friend. She owns the company I work for, but I’m going to come on as a partner soon. Well, if I’m able to match this client who is totally a pain in my ass.”
“Match?”
She bites her lower lip. “Yeah. So. I’m a matchmaker.”
“Like …”
“Like exactly what you’re probably thinking, yes. I hate the term and really wish we could come up with something a little less cheesy. Like, Destinymaker or Couple Counselor. I don’t know, I’m still mulling it over, but the point is that I cut through the crap and find what people want in a partner.”
“I think you found your new job title—crap cutter.”
Harlow rolls her eyes with a grin. “I’ll be sure to float it to management. It’s super romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
She tilts her head. “Are you? Interesting.”
I groan, seeing the wheels start to turn in her matchmaker brain. The last thing I need is another woman in my life trying to set me up. My mother and sister are bad enough. “Actually, no. I’m not romantic at all. I hate romance.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
“Wait a minute. You make your living as a matchmaker, and you hate romance? Isn’t that sort of a detriment to your career?”
She sighs and blows the stray pieces of hair out of her face. I notice she’s put on lipstick. Her cheeks look a little brighter too, and she’s put cover-up or something on her nose, but it’s still pink. “I suppose it is. I haven’t always hated romance. It’s more of a recent occurrence.”
“I see. That boyfriend you mentioned …”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she says sharply.
“Right. Ex-boyfriend. Is he responsible for your hatred of romance?”
“Probably.” She crosses her arms over her chest, not easy to do since she’s still wearing her puffy winter jacket, and her lower lip juts out. It’s angry and adorable all at once. “I thought he was going to propose on Christmas Eve, but he dumped me right after Thanksgiving. After everything I did for him, he dumped me!”
“What did you do for him?” I ask, curious.
“Oh, God.” She shakes her head. “I was so dumb. I loaned him money to get out of debt, because I thought he was going to buy a ring. Instead, he bought two tickets to Maui and took his little side dish on Christmas vacation! Mele fucking Kalikimaka!”
“Ouch. How long were you together?”
“Six years.”
“Six years!” The thought of a six-year relationship—seventy-two months, over two thousand days and nights of unrealistic expectations—nearly makes my knees buckle. “Damn.”
“I was an idiot. But I kept thinking he loved me and eventually he’d want to marry me.”
“Why’d you want to marry him?”
She thinks for a second
. “He was cute enough. And he had a steady job. However, he also had a gambling habit I didn’t know about.”
“Got it.” I look around. “So if I open drawers in here, will I find a little voodoo doll with a Hawaiian shirt on?”
Her brown eyes light up. “That is a great idea.”
I laughed. “Why don’t we stick to the tree stand for now, huh? I’ll run out to the store. Where do you want your tree to go?”
She drops her arms and turns in a slow circle. “Maybe over there by the window?”
“Good choice.” I check my watch. If I hurry, I can go buy her a tree stand, set it up by the window, and make it to my sister’s party by nine, ten at the latest. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait! I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to. It’s freezing out there. Why don’t you stay in and get warm?”
“I am warm.”
“Oh yeah?” Unable to resist, I reach out and touch her nose. It’s still chilly. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
She sighs. “My nose always gets so red from the cold. I hate it.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“Cute like Rudolph?” She eyes me warily. “That’s what my ex used to call me.”
“Let me just say right now that your ex was a real big asshole who didn’t deserve you, okay? And I don’t care what he looked like or how steady his job was. Even if he kicked the gambling habit, he was never going to deserve you.”
“But you just met me,” she says softly. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.” And the urge to kiss her at that moment is so overwhelming that I have to take a step back. Like she said, I just met her. I don’t want to be that guy. “Come on. Let’s go.”
We walk the three blocks to the drugstore with an icy Chicago wind blowing in our faces, the cascading flurries growing thicker. I’m not sure how much snow we’re going to get this evening, but it could make for a long ride out to my sister’s house in the suburbs.
“Can we slow down a little?” Harlow asks, her shorter legs scrambling to keep up with my long ones. “I’m dying here.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shorten my strides and move a little less briskly. “I was trying to hurry because the weather’s getting worse. I have a long drive tonight.”
“I knew it!” She whacks me on the arm. “I knew you had somewhere to be. You should have told me. I can handle this myself.”
“Harlow, you were never going to get that tree up to your apartment if I hadn’t intervened. And even if you did, what was your plan—decorate it lying down?”
“I told you, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I don’t know anything about Christmas trees! We had an artificial one growing up. It stood on its own. Why shouldn’t a real one?”
“Oh my God. Come on in here.” I put my arm around her to shepherd her through the revolving door to the store, and it feels so good I wish I had a reason to keep it there.
“They have tree stands here?” Harlow looks around. Her nose is bright red again, and I want to warm it up with my lips. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even know this girl’s last name. And other than putting makeup on, she hasn’t really given me any indication she’s interested in messing around tonight.
Tearing my eyes from her face, I look for the holiday aisles. “Over there,” I tell her. “Aisles eight and nine.”
Chapter 3
Harlow
We make our way toward the other side of the store, and I grab an abandoned shopping cart along the way. “I might need some other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Like decorations. Lights and ornaments.”
He glances at me. “You don’t even have lights or ornaments?”
“No, and stop making me feel bad. Getting the tree wasn’t even my idea, it was my boss’s.”
“What did you do last Christmas?” he asks.
My spirits sink even lower as I remember. “I put up a tree with the asshole ex in our apartment, but it was fake, just like his love for me. And I don’t want any of the stupid ornaments that we hung on our fake tree with our fake joy in our fake happiness. It was all a lie.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Michael sighs heavily.
“I’m going to grab some vodka too. Be right back.” I veer off down aisle four and head for the booze section. They probably won’t have my favorite brand here, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I really need something to take the edge off this holiday angst.
Too bad Michael won’t be able to stick around long enough to have a drink with me. It sounds like he has to drive somewhere, and the weather is getting worse by the minute. I’m lucky we ran into each other and he had mercy on me—I’d probably be stringing lights on a tree still stuck in the lobby door if he hadn’t.
God, he’s so damn cute. And charming. And sweet. There was a moment in my apartment, right after he touched my nose, that I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. Did I imagine it?
Duh, of course you imagined it, you dummy! All you’ve done is make an ass of yourself and talk about your ex. He probably looks at you and thinks crazy ex-girlfriend. And look at the way he’s dressed—that man is too hot to be alone on a Friday night. He’s got a date.
I pull a bottle of vodka off the shelf and place it in my cart. Then I add a bag of Hershey Kisses, a box of candy canes, and a tube of ready-made sugar cookie dough. In aisle eight, I grab a few strands of lights and a box of colorful ornaments. Since we’re on foot, I don’t want to buy too much, but I can’t resist picking out a star for the top.
I find Michael in aisle nine looking at a box in his hands. My stomach flip-flops a little as I approach. He’s so tall. I wonder what he looks like underneath all those clothes, and for a moment I fantasize about unwrapping him layer by layer. The winter coat and scarf. The suit and tie. The buttoned-up shirt. I wonder if it has French cuffs or not.
I love French cuffs.
He catches me staring at his hands, which are strong but elegant-looking, with long fingers. “Do I need a manicure or something?”
Embarrassed, I feel my face get hot. “No! Sorry, I was just wondering something.”
One of his eyebrows cocks up. “About my hands?”
Oh, dear God. “Uh, about your shirt actually. Whether or not it has French cuffs.”
“Why were you wondering about my shirt?”
Because I was thinking about taking it off of you is not an appropriate answer, although I’m almost tempted to give it. I mean, why not—I’ve been spewing every thought in my head without a filter all night long, haven’t I?
But in the end, I don’t.
“I guess I just like a nice dress shirt with French cuffs.”
He looks amused. “And why’s that?”
I shrug, figuring I might as well be honest. “I think they’re classy and convey there’s something powerful about a man. But it’s an understated kind of power. Like he might drive a Range Rover and drink expensive scotch, but he’ll still pull your hair and say dirty things to you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes stay locked on mine. The tension between us ratchets up about a hundred notches. “Yes.”
I’m so lost in the heat of his gaze that I forget the question. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, my shirt has French cuffs.” He places the boxed tree stand he’s holding in my cart. “Yes, I drive a Range Rover.” Then moves closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “Yes, I drink expensive scotch.”
I can barely breathe. My throat is dry. “And the other stuff?”
He smiles the slightly sinister grin of a well-heeled villain. “Come on. I have to let some things come as a surprise.”
While I’m standing there, equal parts turned-on and dumbfounded, he takes the cart from me and pushes it toward the front of the store.
Jolly Old St. Nicholas! Is this guy for real?
I feel like I might look for him again only to find he’s been nothing but a fi
gment of my imagination. Do guys like Michael exist outside of fantasies and romance novels? Is he secretly a serial killer? Am I going to wind up tied up in my closet tonight?
Actually, the idea has some possibilities …
It takes me a couple minutes to recover my senses, and by the time I find him near the registers, he’s already paying for all my loot. “What are you doing?” I ask, frantically tugging on his sleeve. “You don’t have to buy all this!”
“Harlow, it’s not that big a deal.” He pulls out a credit card from his wallet, but before he can swipe it through the reader, I grab it.
Michael West.
“Hey, that’s funny,” I say.
“What is? You stealing my Amex?”
“No. Your last name is West. Mine’s North. North … West … we have the same kind of last name.” I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. We’re both directions! We’re both witches from Oz! Together we’re Kim Kardashian’s baby! It has to be a sign, right?
“Nice to meet you, Harlow North.” He quickly snatches the card out of my hand and swipes it. “Now quit being a pain. I’ve got this.”
I huff and pout, but there’s not much I can do since the transaction is complete within seconds. “Thank you. It was really nice of you to help me at all, let alone pay for my drunk tree-trimming party supplies.”
He laughs and gathers up three of the four bags, including the bulky one holding the tree stand box. “Is that what all this is?”
I grab the last remaining bag, which contains my candy and cookie dough. Maybe I’d just eat it right from the tube. “Pretty much.”
We exit the store and immediately, a frigid blast of air hits us. The snow is coming down hard and heavy now, and it’s tough to see even five feet ahead. The ground is slippery too, and I slide a little as we make our way down the sidewalk.
“Careful.” He switches all his bags to one hand so he can take my arm. His touch sets off a spark that warms my entire body. I swear every snowflake that lands on me sizzles.
“So where are you headed tonight?” I ask, hoping it sounds like an innocent question.
I Have Lived And I Have Loved: A Charity Romance Collection Page 17
