by Shey Stahl
“Pft. . .” I wave my hand around. “Overrated if you ask me.”
He lets out a laugh that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, or a cough, can’t be sure, but it surprises me and makes me smile. It’s adorable and has me wanting to stay and banter longer, but I must go for the sake of my will. If I stay longer, he may weaken me.
“He has Chlamydia,” I repeat this several times as I walk toward the door, but unfortunately, I say it out loud.
“Who has Chlamydia?” He smiles, looking at his phone and then at me as if he can’t quite figure me out.
Believe me, dude, I can’t even figure myself out these days.
I ignore him. “I better go before Casey decides to sign me up for eHarmony.” I motion to the door.
She has a key to my apartment and I know damn well she’s trying to marry me off. Since she got engaged, it’s become her mission to find me a guy to marry, like she wants me to suffer with her.
“Night, Amalie.”
God, why do you have to talk so sexily?
“Yeah, you too.” I smile, trying to be nice for once.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I look forward to getting my mail every night from him. I don’t even ask how he gets inside my locking mailbox to get it. Pathetic, I know. I’ve only just begun this plan, and I’m already falling for my manwhore neighbor/cubicle partner from hell. It’s like I’m a glutton for punishment, or worse, like I’m trying to become the president of his Crush Brigade. God, help me.
As I expect, when I make my way inside my apartment, Casey has my laptop open and is creeping on my Facebook page.
I knew I should have logged out last night. Shaking my head, I walk toward the living room to put my mail on my counter, never bothering to look at it.
Oliver practically attacks me as soon as I’m through the door. All body wiggles and snorts and trying to get me to pet him.
Casey twists her head, grinning, which makes me nervous because whenever she acts like this, it’s because she’s done something she shouldn’t have. Like signing me up for eHarmony or Match.com. She’s done it four times, and every time I’ve deleted the profile she created for me.
As I step closer, the nerves creep over me. My page is up on Facebook, and she’s looking at the notifications in the upper right corner of the screen.
I’m going to kill her. That’s it. No need for her to get married because she will be dead. “Did you—?” I look at the notification she’s focused on.
Tathan Madsen has accepted your friend request.
What.
The.
Fuck.
She can’t be serious.
“Say what?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Casey’s eyes widen, scanning my apartment and never landing on my face. “I went to click on his name, and it pressed the button to friend him.”
Bull. Shit. She’s trying to defend herself with a lie. I know this because Casey can’t lie. If she does, she won’t look at you. And look at her now, eyes roaming.
“Casey Ann McDaniel!” Stomping over to her, I slap her shoulder. “What have you done?”
She pushes a glass of wine she poured for me in my direction, knowing this would be my reaction. “I’m sorry?”
“Casey.” I moan, throwing myself on the couch and flopping my arms over my face. “The friend button isn’t anywhere near his name. That wasn’t an accident, and now he’s going to think I like him.”
She makes a snorting noise. “Because you do.”
I don’t answer her because I’m too busy thinking about how to fix this. That certainly explains the grin when I was over there.
Goddamn it. That’s just fucking great. Now he’s gonna think I like him. There goes any plan I had to make him miserable. I can’t do that if we’re Facebook friends. “How do you cancel that?”
“Can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I jab my finger offensively at the screen. “Unfriend him.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You like him, admit it. There’s no harm in being Facebook friends with him and look at his page, the dude’s deep.”
Deep? Not likely.
“I do not like him.” As much as I don’t want to, my eyes drift to the screen and his profile page plastered with photographs of sunrises. Son of a sucker. “I hate. . . him.” Christ, that was damn near painful to say.
As always, Casey sees through my lies and rolls her eyes. “Sure you do.”
Screw her and her logical points.
As I contemplate my next move, I drink a glass of wine with Oliver on my lap. But as hard as I try to avoid the screen, I crack and stalk Tathan’s Facebook page and all his pictures once Casey is asleep and not there to watch me drool over my neighbor.
He has a ton of photos. The man is a photo whore. Tons of selfies of him and his brothers and sunset pictures from all over the world. Not kidding, there’s one from Egypt. Fucking Egypt.
I do notice he has photographed sunsets from a hill in Phoenix I recognize as Camelback Mountain. I hike it all the time.
Scanning through each one, it’s clear he’s a family man, passionate, and has one special spot, just like me where he goes, and nothing else matters, but his thoughts.
Damn it. I knew it. He’s a nice guy.
Saturday morning, I’m staring at my iPad drinking my coffee and waiting for Casey to get out of my bathroom. I have to work this morning, and then we’re heading to the bridal expo, but it’s nice with the warm sun coming in through my window and the fresh aroma of black coffee, puppy on my lap. . . . Makes me want to sit here all day.
Just as I’m contemplating ways I might be able to fake a sickness and not do a damn thing today, someone knocks at my door.
Oliver’s ears perk up, a soft growl emitting from his tiny body. “Shhhh.” I pat his head softly, trying to calm the crazy little bugger. “No need to get all worked up.”
Leaving Oliver on the couch, I open the door and come face-to-face with Tathan once again. The moment I see his face, his photographs flash in my head and that damn friend request. Goddamn you, Casey.
I want to shut the door in his face, but I can’t. I simply stand there and stare like a freaking idiot.
It’s his appearance I can’t shake—dressed in black slacks with a matching black button-down long-sleeved shirt. Of course, the top few buttons are undone, and my eyes are drawn there. There’s no denying how sexy this man is, unfortunately.
Hello, Johnny Cash.
I have half a mind to lean forward and smell him. I bet he smells amazing. Not doing this comes from my impeccable restraint against him. There’s just something about a man who looks that good I can’t quite resist.
Tathan grins, looking over my dress. “You look hot.” He licks his lips, leaning into the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
He always ruins it by talking. “What do you want?”
“You.”
I roll my eyes taking a step back. “Funny.”
“I try to be.”
I start to close the door in his face, but his foot stops me. “You forgot this.” He hands me my power bill I must have dropped last night in his apartment.
I meet his eyes, and I regret it simply for the fact that they draw me in with their tenderness. “You know. . .” I clear my throat when I realize how scratchy my voice sounds. “I’m fully capable of retrieving my own mail. How do you even get it? My mailbox locks.”
“I have connections. And how else would I annoy you?” he asks, leaning closer to me, as if he’s waiting for me to invite him in. I don’t because Casey is in there and she will make it awkward by saying something in front of him.
“You look good. Where are you heading?” His eyes rake down my body again. “I thought you had to work today?”
“I do have to work,” I tell him, avoiding where I’m going after work.
“Ah, come on,” he whispers, “give me something.”
Don’t talk like that. Don’t alte
r your voice to a whisper around me because it weakens my hatred for you.
“Give you what?”
“You never answered my question.” Without any shame, he looks at my tits.
“My eyes are up here, dude. What question?”
He nods at my dress, and I remember he asked who the lucky guy was.
I choke on my own spit, which by the way, is embarrassing when you do it in front of Tathan. “No one.”
What’s even more embarrassing than choking on your own spit is biting your tongue in the process in front of quite possibly the hottest male on the face of the planet.
“Okay, so if there’s no one, then why is it that you keep saying no?”
I want to shove him against the wall and kiss him so badly. His lips remind me of pillows, so soft and I bet they’re warm, too.
Folding my arms over my chest, I try not to stare at him. “Because I don’t want to go out with you.”
“Why?”
I snort. “Because I don’t.”
“But you have no actual reason. . . just that you don’t? Is it that you don’t find me attractive?”
He knows that isn’t it. By the look on his face, he definitely knows. “Why should I go out with you, Tathan? Give me one good reason.”
“Because I’m a nice guy.”
Okay, well that’s a good one. I know damn well he’s a nice guy.
“A nice guy who steals my mail. It’s a federal offense, you know that, right?”
He smiles. It’s bright and wide; our bantering causes those cute dimples of perfection he has. “You gonna call the cops on me?”
“I might.”
“So you won’t go out with me, and you’re going to have me arrested. Hmmm. . .” He laughs. “You humping anyone then?”
Humping? Did he really just say that?
“Are you a thirteen-year-old boy?” It’s everything in my power not to laugh. “Who says humping?”
You do, Amalie. You said it last week to Zane.
I start to close my door, but he stops me; his foot wedges between the door and the frame. “Wait, are you going to answer my question?”
“No.” I push against the door. “Move your foot.”
He does as I say, surprisingly, and I can’t wipe the damn grin off my face even if I try. “No, you’re not going to answer, or no, you’re not humping anyone?”
“Bye, Tathan,” I say, and smile to myself once it’s closed.
I hear him groan, banging his head against my door.
Thrilled I’m finally getting to him, I lean my back into the door. Casey comes around the corner and puts on her shoes, one hand on my shoulder balancing herself, the other slipping on her heels. “Who was that?”
“No one.” I don’t look at her and reach for my own shoes.
She looks over my shoulder at the door. “There was testosterone in here. I can smell it.”
“No, there wasn’t.” I grab my keys off the counter. “I’m running late for work. Pick me up at noon.”
Casey is easily distracted—just like Zane—so by me reaching for my keys on the counter, she is on to the next topic.
The wedding.
Which helps me out tremendously because it’s less explaining that I have to do about the testosterone that was at my door.
Casey and Zane are beyond excited about the wedding expo.
Really, I can’t blame them, it’s exciting. Weddings are meant to be. So with all the anticipation, I agree to just about anything on the way out the door. I do this so she won’t ask about Tathan.
I even agree to brunch with her tomorrow to go over the bridal shower next weekend, and I hate brunch. I don’t like the idea of a meal not having a designated title like breakfast or lunch. I don’t like anything that’s in between. Like gray. I hate that color because why can’t it just decide if it’s black or white?
Work is boring. Saturday’s usually are. We’re never busy, but I do get a lot done with the meeting minutes I was behind on because Tathan’s not there so I’m not constantly staring at him. It’s amazing what you can get done when you’re not drooling over man candy.
Casey picks me up at noon, and we head into downtown Phoenix. Zane meets us at the hotel where the expo is being held, already inside and checking out dresses.
Inside the expo center, we lose each other at some point, probably because I camped out at the wedding cakes sampling them. Who better to sample the cakes, but the girl who loves cake?
An hour later, I feel like my gut might explode and Casey finds me. It’s for the better. I probably would have eaten cake pops until my stomach did in fact explode just so I had a reason to leave.
Casey. . . she’s excited because she’s found exactly who she was looking for, Mr. Elliott Warren himself. From the many women passing by, I heard he was in attendance but really had no desire to actually meet the narcissistic asshole.
As you know, Casey has been searching for a photographer since she and Bryan got engaged on Christmas, but hasn’t had any luck. Mostly because she only wanted Elliott Warren. This meant she had a very specific mission today.
Word on the street is this dude is pretty much unattainable unless you know someone who can get in touch with him. It’s like he’s a damn mob boss. I half expect the guy to have bodyguards surrounding him.
“Amalie,” Casey’s voice shrieks, too excited. “You have to come meet him. He’s freaking hot too!”
She thinks everyone is hot, but I know exactly who she’s talking about.
“Doubt that.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly think of photographers as being hot, but I guess I don’t know any either. I’m not even entirely sure how Casey knows he’s hot, considering there are throngs of women around him and I’m only seeing bits and pieces of his body.
How can one guy be that damn special?
“He winked at me, Amalie. At me!” she says, pointing to herself. She looks so happy I don’t want to let her down, so I agree, against my better judgment and act excited.
“I’ll come meet the famous Elliott Warren,” I say, giving up because Casey’s relentless at times.
Grabbing another bite of the chocolate truffle cake and a bottle of water, I’m dragged away to the photographer area of the expo.
“Look, there he is.” Casey points to my left.
As soon as she points, I choke on the drink of water I just took. You wouldn’t believe it, or maybe you saw this coming all along, but standing there changing lenses while women drool over his every move is Tathan.
My Tathan.
With my mouth open gawking at him, he takes that exact moment to look up from his camera to meet my horrified stare. And then gives me a once over and winks. Naturally, this would be his reaction. Jerk.
I’m half tempted to run over there and punch him in the face or kiss him—one of the two is a good option.
Shifting my weight from one foot to another, like I have to pee, I glare my best “you must die” stare. And again, as if he knows he’s been caught, he smiles, practically laughing and motions with his finger for me to come over.
It’s everything I can do right then not to flip him off and mouth, “Fuck you,” at him.
“Have you met him before?” Casey asks, confused by his gesture. She looks closer, squinting at him. “Wait a second, I know that beard.”
“Are you blind?” I growl, angry he didn’t tell me this when I was expressing my hate for his work yesterday. “That’s Tathan Madsen!”
“As in the Tathan who lives next door to you? Tathan that we work with? Like Paul’s son? How did I not know this before?” she asks, awestruck eyes. “Wait. . . so that would mean that Tathan is Elliott Warren?”
“If it wasn’t for your math skills, I would think you were like nine years old,” I tell her, shaking my head in disbelief.
A light finally goes off and her eyes gloss over with excitement. “Oh my God. . . maybe he’ll take my photos!”
She pushes me forward. “You shoul
d go over there. It looks like he wants to talk to you.”
She just wants me to ask him to take her photos.
“Of course he does,” I snap, walking away. “I’m busy.”
“With what?”
“Tasting cakes.” I find the cake table again and shove a piece of chocolate mousse cake in my mouth. “We have to find the perfect chocolate cake.” I can’t think straight. My mind is a scrambled mess. How could I have not known who he was?
Casey follows me. “I thought most wedding cakes are white?”
“Does it matter?”
“Are you mad at him?” Casey tries to take the cake away from me so she can sample it.
I hand her a plate. “Yes, I’m mad.” German chocolate crumbs fly out of my mouth and onto Casey’s plate. Her eyes squint at the crumbs when I speak, not sure if she should be disgusted or listening to me. “I chastised his photography skills in front of him, making me look like an asshole, and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me that he was Elliott Warren or Tathan. He’s living a double life. Like Spiderman or Batman.”
“Maybe he was embarrassed after that,” she suggests. “You can be intimidating at times, Amalie.”
“Like when?”
“Like now. . . .” She sets down the plate. “Just go say hello. Maybe he has a reason for not telling you.”
Of course he does.
Maybe he does. . . I was kind of rude, wasn’t I?
I’m still angry though. He should have said something.
Casey looks like she’s about to defend him again, but I hold up my hand, stopping her. “Whatever. He should have said something.”
Wanting to change the subject away from me because I’m about to have a heart attack with how hard my heart is pounding, I eat. I continue keeping busy with the cake samples and the most delicious invention in the world. Cake pops.
I’m not sure who invented them, but they are pure genius. What’s better than cake on a stick that you can take anywhere and not get your hands dirty? And they are just so damn cute. They come in all sorts of flavors and colors with the most adorable decorations on the outside. A little slice of heaven. . . in a ball. . . on a stick. Sheer perfection.
