“Mortensen.” She patted her hair absently, her cloudy-eyed gaze straying down to his chest. “Mrs. Mortensen. Though I’m widowed, actually.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or pull his jacket together in the front and cut off her view. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She waved a hand in the air. “Years ago.”
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to burn a hole through his black T-shirt. “Well, lovely to meet you, Mrs. Mortensen. If I could ask just one more favor?”
Her eyes went slightly glazed behind her glasses. “Uh huh.”
He pressed his lips together to keep them from twitching. “Would you mind sticking right here for a moment? Just in case I got the wrong apartment and need help again. I think it’s supposed to be 7G, but . . . ”
She nodded absently. “Yes, dear, I can watch you for a moment.”
This time, there was no fighting the grin. Luckily, Mrs. Mortensen’s gaze was locked on his body as he backed away slowly, so she missed it.
He felt the elderly woman’s gaze hold his backside as he made his way toward Cassidy’s door and rapped his knuckles three times.
Half a second after a shadow passed in front of the peephole, he heard a gasp.
“Go away,” said a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
The sound of Gamer Girl’s voice did funny things to the tiny hair follicles all over his body, bringing them to standing attention. How her voice managed to be panic-pitched and husky at the same time, he had no idea.
He leaned toward the door, the weight of Mrs. Mortensen’s curious gaze still heavy. “Um, it’s me.” Now, why would you say that? As though that would mean anything to her.
“I know who it is. Go.”
He darted a sideways glance toward Mrs. Mortensen, but the lady was still laser-focused on his body and not betraying the slightest indication she was listening to their conversation. Her gaze was now resting solely on his biceps where they barely fit into the sleeves of his jacket, a sizing he’d done purposefully.
Okay, time to pull out the big guns. He leaned in toward the door. “Mrs. Mortensen here helpfully pointed out your door for me. You don’t think we should talk about what happened? When I saw you through the window, you seemed to be struggling with something. Something master—”
Another gasp. “Don’t you dare.”
“—ful and important.”
The door jerked open, and he caught his first up-close glance of Gamer Girl. He dimly heard Mrs. Mortensen say, “Oh, hello, Cassidy, dear.”
Cassidy was clothed again—more’s the pity—in jeans and a white T-shirt sporting Batgirl, Supergirl, and Wonder Woman, which read Anything Boys Can Do, Girls Can Do Better. Features he hadn’t really been able to place in their across-the-alley interactions thus far now stood out in stark relief. Namely, Gage found himself entranced by the constellation of freckles across her pert little nose, which wrinkled in the most adorable way as she glared at him.
Huh. Guess I like freckles. That was something he hadn’t known before this moment. It was hard to drag his gaze away from the sight of those sweet little dots, but drag it away he did, only to discover that her eyes were green. Vivid green, like just-mown grass. Bracing himself, he checked out her hair, which had always been a shadow from his apartment.
Red. She’s a fucking redhead.
Something went ping in the general location of his heart. Or maybe that was just his groin—he did tend to confuse the two when it came to women, but he’d thought he’d moved past that in recent years. As, despite the beating it had taken from his recent client, his dick began to stir behind his fly, he breathed a silent sigh.
Groin it is. Thank God.
Cassidy ducked her head out into the hallway, saw Mrs. Mortensen standing there blinking their way, and glared at Gage with renewed vitriol. “What are you doing here?” she hissed in a barely audible voice.
The question of the hour. “Uh.” Gage shuffled his fingers through his hair, his gaze sliding from hers to a spot just over her shoulder. “I thought this would be helpful after seeing you in a compromising position through the window?” Was he asking her? Jesus. “But, this was a bad idea. Obviously. You wouldn’t want to talk to me after—”
He didn’t get another word out. Next he knew, Cassidy was gripping his wrist with surprising strength. “Good night, Mrs. Mortensen!” she called down the hall. Then she hauled him into her apartment with a quick jerk. He managed to duck his head just in time to avoid beaming himself. She slammed the door behind them.
He blinked down at her tiny fingers wrapped around his skin.
“What the fuck, man!”
His gaze jerked up to hers. Her green eyes were wide, and her freckle-marked nose was wrinkled again—damn it. He raised his eyebrows. “Uh,” he said again, brilliantly.
“You can’t say shit like that in front of Mrs. Mortensen!”
He frowned. Had he said anything incriminating? He was having trouble remembering with the delicate pressure of her touch clouding his mind.
“She attends Mass, like every day, and I’m pretty sure she had all four of her kids through immaculate conception.” Cassidy shook her head sorrowfully, as though she couldn’t believe he could be so dumb.
Say something. Say something! “Immaculate conception? Well, then, she’s probably very familiar with what you were doing earlier.”
Silence.
Shit.
Cassidy’s lips formed a small O. Her lips were speckled with a few of their own freckles, and that hunger that brought him over here in the first place gained ferocity. She cocked her right eyebrow, and when there was a corresponding glint of light, he spied a delicate gold ring.
Ah, fuck. He was a sucker for piercings. Does she have more I can’t see yet?
Yet? Double fuck! Just what was he planning here?
Cassidy dropped her hand from his wrist, and he cringed. Invade her personal space. Make an inappropriate sex joke. Fantasize about hidden piercings.
He was just opening his mouth to apologize and make a hasty exit when she tossed her head back and laughed.
Really laughed. From deep in her belly. It was so loud, it echoed through her small apartment.
He caught himself drinking in the sight of her throat as it worked hard to accommodate such a big sound.
Cassidy’s head abruptly straightened, her gaze meeting his. He shifted his feet, clearing his throat a little. Had she caught him staring at her?
She didn’t seem to notice that he had been. She dashed tears of laughter from her eyes with the back of her hand. “This day has been some shit.”
His brows drew together. Was this where he apologized?
Cassidy turned her back on him and walked into the kitchenette at the other end of her living space. She opened the fridge and bent over. Several clinks of glass ensued, which he barely heard. Was he supposed to let himself out? He tried with all his might to keep his eyes off her ass. Small, the perfect round fit for his hands, and thrust in the air: his absolute favorite.
When she stood and made her way back to him, she carried a beer bottle in each hand. She shoved one his way, and he accepted it automatically.
“Cheers, neighbor.” She clinked her bottle against his, twisted the top, and proceeded to guzzle half the bottle in one draw.
“Cheers,” he muttered, twisting off his own bottle cap. He didn’t take a drink though. Usually, he never felt awkward in social situations.
The fact that seemed to be changing clogged his throat too much to allow room for something like a sip of beer.
She hooked her beer bottle with one finger and held her other hand out to him. “May as well introduce myself since you’ve . . . you know.”
“Seen you naked?” He gritted his teeth. I swear to God, if I could kick my own ass . . .
She cocked that pierced brow again. “Yes.” She wiggled her still-hanging-out-there hand, and he took it. “Cassidy.”
“Mrs. Mortensen told me,” he confessed.
Cassidy’s lips twisted. “Of course she did.”
“I knocked on her door first.” The word vomit just kept coming. “So you would feel more comfortable talking to me.” He rolled his beer bottle between both palms. “You know, because Stranger Danger and all that. I hoped her knowing I was here would put you at ease.”
She smirked. “Oh, yeah, sure. Like that makes a difference. You could just kill her, too.”
He froze, his beer bottle clinking against the ring he wore on his middle finger. “Whoa.”
Cassidy winced. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as it came out of my mouth. That took a turn, didn’t it?”
He nodded his head. “A dark one.”
Cassidy sighed and tapped her temple. “Can’t seem to turn off the writer brain.”
A writer? She peered up at him, her nose wrinkling, and this third sighting of what appeared to be a common mannerism of hers had just as potent of a reaction from his gut as the first one had. So damn hungry.
“You aren’t here to kill me, right?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Definitely nope.”
“Then we might as well sit down.” She started walking toward the two gaming chairs that served as the only seats in her living room. He looked around the apartment for some sort of clue. Was that it? He’d passed her inquisition just by assuring her he wasn’t there to kill her? There had to be more.
“You never told me your name, by the way.” She flopped into one of the low-to-the-ground leather chairs.
Ah, here it came. He cleared his throat. “Gage.” He crossed to the free chair and sank into it. The damn thing was way more comfortable than it’d appeared across the room.
She looked at him silently for a moment, her gaze traveling from his face to all over his body.
Every muscle he had stiffened, and the non-muscle between his legs perked up, too. It’d taken her long enough to notice his appearance. It usually happened much sooner.
What was she thinking as she took him in? Why do I care?
“Gage,” she repeated. She took another swig of beer. “It fits you.”
“Thanks.” It should suit him. He’d intentionally picked a name that would fit the persona he used at work. One that matched the leather jacket, the boots, the tight black clothes, the motorcycle.
She was still looking at his body, her green gaze heating up just a fraction.
Liking what she sees?
This was something he was more than used to, but with her, the focus only reminded him of what he did for a living and how he really wouldn’t mind doing it with her. “So”—he sloshed the beer around in his bottle—“want to talk about your shit day?”
Her gaze snapped back to safe territory, and she made a rough noise in the back of her throat. “Which part? The one where I helped put a sexist game on the market? The part where I almost got fired? Or—and this is my personal favorite—the part where I couldn’t even manage to rub one out so I could finally relax, and my hot neighbor caught me mid-failure?”
Hot neighbor? He straightened in his seat and tried to keep his voice neutral. “Any of it,” he said. Great. That husky rasp of a voice he’d let loose practically screamed, Let’s talk about sex, baby.
She laughed through her nose and brought her bottle to her lips. “Men,” she said into the mouth of the bottle so that it echoed through the space.
Damn. She’d noticed the horny voice, too. “I know.” He shrugged. “We’re obvious.”
“No shit.” She lowered the bottle a fraction and narrowed her eyes at him over it. “I just don’t get why you’d walk all the way over here for this. I mean, why? What are you, the patron saint of orgasms?”
He felt himself beginning to grin. Well, now that you mention it. She was just taking a sip of beer when he said, “Well . . . I’m a gigolo.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a huge swallow of beer.
“So”—he continued—“yes. I do answer prayers—for believers.”
Chapter Three
As she hacked up the huge gulp of beer she’d sent straight into her lungs, her eyes stung with tears. Gage’s form wavered, but the smug little smile he’d been wearing might have faded.
“Cassidy?” He leaned toward her.
She held out a hand, the coughs tapering off. “Did you say gigolo?” she managed to squeeze through her tight throat.
“Shit.” He set his beer bottle on the floor and leaned his elbows on his knees, which were almost up to his chest, he was so big in that short chair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry. I can go.” He braced to get up.
“No!” She was able to pull in a deep breath, and finally the tightness in her chest abated. “You didn’t scare me.” She leaned back in her chair, fingering the neck of her bottle as she struggled to get her heart rate back down to normal.
Scared? That was the last thing she was feeling right now. Hello, her new brother-in-law used to be a gigolo. But she couldn’t think about that too hard without her clit turning into an innie. Brother. Sex. Ew.
This huge guy sitting in her gaming chair, though?
No brotherly thoughts here, gorgeous. “A gigolo. Wow. That’s actually . . . ”
His deep brown eyes grew guarded.
“Fascinating,” she finished quickly. “It’s fascinating.”
The guarded look didn’t abate like she’d expected it to. Instead, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her writing brain smelled a good story. Want to grill the guy. But the way he was looking at her from the corners of his eyes, as though he knew she was holding back a slew of questions and what each and every one of them would be, made her bite her tongue. “You lucky bastard. So, you can sleep with whomever you want and you don’t have to be in a relationship after?”
She hadn’t bitten her tongue quickly enough.
His eyebrows shot up, hiding behind the thick locks of that midnight black hair that fell over his forehead.
Apparently, he hadn’t known what question she’d wanted to ask.
“Because,” she continued forging ahead into the awkward silence, “that sounds like heaven. I still have a hang-on from my last one-night stand, and it wasn’t even a good night.”
Gage cleared his throat and shifted around in his seat, but the guarded look disappeared from his eyes, so at least she was making progress. “Well,” he said, “not every night is good for me either, but, no, I don’t have be-in-a-relationship-with-me problems.”
She sighed. “You lucky bastard,” she said again.
Gage chuckled, and it rippled along her skin, seeming to pause at her nipples in a caress. Oh, hell. How was one guy this sexy?
He tilted his head, and his lips quirked. “Did you not hear the part where sometimes the sex is lousy? Or”—he raised his eyebrows again—“very much not what I’m into?”
That was his sob story? She snorted. “Like that’s different from normal single person sex.”
Gage narrowed his eyes at her. “Really. You’ve had to look someone in the eyes and tell them you love them while you’re wearing fucking cat ears and a painted-on nose and whiskers because she says she’ll pay you extra to do it?”
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.” She nearly dropped her beer bottle.
“But”—Gage tipped his bottle her direction in a mock cheers—“I didn’t have to date her afterward.”
Cassidy was pretty sure her mouth was hanging wide open. She licked dry lips and swallowed hard before attempting to speak. “Well, there’s your silver lining.”
His lips tipped up at the corners; they were incredibly full for a man’s lips. They’d be so soft, even if he kissed her roughly.
She shook her head and attempted to take another sip of beer only to discover the bottle was empty. That’d been fast. She set the empty bottle aside. Her belly was nice and warm. “I should have tried the cat thing with Chris.” Gage raised a brow in question. “My last one-night stand,” she clarified. “He’d have run awa
y then.”
“Ah.” He passed her his still-full beer bottle, which she accepted with a smile. “Live and learn. But he’ll give up quickly if you give it some time. How long ago did you guys sleep together?”
Cassidy set the full beer bottle down next to the empty one—she didn’t need another. As it was, the idea of sleeping with Gage was growing more and more attractive, and she didn’t need the second beer adding genius points to a very bad idea.
Is it? Is it a bad idea?
Cassidy clenched her fists and released them. “A year ago.”
His eyes widened. “As in, 365 days? You haven’t had sex with anyone in a year?”
“Yup.” Cassidy popped her lips on the p, and, swear to God, Gage seemed to notice. His gaze strayed from her eyes to her lips and lingered there for a moment. So, she returned the favor.
God, his lips were big. And beautiful. Like, Gage was pretty in a way that made men ostentatious. His hair was thick and fell to his shoulders. His height—well, she didn’t know how tall doors were, but he’d had to duck to get under hers. Yeah, his height alone could make a certain kind of girl cream her panties, and . . . Wait, was she wet?
Ah, damn, she was.
She shifted in her seat and looked elsewhere, but everything on him was big and beautiful. His big brown eyes, which were surrounded by thick lashes, may as well be out of a Manga novel, for Chrissake. And those lips. God, his chest that seemed to stretch on forever, framed by broad shoulders that filled that leather jacket to perfection. Huge thighs that bulged in his tight, black jeans. And, if foot size was any indication of dick size . . .
“Uh, Cassidy?”
She jerked her gaze back up to his face. “I wasn’t thinking about your dick.” She closed her eyes but not before she’d seen his flash. “Shit.”
Silence pervaded her apartment and grew oppressive.
Finally, Gage cleared his throat. “Hey, it’s okay. I was kinda thinking about my dick, too.”
Her eyes opened at that. And, of course, her gaze shot straight to the spot between his spread knees. Oh, holy . . . A very obvious erection started behind his fly and then continued down his left pant leg. For several hard, hard inches. It pushed against his inseam so clearly, she was tempted to wince. “Jesus, doesn’t that hurt?”
Stiff Competition Page 2
