She had caution tape around her and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to rip it off and enter at his own risk. She was trouble and Lance lived his life steering as far clear of trouble as he possibly could.
His options were limited as far as available space in Harper’s Crossing. Financially, he could afford to take the time off while he was here, but emotionally…well, that was another story. Tattooing was his therapy, his meditation, religion, his safe space. He had a feeling he was going to need all of those things in the next few weeks.
Oscar disconnected the call and placed a sheaf of papers on the lone table that sat in one corner in the room, then turned and gave him an expectant look. “I have several other parties interested in the space.”
Lance knew that was bullshit. From the dust he’d noticed on the window sills, he’d guess this space had been vacant for at least a year. But even without the grimy clue, he knew Oscar was talking out of his ass. Lance could read people. It was a gift he’d always had, one that he’d mastered during the darkest time of his life. He didn’t blame Oscar for using a common sales tactic on him, it was his job.
“And like I said, I have another appointment.” Oscar continued his hard sell.
“I’ll take it.” Lance’s response had nothing to do with Oscar’s persuasion, and it was in spite of Leah.
Lance knew he’d need this refuge to face what he was going to have to face. Even if it meant sacrificing a little sanity thanks to the pink-haired hottie downstairs.
Chapter 3
Netflix and chill?
Leah read the text from the man that’d stood her up earlier, BigRod69.
No sorry. No explanation. Just a booty call.
That text was exactly the reason she’d made her resolution to give up men—or at least men she was attracted to. And Motorcycle Man was exactly the reason she knew she was being tested to see if she’d actually keep her vow.
Without so much as a simple response, she set her phone down.
The only chilling she’d be doing with her Netflix was of the wine variety. She picked up her large glass of vino with one hand and the remote with her other. She leaned back into her overstuffed couch cushions and flipped through her options for the programming she’d be enjoying this evening. On the solo tip, of course.
True crime was her lady jam and, thanks to a multitude of streaming services, there was a plethora of content at her fingertips. She scrolled through episodes of Snapped as she sipped her Pinot Grigio.
The past few months of living alone hadn’t been as liberating as she’d first imagined it would be. As fun as it’d been to walk around the house naked and play her music as loud as she wanted at first, each passing day brought her less and less joy. She’d come to realize that she just wasn’t cut out for that much alone time.
Her entire life, she’d looked at other people’s metaphorical yards—the ones who hadn’t shared a womb and their life with another human being—and thought the grass looked mighty green. But she’d been wrong. Living with Bea had been a garden utopia.
Literally.
Besides being the “responsible” one who did things like unload the dishwasher and make sure the front door was locked before going to bed, Bea also had more than just a green thumb—every single finger she had was green.
So, since she’d moved out three months ago, the front and back yard were in bad shape.
Adulting wasn’t exactly Leah’s forte. Or at least it hadn’t been. Things were going to be different now. It was time to grow up, hence her not dating men that she was attracted to.
Instantly, Lance’s face popped up in her mind. Or at least sprang to the forefront. If she were being honest with herself, his image had been constantly in her mind.
It was like the time she stared directly at the sun. Since their encounter this afternoon, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, but now his face was in sharp resolution.
She’d gone back in the shop and regaled Bea with the tale of her goosebump-inducing run-in. She’d even regaled her with the tale of him catching Oscar’s iPhone. Her ovaries had practically exploded when he effortlessly saved the device from crashing to the ground. Leah never knew that reflexes could be so sexy.
Bea’s interest had understandably been piqued. She’d even made several trips to the laundry room in an effort to catch a glimpse of Motorcycle Man, but he’d managed to slip away without her twin catching a sighting. She’d told her sister that he’d been sent to tempt her to the dark side. She’d explained to Bea that the universe was fucking with her, and her sister had dutifully listened to her complaints.
As the day went on, Leah had found it increasingly difficult to get the baritone-voiced stranger out of her mind. She’d kept replaying their interactions back in her head and coming up with wittier comebacks and more biting remarks. He’d certainly brought his A-game, but Leah had felt out of her depth. From the first moment she’d laid eyes on the brown-eyed, tattooed Adonis of a man she’d been knocked off balance.
That was unnerving for several reasons. First, she’d sworn off men that she was attracted to, and he lit her body up like the night sky on Fourth of July. And second, she kept thinking of his face.
Maybe for some people, that would’ve been normal. But Leah had always been a girl more interested in hands, arms, or other more exciting features below the neck—and belt.
In college, she’d taken two semesters of psychology, and if she were going to diagnose her aversion to connecting to men’s faces, she’d say it had to do with her issues with intimacy. Faces were…personal.
Much like Julia Roberts’ rule in Pretty Woman, where she was unwilling to kiss on the mouth, Leah refused to pay any attention to eyes, lips, cheekbones, or jawlines. The men she dated were faceless. She couldn’t recall the eye color of even one of them. Of course, she was using “dated” as a loose term.
So for her brain to be stuck on Motorcycle Man’s face when there were so many other parts of his body to appreciate had Leah feeling extremely un-Leah-like.
Wanting to get to her happy place, Leah scrolled through the episodes of Snapped. This was her version of Calgon. She read several descriptions before one caught her attention.
Liz Golyar: An investigation into the disappearance of an Iowa mother sends police in two states on a wild journey, during which they encounter a volatile love triangle, stolen identity, arson, and a relentless stalker.
Oh. Hell. Yes. She was a sucker for a love triangle.
“Liz Golyar, you’re up.”
She’d just pressed play when her phone vibrated and her sister’s face populated the screen.
“Guess what I’m doing,” she answered the phone in a way that never failed to drive Bea crazy, but always amused Leah. Since they were twins, people always asked if they had psychic ability. They didn’t, but Leah liked to tease Bea by “testing” the theory.
An audible sigh was followed by Bea’s response. “Watching something about murder and drinking wine.”
“We are psychic!” Leah exclaimed.
“Or I just lived with you for the better part of our thirty years.”
“Are you saying I’m predictable?” Leah infused as much disdain as possible into the four syllables. She was only half-kidding. Predictable and boring were bad words in Leah’s dictionary of living life to the fullest.
Again, she didn’t need to be Dr. Phil to realize that her aversion to a dull existence might’ve stunted her growth just a little.
“If there is one thing you are not, it’s predictable,” Bea assured her sister.
Thank God.
“I just left the hospital from visiting Kitty.”
“Oh, how is she?”
“She’s…okay.”
Leah didn’t need to have twin psychic abilities to read between the lines of Bea’s hesitancy.
An unwelcome lump formed in Leah’s throat. “Should I go see her?”
“No, no, no,” Bea rushed out. “I spoke to Dr. Gresham and she’s
stable. It’s just…she looks so frail.”
Leah remembered how tiny Bea had looked when she’d finally been allowed to visit her. It had been a shocking sight. Between Bea’s ashy skin tone and the tubes that were coming out of her nose, her arms, and even her stomach…the visual had traumatized her.
“But there is something you can do.”
“Anything,” Leah agreed.
“Doc mentioned that his grandson is in town and you know they don’t really have room since they moved into that—”
“Shack,” Leah inserted.
“Cottage,” Bea tactfully corrected. “Anyway, Doc said he needs a place to stay while he’s in town and I mentioned that you were looking for a roommate. So he should be there any minute.”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes. You know how Doc is. He was so excited when I mentioned it that he pulled out his phone and called his grandson right then and gave him the address. Is that okay? It all happened so fast.”
“It’s fine.” Leah’d been planning on putting out an ad for a roommate, and the Taylors were practically family. She wouldn’t need to do a background or credit check.
It was going to be strange having a roommate. Well, of the male variety at least. She’d shared a womb with her twin sister, then a bedroom, then a dorm room, and finally this house. But now Bea was off living her best life with her new hubby and for the first time in her life, Leah was on her own.
“Oh, CJ’s calling.” Bea sounded like a giddy schoolgirl whose crush was calling her, not a grown woman receiving a call from her husband, and Leah couldn’t be happier for her. “See ya tomorrow. Love you.”
The line disconnected and a now-familiar melancholy settled over Leah. Over the past few months, things had changed. Drastically. Bea had gotten married, moved out, and took the dogs with her. Sure, Leah got to see Indy, Bagel, and her sister every day at the shop, but it wasn’t the same as living with them. She missed them. All of them.
Leah wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity or revel in moodiness. She was of the mindset that if someone didn’t like something in their life, they should change it. And that’s exactly what she was going to do. This was just one more indication that things needed to change. She needed to grow up and have a real relationship.
Determination rose in her once more. No more dating men she was attracted to. She was doubling down on that. Once her hormones got a vote, things went off the rails. They could not be trusted.
They’d had a good run, after all. Her hormones had been in charge since hitting puberty. Now it was time for her head to take the reins.
It was counterintuitive for her, but her intuition had gotten her into this mess. Now cool, clear, level-headed thinking was going to get her out.
She needed someone that was stable. Honest. Dependable. Someone that she spent more time talking with than doing the nasty. Someone with normal-sized hands and a dad bod. Someone who drove an economy car.
A knock at the door interrupted her internal dialogue.
On the way to answer it, she glanced around the house and wondered what he’d think of it. She realized that she may have some growing up to do in other areas besides her romantic life.
Dishes were piled in the sink. The table was covered in to-go containers. One…two…three empty pizza boxes strewn on the coffee table.
Maybe she should’ve straightened up. Oh well, it’s not like she’d had a ton of notice.
If cleanliness was next to godliness, then she was far from holy. Not that she needed that comparison to come to the same conclusion. No one ever accused her of being a saint, unlike Leo, the Taylors’ grandson. In fact, every time Kitty talked about him, she actually used the term saint.
A small smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she wondered what sort of an impression she’d make on the straight-laced boy scout who’d spent the past few years in a third world country with Vets Across the Globe, the veterinarian equivalent of Doctors Without Borders.
Doc and Kitty spoke so highly of Leo. He’d served in the military and then gone on to become a large animal vet, following in his grandfather’s footsteps. He volunteered, and also ran marathons to raise money and awareness for several causes, including neglected animals, a women’s shelter, and underserved youth. On paper, he was the “perfect” man.
She’d never seen any pictures of Leo, but Kitty had described him as a “clean-cut, all-American hunk” in the way only a grandma could brag on someone. Or at least that’s what Leah assumed, since she’d never really known her own grandparents. Both sets had died before the twins were five.
Kitty loved to say that Leo was the spitting image of “Captain America in those hero movies.” Chris Evans was attractive, but the superhero wasn’t Leah’s type at all.
As she grabbed the doorknob, a thought hit her like a Mack truck.
He wasn’t her type. But that was exactly what she was looking for. She’d sworn off any man that caused her naughty bits to tingle, so maybe he was exactly who she needed.
If the universe or God or karma had been responsible for this afternoon’s run-in in the laundry room, perhaps the same forces were practically gift wrapping a “clean cut, all-American hunk” and delivering him on her doorstep.
Hey, maybe things were looking up!
She opened the door with a wide smile, which disappeared the moment she saw who was standing on the other side due to her jaw dropping straight down to the ground.
Instead of Captain America, it was Motorcycle Man. The anti-hero who was exactly her type. And her lady parts were definitely tingling.
* * *
Lance blinked, convinced that he must be seeing things. He’d ridden all night to get to Harper’s Crossing, then spent the day setting up his temporary shop. He’d had about twelve cups of coffee and half a dozen energy drinks.
This was a caffeine-induced figment of his imagination. Must be.
The smart-mouthed, pink-haired girl of his dreams had just opened the door and was now standing in front of him. She’d traded in her cutoff jeans for cutoff sweats, and her white tank top for a loose white V-neck T-shirt.
Her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup and her bright pink hair was up in curlers. She was even more stunning, more beautiful, more breath-taking than the first time he’d seen her and, just like he had in that moment, he now found himself at a loss for words.
“What are you doing here?” Leah finally asked, a little breathless.
Lance inhaled through his nose and mentally slapped himself. Every time he saw this woman it was like the wind had been knocked out of him. She figuratively—and damn near literally—brought him to his knees. His legs felt like jelly and he wasn’t sure if that was due to the lack of sleep and subsequent caffeine overdose, or the woman in front him, who he would’ve bet had dropped greater men than him to their knees.
But it didn’t actually matter if his physical response was because of her or his lack of sleep and unhealthy sugar and coffee intake. He needed to get his shit together.
He glanced down at the address his grandpa had given him then double-checked it with the numbers beside the front door. Yep. They matched.
“I’m here about a room for rent.”
Her perfect lips parted as her jaw dropped. “You’re the Taylors’ grandson?!”
He wasn’t sure why that was so unbelievable.
“I am.”
“Are you sure?”
She blinked and shook her head, seemingly unable to accept that information as the truth. Her arm raised and she looked up and yelled, “Is this a joke?!”
“You stole my line.” He’d said the same when she’d asked if he was Big Rod Sixty-nine.
“You don’t look like Captain America.”
He wasn’t sure if he should take that as an insult, a compliment, or merely an observation. But like most things that came out of Leah’s mouth, he hadn’t expected to hear it.
“You don’t look like Cinderella.” Never in a million years did he think
he’d say that to someone, yet there he was.
“She’s a princess,” Leah snapped back. “Captain America is a superhero.”
Right.
Damn, this girl kept him on his toes. He was going to say that she didn’t look like Black Widow, but he couldn’t. She did have a little Scarlett Johansson vibe about her.
“Fine. You don’t look like Wonder Woman.”
She gasped, looking offended at his statement. Her shoulders straightened and she stood taller. “I am Wonder Woman.”
“If you’re waiting for me to say I’m Captain America, it’s gonna be a long night.”
Her lips twitched before she explained, “Kitty told me that you looked like Captain America.”
This conversation suddenly became much less confusing. This was a classic case of mistaken identity. His cousin Leo was the spitting image of Chris Evans in those movies.
He shook his head. “No. She—”
“Yes. She did.” Leah interrupted him before he could explain that there’d been a misunderstanding. “Several times.”
Usually, when people argued with him about things they obviously knew nothing about, it frustrated him. With Leah, he had the exact opposite response. For some reason he found her cutting him off and restating her claim adorable, no matter how misguided her belief might be.
“No. She was talking about my cousin. Leo.”
“You’re not Leo?” Now she really seemed confused.
“I’m Lance.”
“Lance?” she repeated his name as if it were the first time she’d heard it.
Which it probably was.
He wasn’t surprised that she only knew about his cousin. Leo’d grown up with their grandparents. His cousin had served in the Navy, just like their grandfather, then followed him into the same profession. And now Leo was overseas working in impoverished countries, teaching local people basic veterinary practices so they could treat animals and make a living once the organization moved on.
Lance, in contrast, had only met his paternal grandparents a few times. He remembered his grandfather and grandmother coming to see him and taking him to a park when he was around five or so. Then there had been the zoo, when he was about eight. The last time he remembered them visiting he was ten. They took him to Chelsea Piers.
Just One Look - Leah and Lance (Crossroads Book 15) Page 3
