Natalie: Just send me the details.
Hopefully by tonight, my knee will be in better shape.
There’s also a new text in the group chat I have going with Richard, Luke, and Andreas—the guys who graduated with me the night before last. They want to meet up one last time before everyone goes their separate ways. I agree to dinner and drinks on Tuesday just before the front door opens and Connor and Noah stroll in laughing. My brother is carrying a football, and they’re both sweaty and in workout clothes. They must have just played a pickup game at the park or something. I can only imagine the spectacle they caused as women strolled by, expecting to go about their day without realizing they were about to stumble upon a bunch of hunky men engaging in daring feats of athleticism. Had I passed them during my run, I would have tumbled over my feet, distracted, and probably injured my other knee.
Noah tosses his friend the football over his shoulder, and after Connor catches it with ease, he nestles it against his chest with one arm. A cocky grin forces one of his dimples to come out to play.
The image catapults me right back to the image of high school as seen in every American TV show and movie: the star quarterback strolls into the cafeteria with his group of adoring fans trailing in his wake.
Maybe it’s the sweat-stained T-shirt, or the Nikes, or the workout shorts. Maybe it’s the damp messy hair or the pronounced veins in his muscled forearms. Whatever it is, I can’t take my eyes off him.
“Where were you this morning?” Noah asks, jarring me out of my reverie.
I jerk my gaze down to my knee. “Running.”
He spots my ice pack and frowns before making his way into the kitchen for some water. “You need to take it easy.”
Yeah, well, you need to think before you invite my fantasy-come-to-life to move in with us. I needed the run to clear my head.
I shrug. “I was in the zone. Wasn’t paying attention until it was too late.”
My attention shifts to Connor as he strolls into the living room instead of following my brother into the kitchen. He nears, drops his football onto the coffee table, and then bends down to assess my knee. He lifts the ice pack off my leg and brushes his fingers against my skin. I jump.
Then laugh.
Because why did I jump? It’s not like I was taken by surprise.
I scramble for an excuse he’ll buy. “Sorry, you shocked me.”
It’s not really a lie. He did shock me.
The feel of his hands on me was shockingly intimate.
“It’s a little swollen,” he says, voice steady as he reaches out for my other leg so he can compare the two. His thumbs brush my inner thighs as he rotates my legs gently, and my stomach dips on impulse. Goosebumps bloom across my skin. His eyes flit up to mine and holy hell, can he tell what his touch does to me? Does he know how indecent it is that I’m feeling this way with Noah standing only a few feet away?
I catch a whiff of his sweat. It should be gross, but it’s not. That musk mingles with his body wash and it’s like I’ve never seen a more virile, sexual man in all my life.
“You should think about getting another cortisone shot,” he says, standing up.
Is it my imagination or are his blue eyes clouded over with something?
Longing?
Yeah right.
“I plan on it. First thing tomorrow.”
My voice is embarrassingly unsteady.
I turn, drop my feet off the couch, and stand up. My knee twinges with pain, but I grin and bear it, worried Connor will insist I sit back down so he can tend to me some more. All the hard work and progress I managed on my run has been wiped clean because he barely skimmed his hands across my legs. I’m hopeless.
Connor hasn’t moved away yet. He’s a six-foot-something statue I have to brush past if I want to get away and collect myself. My arm makes contact with his chest and I scurry into the kitchen like my ass is on fire.
“Want to get lunch with—” Noah starts to ask me.
“Can’t! I have plans!”
Those plans consist of cleaning the guest house from top to bottom, showering, picking out an outfit I’ll wear for drinks with Lindsey, and finally, reading a super spooky mystery from start to finish and then immediately regretting it because now I think I’ll have to sleep with my lights on later.
Connor and Noah are grilling chicken out back when I emerge from the guest house, dressed to meet Lindsey at the bar. Noah’s relaxed in a lawn chair, nursing a beer. Connor’s standing at the grill with his back to me.
When Noah sees me, he whistles teasingly, which of course draws Connor’s attention. He closes the lid on the grill and turns to glance at me over his shoulder. I’m determined to forge ahead as calmly as possible, focused on the stone path instead of him. I feel like I’m under a spotlight with his attention on me. I’m not really someone who cleans up nicely on an average day. I’m hopeless when it comes to my hair and makeup. My clothes exist in exactly two categories: business casual and denim. There’s not much else. What you see is what you get. Still, I feel Connor’s gaze on me, assessing me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking.
“Want to stay for dinner?” Noah asks. “We’ve got plenty of food.”
“Thanks, but I’m meeting Lindsey for drinks and I don’t want to be late.”
Connor doesn’t say a word as I pass them and hurry into the house.
As I sit in the Uber on the way there, I consider the fact that Noah is leaving soon. He won’t be around to act as a human buffer. Connor and I will be alone in that townhouse without any adult supervision.
Cue shivers and a mild panic attack.
The bar Lindsey picked is in the theater district. It’s packed to the gills with people because apparently it only opened a few days ago and everyone who’s anyone is here. Lindsey loves dragging me to places like this because she’s on the hunt for love and believes in playing the odds. She thinks the busier a bar is, the higher chance she has of meeting someone special.
I argue that it’s the exact opposite. We can barely hear ourselves think in here.
“Don’t look now, but those guys are checking us out,” Lindsey near-shouts at me.
“Really?”
I look.
“Natalie, I said don’t look!”
I flinch and jerk my gaze over to the bathrooms quickly, like I want to make sure I know right where they are in case of an emergency.
“Better—thank God. Okay, they’re headed over. Be cool.”
Impossible.
“Hey.” A smooth, deep voice carries over the crowd. “Mind if we join you two?”
Lindsey grins, her beauty blinding us all. “Sure thing.”
I mumble inaudibly, something akin to, “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
The two suited men steal the remaining barstools at our cocktail table so that I’m facing Lindsey and they’re facing each other. Everyone has to lean in close so we can hear the conversation. Introductions are made. Mike and Owen are like two peas in a pod. They’re both wearing black suits with shiny shoes and designer cuff links. Their skin is deeply tanned like they’ve laid out in the sun for too long. The only real difference between them is that Mike’s hair is thin and wispy, all but gone up top while Owen’s is long, hanging down across his forehead, to the point where he keeps having to swipe it away. It’s like he’s overcompensating for his friend. When the waiter comes by, Mike opens a tab, and while searching for his credit card, he accidentally (on purpose) flashes the key to his Jaguar. Oh weird, how’d that get here?