But that kiss.
Feeling suddenly flustered, I fumbled for my keys and lost my grip on my purse. Cox grabbed it almost before it left my hands.
“Got it?”
“Yeah. I’ve got it. Thanks.” I finally fished out my keys. “I had a nice time today.”
“So did I. I’ll have Cynthia hunt down some more houses for us to check out.”
Right. Houses. Back to business. “That sounds great.”
“All right, sugar. Have a good night.”
My eyes were downcast. I couldn’t make myself look up. I was too afraid of what I’d see. Would it be friendliness? Or heat?
And which did I want it to be?
I didn’t know. Or I did, and I was too chicken to admit it. And the thought of Cox walking into my crappy apartment, when he lived in a lakefront mansion, was suddenly a very overwhelming thought.
So I unlocked the door and went inside.
Damn it.
I went down the hallway and up the stairs to the third floor in a haze of confusion. Why was I so upset? Even if I did want something to happen with Cox, it wasn’t like tonight was my only chance. We’d still see each other, even if it was just to do more house hunting for my dad.
But I was unsettled. Uncertain.
And so distracted, I was in my apartment before it registered that the door had been unlocked.
Uh-oh.
I stopped in my tracks without shutting the door behind me, my heart suddenly pounding. Had I left the door unlocked all day? Although I tended to blunder through life, I was so careful about locking doors. This wasn’t exactly the best neighborhood.
And then I heard something in the bedroom. Through the partially open door, a shadow moved.
Someone was in my apartment.
19
Cox
Fuck. I should have kissed her.
Why hadn’t I kissed her? I could have. I knew I could have. And regardless of whether it had turned into a let’s go upstairs kiss or a goodnight and see you soon kiss, I should have done it.
Fuck.
I went back to my car and got in. Hit the steering wheel. I was out of my depth here. Flying blind. I hadn’t spent the day trying to woo Sophie into bed with me. I hadn’t spent the day trying to do anything specific, other than look at houses for her dad. The rest had just… happened. Even the rooftop picnic hadn’t been an attempt at getting in her pants, although it had been romantic as fuck. Had to give myself a little credit for that idea.
The lack of a clear objective made it hard to know what to do. I hadn’t meant to kiss her outside that house, but I had, and holy fuck it had felt good. Then I hadn’t tried to use the kiss as a way to suggest sex. Which was decidedly unlike me. But there was something about Sophie that was messing with my head. Messing with my mojo.
Shit.
Something on the passenger side floor caught my eye. Her leftovers. She’d forgotten to take them with her.
Maybe I had another shot. I could at least give her that goodnight kiss I seemed to want so badly.
Why my blood was running hot over the thought of just kissing a woman, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to waste more time on that line of thinking. I grabbed the bag and went back to her building.
The front door was locked. There was a call button, but before I could press it, someone came out. They paused and held the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said with a tip of my head.
I didn’t see an elevator, but there were stairs at the end of a narrow hallway.
The third floor hall was empty. A slight musty smell hung in the air and the carpet was faded almost beyond recognition.
I heard a muffled crash, followed by the start of a woman’s scream. The sound abruptly cut off, but adrenaline burst through my veins.
Sophie.
Another crash. Damn it, sugar, you didn’t trip over your own furniture, did you? I raced to apartment 311, and the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. Sophie hadn’t tripped. She stood like she was frozen, her back to the door, her hand covering her mouth.
Oh shit.
“Where are you?” a man’s voice bellowed from her bedroom. “Brenda? Where the fuck are you?”
I dropped the bag of leftovers and rushed to get in front of Sophie. I was about to back her out the door into the hall when the man barreled out of the room.
“Brenda, I know you’re here. Where is he? I’ll kill that motherfucker.”
His beard was streaked with gray and a beer gut strained his shirt. He was stocky and wide and seriously pissed off. Bloodshot eyes locked on me and his hands clenched into fists.
“You!”
Keeping Sophie behind me, I held my hands up. “Whoa, man. You’re in the wrong place.”
“Where is she?” he yelled. “Where’s Brenda? I know she’s here.”
“She’s not here. You have the wrong apartment.”
His head swung around in an exaggerated arc. The guy was drunk off his ass. “Brenda!”
“Buddy, she’s not here,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even.
“Is it you? Are you the one fucking my wife?”
I kept my hands up. “No, my friend. This isn’t my apartment. Look around. A man doesn’t live here.”
He looked around again. Sophie stayed behind me, her hands resting on my back.
“I live here,” she said, peeking around me. “My name’s Sophie and this is my apartment. And I’m definitely not sleeping with your wife.”
For some reason, that seemed to make him angrier. He roared and pushed over a bookshelf, sending the contents toppling to the floor.
Sophie let out a little shriek and ducked behind me again.
Fuck this guy.
My hand already clenching into a fist, I marched right up to him and hit him square in the face. Hard.
Pain exploded across my knuckles, but I didn’t give two shits. His head swiveled wildly and he flailed his arms to keep his balance. I grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall.
“Maybe your wife ain’t home because you’re a belligerent drunk asshole. Sober the fuck up. And if you get anywhere near my girl again, I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Got it?”
His cloudy eyes seemed to focus for the first time and he blinked at me. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit. You’re lucky I don’t knock your ass out for fuckin’ up my girl’s apartment.”
He sagged back against the wall, almost going limp. I let go.
A middle-aged man in a sweater and slacks appeared in the doorway with a cop at his side. “Miss Abbott? We heard a disturbance. Is everything—”
He stopped, taking in the scene.
“He broke into my apartment,” Sophie said, pointing at the drunk guy. “I think he’s intoxicated and looking for his wife. Obviously she’s not here.” She gestured toward me. “He’s with me.”
“Let’s go, buddy.” The cop came in and grabbed the drunk guy, then turned to Sophie. “I’ll get him out of here, then I’ll need to come back to get your contact information.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Fucking Brenda,” the guy muttered as the cop led him out.
“Are you okay, Miss Abbott?” the other man asked.
“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Miller. He didn’t hurt me.”