It was a decision I’d regret forever.
What I wouldn’t do just to have one more moment with him.
After a few bites of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the doorbell rang, and I furrowed my brow as I stared at the door.
Who would come by? It was a Saturday, I didn’t even think anyone knew I was here.
I set my sandwich down, got up and looked through the peephole.
I recognized the face as Shane’s immediately.
He looked even better than he did in his selfie. A handsome young man with medium length blond hair, cheeks flushed red from the cold outside. Shane was tall, wore a black coat, and his jawline was so distinct, I’d recognize it anywhere.
We hadn’t exactly hit it off on the phone, so it was odd to me that he’d be just dropping in like he used to when we’d ride bikes.
“Can I help you?” I asked as I opened the door. A gust of cold wind blew inside, giving me a chill.
“You ordered a sex doll?” Shane said.
“Um, excuse me?”
“Are you going to let me in? It’s a little chilly out here. And your sex doll is getting cold.”
I opened the door for him, let him slip in, and closed it quickly.
“What do you mean, a sex doll?”
“That’d be me,” he winked. “I’m one hundred percent artificial intelligence.”
I rolled my eyes but a smile tugged at my face. I was happy to have anyone here joking, even if it was a bad joke.
“Yes, I was just thinking I was going to need a sex doll to keep me company while I’m here alone,” I said as I closed the door. “Wait. That came out weird.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the exact purpose of a sex doll, actually.”
“Oh. Right.”
Awkward.
Two days and no contact with anyone, and I’d already forgotten how to socialize.
As he took a few steps inside, his face scrunched up, and he looked very confused. “Why is it hotter than Satan’s dungeon in here?”
He started to take off his coat, and I stopped him, putting my hand on his bicep over the wool.
“Wait a second. What are you here for? Seriously.”
He sighed. “So you’re saying you didn’t order a sex doll?”
I rolled my eyes. “Stop being ridiculous. I don’t even know you. Anymore.”
“Let’s take a look at your internet search history. Don’t act like you haven’t googled some weird stuff.”
I crossed my arms and he acquiesced.
“Your mother called me. Said her condolences for Louisa and then told me she was worried about you being all alone here. She asked me if I could check up on you real quick. So I’m dropping in.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, I’m doing fine.”
Not saying anything for a moment, he clenched his jaw and stared at me as he finished taking off his coat.
He had on a red flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. If he’d taken that shirtless selfie yesterday, I’d be surprised, because the stubble on his face looked a few days old already. Or maybe he was a fast grower.
Fast grower.
There was a phrase that had me thinking very dirty thoughts about him.
His eyes were an intense, icy clear blue like the summer sky, and he ran them from my head to toe and back again.
I would have called him out for checking me out-blatantly--but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was checking for something specific.
“Are you?” he asked, his eyes locking back on mine.
“Am I, what?”
“Are you doing fine?”
Clearing my throat, I managed to hold back the tears behind my eyes. “I’m fine, yeah. I will be. It’s been tough, obviously. But I’ll get through it,” I said hoarsely, returning his stare. Finally, he turned away from me and walked down the hall, his boots sounding heavy every time they struck the floor.
“So is there a reason you are trying to simulate dessert heat in this house? Jesus Christ. What is it, Forty degrees Celsius in here?”
“Celsius? What’s that in regular degrees?” Shane started unbuttoning his flannel, which made my heart beat even faster.
“Regular degrees are whatever’s relative to you. They use Celsius in every country but the United States. My father was Canadian and used to say the temperature in Celsius, so it’s habit. It’s like ninety in here, Fahrenheit. At least.”
“Was Canadian?”
“He passed away when I was seventeen.”
When a loved one dies, you start referring to them in the past tense. That was just beginning to register for me, too.
Damn. He was too young to be without a father and a sister.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said, earnestly. I wanted badly to know the story, felt like there had to be a big story behind both deaths, but I didn’t want to pry.
Shane finished undoing the last button of his flannel and tossed it on the back of the seat, then flashed his eyes back toward at me. Now he had on only a ribbed rank top, and good God he was ripped. Shoulder so broad he looked like a roman statue. Chiseled, too.
My entire body flushed with heat, and I felt the need to swallow come on strong.
He stared back at me, and it was like his eyes said all the words he was refusing to say out loud. Everything about the man drew me in. He didn’t have a pretty boy tan like the beach bums and the club guys who hit on me in Florida. I bet Shane never used hair gel in his life. I also bet he knew how to at least change a tire, something that my last boyfriend was unable to do when our car broke down on the highway.
I don’t know if it was in spite of that, or maybe because of his radiating rawness, I felt drawn to him like I’d never been drawn to a man before. When I looked closer I noticed traces of scars on his forehead and arms. I didn’t want to ask what they were from, didn’t want to be that girl prying. Hockey fights, maybe? Real fights?
He was built like he’d win every fight he was in. Tall, long limbs, a lean body with rippling muscles. I wondered what else he did apart from hockey.
Yes, that was definitely his selfie. And that was probably an average photo at best.
But the thing that was the hottest—or maybe scariest (both?)—about Shane? His wolf-clear eyes that seemed to be churning out a million thoughts a minute. And not that I’m a mind reader, but something about him told me many of his thoughts were not of the pure nature.
And those eyelashes.
“I have a boyfriend,” I blurted out suddenly, when he took a step closer to me. I thought he was just moving toward me for no reason, and then he leaned down to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen from his shirt pocket when he tossed it on the chair.
I didn’t even know why I said that. I don’t have a boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend, in fact, is a lying asshole.
All saying it did was that when he stood back up, I felt silly.
He cocked his head slightly and smirked. “Oh really? How’s that going?”
“That’s…really not your business.”
“So your boyfriend wouldn’t like to know that you were requesting a dick pic from a stranger yesterday?”
I clenched my fists at my sides.
Just like I thought. A million thoughts a minute…
He continued, “Or is that just how you do things in Florida, Dino? Keep them nice and open?”