Chapter Two

Garrett

He opened his eyes and groaned.

His head was pounding, and his body felt like it had been hit by a Mack truck.

Closing his eyes tightly, he exhaled slowly and let his other senses wake up. He could hear a shower running, and he breathed in the light scent of the sheets below him.

Sweet.

Feminine.

Like sunshine and spun sugar.

Shit, what have I done?

He wracked his brain trying to remember, but all he could come up with was skinny hipster dipshits and Cupid.

Cupid?

He heard footsteps and carefully peeked through his dark lashes, ignoring the blinding pain from the daylight streaming through the bright white blinds in the room. He held his body still at the sight in front of him.

A woman.

In a green towel.

Damn.

She had million-dollar curves. Wet brown hair was dripping down her back and the sexiest shoulders he had laid eyes on. She had what looked like ink peeking out at the center of her back. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it intrigued him. He tried to shake his mind awake to remember if he had been up close and personal with that ink and those curves.

Nothing.

But his eyes roamed lower, down the terrycloth-wrapped body, and his breathing almost stuttered. She had a great ass. Perky and more than a handful. Even though she was wrapped up in a towel, he could see it would make a man weak at the knees. Fuck.

Wouldn’t he remember an ass like that?

She took out baby pink panties with creamy lace edging, and his heart stopped. He didn’t know why, but as tempting as it was to look, he pretended to sleep. His eyes shut, and he fought to keep his breathing slow and steady. He didn’t stir. Not once. Not as she moved around the room, flitting one way then another, obviously trying to be quiet. He didn’t even smirk when he heard her mutter cute little things under her breath. She was oblivious to his playing possum.

She was fucking cute.

He heard her step into the bathroom, and it wasn’t until the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place sounded that he dared open his eyes. Taking in the small but clean space, he liked what he saw. The room was a bright white, obviously feminine in décor.

Bohemian.

It reminded him of his grandmother. Gypsy flair and femininity were strewn around with bright prints, yet there was a simplicity about it. It confounded him.

Bright simplicity.

There was a dull pounding behind his temples, but he ignored it. He needed to get the hell out of there. He stood, and as quietly as he could manage, he grabbed his shoes and socks, his wallet and phone from the nightstand beside him, and got the hell out of Dodge.

Someone as bright and pretty as the woman changing deserved someone better, that was for sure. His hand on the doorknob, he stopped. Images of Cupid helping him into the run-down but clean apartment popped in his head. He had said something, and she’d laughed. He could remember in the recesses of his mind that he liked the sound, even if he couldn’t quite recall it.

A broken lamp on the couch caught his eyes, and it brought back another memory. He had stumbled as she locked the front door, and it had broken. Damn it. She had helped him, and he had ruined her place.

Don’t worry, it didn’t match anything here anyhow, he could hear her voice say in his ear, the soft sweetness of her voice ingrained in his memory.

A pad of paper and pen on the coffee table caught his attention, and he took the few steps toward it.

He was an asshole. He was the king of douchebags when he wanted to be, but at that moment, he couldn’t get himself to leave without at least saying thank you.

He rapidly jotted down a quick note, adding his number at the end, asking her to call him so he could pay her back for the broken lamp and make up for being a nuisance.

She had taken care of him, after all.

Glancing at his phone, he frowned. It was Monday. Shit. She had taken care of him for two days? He put the notepad over the broken lamp, so she wouldn’t miss his note, before slipping out of the apartment and figuring out how the hell to get back home.

Stefanie

I sat on the closed-lidded toilet seat long after the front door opened and shut. I didn’t sneak a peek. I could have. But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there, long after having done my makeup and hair. Completely and utterly unsure of what I felt.

The tall giant had slipped out of my place like a thief in the night after I had stressed over him the entire weekend. I’d worried if I had made the right call bringing him back to my place instead of running him to the hospital. He was obviously fine.

And utterly ungrateful.

Whatever. Nothing new. Selfish people who didn’t stick around were my forte. It was for the best. Closing my eyes, I tried to shake off the negative emotions bubbling up to the surface.

Negativity is a waste of energy, I reminded myself as I got up and looked in the mirror. It was the start of a new work week, and the man who I had freely gawked at, had taken care of, and had made me giggle in his small lucid moments was gone. It was for the best. It wasn’t like I would have been comfortable leaving for work with him here.

Stepping into my room, even though I had heard his ungracefulness stomp around like a bull in a china shop, I couldn’t help feeling disappointment at the emptiness. He was gone. The giant had taken up so much space, and even though I didn’t like being cramped, I found I didn’t mind him in my space.

Grabbing my purse and cell phone, I walked out to the living room. I scowled as I went to pick up the broken lamp.

Fuck! I’m so sawry, Coopid, he had muttered and slurred in my ear as I had bent to pick up the pieces of the broken light. His body had been so warm, heat had radiated off him like a heater. I’d turned to tell him not to worry, and even bloodied and beat up, smelling like a bottle of whiskey, he had given me head-to-toe shivers.

My notepad lay on top of it. Masculine scribble on it.

Sorry for the inconvenience this weekend.

Call me to replace the lamp.

Garrett

Garrett. The name fit him. His number was chicken scratched below, and I looked at it. Tempted to throw it away with the pieces of the lamp.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I set the notepad back on the coffee table, picked up the lamp, and went on my merry way.