ANDI

My eyes flittered over the passing sights; there was so much to take in and not enough time to absorb it all. I couldn’t believe I was here…in New York City. I secretly pinched my thigh just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I had been out of Austin before, plenty of times, but I had only traveled from my Texas home to Bradley’s family vacation home in Florida. No sightseeing or spontaneous detours along the way. No life affirming journeys that took me to unexpected places where I might meet unexpected people. I had been far too quiet and reserved to brave anything outside of my normal routine. Now I was in the city, the big city, and it was so…big. It was intimating, like dropping a duck in the middle of the ocean and saying swim for the shore little guy. If the threat of drowning wasn’t enough, there were sharks in that big damn ocean. Big, powerful, greedy sharks with razor sharp teeth. Oh yeah, I was a scared little duck, but there was no way in hell I would let the sharks see my fear. I was, after all, the new Andi Jennings, the girl who tried everything once. I could dance—waltz, street, pole, lap—you name it and I had taken a class in it. I could change a flat tire and plate up the world’s greatest Tiramisu, I could drink most men under the table, and I could throw a mean punch. A real punch too, not some pansy open fisted sissy slap. The awkward loner was gone. In her place was a confident woman embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. I’d survived the gangly teenage years when being a nerdy redhead and wearing glasses was not cool. If I could handle that, I could handle anything. There was no way I was going to let the city intimidate me. You hear that city? You try and screw with me and I will screw with you right back. I sighed as I took in a bunch of women in immaculate suits, their hair in elegant twists and knots, long legs, beautiful high heels finishing the purely feminine look. As the car slowed for a red light, the women glanced to one side and noted my companion. The big damn gorgeous shark sitting beside me, Decker, gave them a charming smile and waved, and they smiled seductively back, filled with a confidence and ease that I always found difficult. Meh, who needed pretty shoes and pencil skirts anyway?

As the car pulled away from the light, I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back. I glanced across at Decker. Holy mother of stunning men had he changed. He had always been hot, and I had harbored the most intense crush on this man for more than half of my life. But now, hot didn’t even embody what Decker had become. He was stunning. Even with the pouty scowl and brooding furrowed brow he was sporting, he was still the most handsome man I had ever seen. I had no idea what the moping was all about, that wasn’t the Decker I remembered. That Decker had been cocky, handsome, and full of laughter. This Decker seemed…harder, yet still eye candy on a stick. With a strong jawline covered in a ruggedly handsome growth of hair laced with a few errant stray grays, it was a little on the out of control, wild, caveman side, but I liked it. His eyes were a golden, honey brown that I could get completely and utterly cliché lost in. His hair was long enough to rake your hands through, and his smile, however slight it had been, was still as mischievous and playful as I remembered. And that body. My eyes took a leisurely tour from head to toe: tall, wide shoulders and chest, defined biceps, narrow waist, long legs. It was the kind of body that should never be covered. This was the kind of body that women became a drooling mess of dumb over. As my eyes returned back to his face, my mind snapped back to the here and now with the force of a taut rubber band. The car had stopped for yet another red light, and Decker was watching me with an amused smirk on his face. Yep, Decker was still the arrogant ass I remembered. He might be devilishly handsome, but he had an ego the size of Texas and then some. I had always found Decker to be one hundred percent, Grade A, top shelf, arrogant male, and he knew how to work the charm to get what he wanted. Extra mayo on his sandwich, the MTV channel, the bigger bedroom…girls. As a quiet, awkward teen, I had sat back and watched Decker turn on his charisma while vacationing with Bradley and his family. I had witnessed a seventeen-year-old Decker Steele turn a sixteen-year-old Sarah Worthers into a starry eyed Decker fanatic in less than twenty-four hours. I had watched him kiss and fondle her under the star lit skies of a warm Florida beach, only to spy him doing a whole lot more than kiss and fondle Amanda White two nights before on that very same beach. It’s not like I had been purposefully stalking Decker as a young girl. He was a handsome bad boy who garnered my female appreciation, I’ll admit that, but I would never lower myself to become one of his many.

“Like what you see, Country?” He chuckled, bringing my attention back to the present. I was mortified, but I wasn’t about to let the sinfully wicked shark know that.

“You’ve changed,” I observed.

Decker lifted a brow before throwing the car back into gear and driving onwards once again. “I could say the same about you. Looks like puberty finally caught up and made you a woman.” His eyes raked hungrily over my breasts, and I fought the urge to cross my arms protectively over my girls. I kept my smile plastered on though and shrugged.

“A breast man, figures.” I snorted

Decker’s brow raised. “You’ve been in my presence all of thirty minutes and you already presume to know who I am?”

Ohhhh, sensitive much? “Please,” I scoffed, emphasizing the ‘P’. “The way you checked out those women back there and me just now? Don’t go deluding yourself into thinking you’re different, Decker, you’re simply a male and afflicted with the inability to look beyond breasts and ass at first glance.”

At that he grinned. “Just like you eye fucked me just now? And for the record, I’m a ‘female’ man. Tits, ass, legs, hips, lips, especially lips,” he purred.

“And still crude,” I murmured.

“And still a prude,” was Decker’s retort.

“I’m not a prude,” I balked.

“The jury is still undecided on that. You’re not off to a good start. And the old Andi wouldn’t have eye fucked me just now,” Decker continued.

I shrugged unable to deny I wasn’t checking him out. “The new Andi hopes you enjoyed it; it’s the most a man like you will get out of her.”

Decker snorted. “Country, a sweet little thing like you couldn’t handle a man like me. I think it’s safe to say that eye fucking is as far as you and I will tangle.”

“It’s adoring the way you assume I would want to tangle with you, Decker. As it turns out, I don’t, you’re not my type.”

Decker shook his head in amusement. “Unless you’re gay, I’m your type.” He’s confidence pissed me off. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been expecting it. Decker had always been self-assured and cocky. According to Bradley, that was his charm. Charm my ass, it was simply an ego in need of a reality check. The Doors’ “People Are Strange” filled the car. I hated The Doors, I hated old rock, but I wasn’t about to ask the egomaniac by my side if he would change it to another station. After all, it was his car; you don’t mess with another person’s radio, that’s just uncool. I slipped my iPhone out of my pocket and found my headphones in the bottom of my bag. Scrolling through a playlist, I shoved the earphones in and smiled as my body found immediate comfort in the soothing familiar tones of Josh Gracin. I was a born and bred country girl, and I loved country music. As my entire soul was pacified under the sounds that made home not feel so far away, I was suddenly wrenched back to reality when one of the earplugs was pulled from my ear. I turned in slow motion, watching Decker as he fumbled to put the ear bud to his own ear while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. Finally he shook his head and smiled, handing the ear bud back to me.

“Country, now there’s a shocker.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna mess with my music? I didn’t mess with the grinding sound of ick coming from your stereo.”

Decker laughed. “Ick? That is The Doors you are referring to. You know, Jim Morrison? One of the most influential musicians of all time? Beats the I-wanna-slit-my-wrists tones you’re listening to.”

My jaw dropped. “You did not just go there. Country music is soothing, and it tells a story.”

“It’s depressing.”

“It’s uplifting.”

“It’s not sexy.”

“Kenny Rogers!”

He cast me a sideways glance. “Not…Sexy.”

“It’s got more heart than Beyonce and Miley Cyrus combined.”

“Beyonce is hot,” Decker said with a grin, those cute little dimples that had made my teenage heart run rampant coming out to play. Oh boy. I had forgotten about those dimples! It wasn’t fair! How was I supposed to be indifferent to those?

“I guess I like music for the musical quality, not the ass. From what Bradley told me, I assumed you would be more opened minded.”

Decker seemed a little irritated as he squirmed in his seat. “And what exactly did Bradley tell you about me, Country?” The teasing from his voice was gone, replaced with exasperation.

“Country? Really? You couldn’t think of anything more inventive like Elly May or Calamity Jane?” I sighed.

Decker’s grin was back. “You are too easily ruffled, Country. The city is going to eat you up and spit you out if you don’t loosen up a bit. Now what did Bradley tell you about me?” I reigned in my escalating hissy fit because I wasn’t going to let Decker ruffle my feathers. I simply wouldn’t allow it.

“Actually, he was a little reluctant to tell me anything about you. He said you’ve done some modeling and spend a ridiculous amount of time nude.” Decker laughed, long and loud. It was a beautiful sound, a low and seductive rumble that had me smiling in response. This carefree laughter was more like the Decker I remembered, even though I had no idea what he found so darn funny. “Call me a backwards hick, but I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“Bradley is too conventional for his own good,” Decker mumbled, his laughter ebbing.

“So what do you do then?” I wondered out loud.

Decker shrugged. “I think it’s safe to say I’m a nude model.”

“Interesting. You’re uncomfortable telling me.” I thought for a moment. A job that entailed him being nude and he was not willing to offer full disclosure. Something risqué perhaps? Evidentially not a nude model. A stripper perhaps? No, this was Decker Steele, it would no doubt be melt your brain cells salacious. “Are you a male escort or something?” I was the biggest Debra Messing fan alive and had watched The Wedding Date like a gazillion times. “Are you a real life Nick from The Wedding Date? I loved that movie and I always considered myself a little like Kat. I even have red hair just like Debra Messing, although hers is a little darker than mine, but we have similarities. You’re nothing like Nick though. He was far better groomed, all suave and debonair good looks. You’re more like Nick’s bad-boy brother, all wicked and menacing.” The car had stopped for another stop light. How many stop lights did New York have for Pete’s sake? I glanced to one side and noticed Decker staring at me. His brow was furrowed, his lips downturned into a puzzled frown. He was staring at me so hard I wondered if he could see inside my skull. He had that look, the one that radiated ‘she’s nuts’, but I didn’t care. I had been called every name in the book at least once in my life. Sticks and stones may break my bones but a quick punch to your face will soothe me. I grinned at my clever little ditty but then frowned at the negative attitude I had suddenly succumbed to. I didn’t do negative anymore, I was all rainbows and butterflies. My life was about being bold, brave, and adventurous, all the things I had been missing.

“Country, I seriously haven’t got a clue what you are talking about, and no, I’m not an escort.” Decker shifted again and it looked like a nervous movement. Yep, there was a story there. Modeling, nudity, there really weren’t too many jobs that met that sort of job description. I’d figure it out, or I would just call Bradley and force the wannabe English aristocrat to simply tell me.

I knew we had reached Soho, thanks to the signs indicating it. Decker did not make for talkative company. As far as a tour guide went, he was majorly lacking. SoHo was just as Google had said it would be: full of historic architecture, trendy boutiques, upscale art galleries, and bars. We drove past a number of bustling and beautiful streets, until finally pulling into a quieter area. The buildings were a bit older, and the streets were not as bustling as the ones a few blocks away. This is what I had expected though. The agent who helped me acquire the book store with an attached studio apartment told me that it was only a matter of time before the hustle and bustle of Soho reached this area. Property prices were already beginning to climb, and I had paid a multitude of pretty pennies for the run down shop we pulled in front of. Even from the outside I could see it needed work, but I still smiled. It was mine. My dream, my home, my adventure. My store was sandwiched in the middle of a set of three two storied structures, all with roof access, and this quaint trio was squished between dark and foreboding concrete monstrosities that were easily five or six stories high. My store, as well as the stores on either side, had recently been painted an off white; it sat like a bright star among the dull shadowy brick on either side of it. I noticed the shop front to the right of mine was empty, the windows and door boarded up. On the left was an immaculately presented dog grooming salon, and from the window stood two men watching Decker and I with curious expressions. I smiled and waved, and they smiled and waved back with giddy enthusiasm. Glancing across the road, I took in the renovated, tidy buildings. One was a posh looking boutique featuring elegant gowns in the front window. Beside that was a hairdressing salon that also looked quite extravagant and exclusive.

“Not bad,” mumbled Decker from beside me as we approached the front door to my shop. A faint aura of excitement radiated from him, confusing me. Why the heck was he excited? This was my buzz. “You got the key?” he asked as he peered through the window with his hands cupped around his eyes.

I pulled a set of keys from the bag slung over my shoulder, and with a little forceful coercion and a heavy clunk, the lock gave and I pushed the door open. I was greeted with the smell of musty air and old books, my favorite scent in the whole world. I moved to take a step over the threshold, my heart beating hard and furious with excitement, when a hand on my arm stopped me.

“Hold up a sec,” murmured Decker. Suddenly my legs were swept out from under me, and I couldn’t contain the squeal that left my lips. I was drawn up against Decker’s firm chest as he carried me into the store. Oh my, he was so…hard and warm and did I mention hard? And he smelled good, like a mixture of musk and soap. I had the overpowering urge to nuzzle my nose into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. Before I had a chance to become the kooky, man sniffing screwball, Decker dropped me to my feet.

“What the heck was that?” I exclaimed, embarrassed by the breathlessness in my voice. Decker was grinning at me like he had just performed an outstanding trick that warranted a treat.

“Dunno, just seemed like the right thing to do, you know. Carry you over the threshold,” he explained.

I tried really hard not to laugh, failing miserably when something between a snort and a cough fell from my lips. “That’s when you get married, you big goober,” I said, giving that hard sculpted chest a quick smack. My gaze lingered on that wide expanse of Decker territory a little too long, and when I finally returned my eyes to his, satisfied male pride was etched into his features. With a not so subtle roll of my eyes, I turned away to inspect my new home. It was dark inside, the only light filtering through the grimy front window. The area was big and dusty. It needed a fresh coat of paint, but the bookshelves looked sturdy and were still full of books, just as the real estate agent had promised. I had not only purchased the building, but everything that came with it. This was all mine, all those lovely old books. I sighed. “Damn, I love that smell.”

“Seriously? It smells a little like wet socks and a lot like my grandma’s shitty old apartment, and she’s a hoarder with a house full of rats.” My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step away from the darkness before me and back towards Decker. I hated rats. No, hate wasn’t enough. Loathed, spurned, detested, revolted, my list of synonyms could go on all day. Me and rats, we had issues.

“You think there are rats in here?” I whispered.

“Without a doubt. You should get an exterminator in here, pronto.” Decker moved forward, and I quickly scampered after him, my senses on high rat alert. When he stopped abruptly, I ran right into his back. I put my hands up to break my fall and encountered, yet again, hard, firm muscled body. He had to work out, nobody accumulated that much deliciously rigid territory on their body without the help of a gym. Decker glanced over his shoulder with an arched brow and I took a quick step back, removing my pervy hands from his body.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

He grinned. “Not a problem, I’m used to women wanting to touch all this.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you are.”

I turned away to do a visual sweep of something other than the conceited male perfection in front of me. To the left was a small counter with an old fashioned till sitting behind it. The kind with big noisy push buttons and a drawer that pops open with a loud ding. Behind the counter was a closed door, which I assumed led to the apartment upstairs. Beside the door was a light switch, and when Decker reached over and flicked it, nothing happened.

“I’ll go check the fuse box.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said quickly, following hot on his heels as he made tracks for a dark hallway at the back of the store.

“Scared of the dark, Country?” Decker chuckled.

“No, but I hate rats, and I’m not ready to deal with them right now.”

Decker used the light from his cell phones screen to lead the way.

“How exactly would one be ready to deal with rats?” he asked.

“I dunno, a gun at the very least,” I whispered.

He turned and looked at me, I guess to see if I was joking. He wouldn’t find any. I was dead serious. A gun would be the perfect way to get rid of rats.

“You would shoot a little rat?” he asked a little shocked.

“Hell, yes. I hate rats!”

“It’s just like a little cute furry rodent. What about Mickey Mouse?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to believe we were debating rodents and animated cartoon characters in the middle of a dark hallway.

“Ummm, hello. He’s a mouse, not a rat.”

Decker snorted and continued down the hallway, me still glued to his back. He pushed open a door that led into a small storage room. It was filled with boxes, some that appeared empty, some full of books, and on the far wall sat a large metal cabinet.

“There we go,” murmured Decker, edging around the cardboard boxes while I shuffled nervously behind him, my eyes dancing over the shadows around us. I was so anxious about stumbling across a rat that I couldn’t care less that I was standing so close to him that my breasts brushed across Decker’s back. The phone that he had been using to light our way went out. Under the sudden darkness, I thought I saw something horrifyingly furry, and I screamed. Not a little sophisticated scream, nor a quick short yelp. No, my scream was long, loud, and earsplitting. If there were dead buried under this concrete floor, they would surely rise. As Decker spun around to face me, I launched myself in his direction, scaling his hard, firm body like it was nothing more than a tree made for my escape.

“What the fuck?” Decker shouted as his hands automatically grabbed under my ass, holding me in place.

“R…r…rat,” I stammered, my heart beating so damn hard I thought it might beat itself right up my throat and out of my mouth.

Holding me with one arm, Decker reached for his phone and used it to light up the room again. After a quick sweep of our immediate area, he chuckled before turning back to the fuse box with me still attached to him like a clingy bear. After a minute of fumbling with the fuse box, I heard a switch flick, and the room flooded with light. I immediately scanned the boxes around us in search of the devious rodent who had destroyed my almost fearless composure. Okay, I hadn’t been all that fearless, but I had managed to keep my feet on the ground for the most part. Decker turned around, both hands once again under my ass as he took a few steps forward and kicked the boxes in an attempt to unearth the ungodly creatures. It only made me cling to him tighter.

“Air, Country,” he gasped out.

“Oh cheese and rice, I’m sorry.” I tried to convince my body to let him go, and my tight hold relaxed ever so slightly.

“What the hell does cheese and rice got to do with anything?” Decker asked as he kicked a couple more boxes.

“My daddy had a pet peeve about using the Lord’s name in vain, cheese and rice sounds like—”

“Jesus Christ, got it. Alright, Andi, no rats. If there were, your scream scared the little fuckers away.”

“You sure?” I asked, trying to check the ground before my feet were placed down on the floor. As my body shifted, I noticed Decker’s rigid length pressed firmly against my most intimate of parts. Holy shit, Decker Steele was hard as steel. What was I supposed to do in this situation? It’s not like I could pretend it wasn’t there! He was huge, like a heavy, hot piece of wood shoved right up against my pinky pie! I pulled back and took in Decker’s face, hoping for some clue as to how this moment of considerable awkwardness should play out. The look on his face was indiscernible. Surprise? Awe? Confusion? When the corner of his mouth lifted into the cocky grin that I was familiar with, I gave him my best impression of nonchalance.

“You get turned on by rats?” I asked with feigned shock.

Decker snorted before letting me go. “It’s a normal male response. Pussy gets close, dick gets hard. It’s how we keep you women happy and satisfied.”

I followed Decker as he made his way back to the store front, still close, but not close enough to touch. Touching was bad in a very good way.

“If you think a hard whistle is all it takes to keep a woman happy and satisfied you, my friend, are sorely lacking.”

Decker smirked but didn’t say anything as he switched on the lights in the store. Pulling the door open behind the counter, Decker took the stairs behind it two at a time. I followed closely behind the rat seeking destroyer.

The upstairs studio was large; the bedroom, living room, and kitchen were all in one wide open space. I smiled at the simplicity and run-down beauty of this old building. At the far end of the room, an enormous arched window stretched from floor to ceiling. I peered through the window to take in the street down below. It was perfect. I could just see myself sitting here, a book in my lap, the light from the windows spilling over me, warming me in the winter. I turned around to look over my new home. Light spilled in from the enormous window at my back, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily through the air. Simply stunning, it was perfect. Decker’s grunt from the kitchen at the opposite end of the room broke my moment of awe.

“I could fix this for you.” I walked toward the small kitchen to find Decker kneeling in front of the cupboards. “I could build you a pantry over there,” he pointed to the other side of the kitchen, “and a fridge could sit beside it. I might even be able to find you a secondhand stove to replace this one. I think this baby’s seen better days.” He opened the oven door and I grimaced. Burnt food was stuck to the inside and it smelled like ass.

“I don’t have much cash left over, so I need to be careful with expenses. There is a lot of work to do here and my priority is downstairs. I need to get that set up so I can start making some money.” I stood and wiped my hands on the back of my dress. When I looked down at Decker, who was still kneeling, I caught his gaze sliding over my ass. He glanced up and had the good sense to blush, trying and failing miserably to hide it behind a lazy smirk.

“Well, you are but a mere male,” I said sarcastically.

He grinned and stood up. “And you are but a mere woman. What can I say? Your ass was level with my eyes and your hands were all over it, that’s a recipe for male perversion.”

I snorted. “Male perversion, I like that.”

“My old man owns a building restoration business here in Manhattan. I can pick up a few bits and pieces from him to fix up the cupboards and I’m sure he can find me a second hand stove.”

Excited by the prospect of a little help to get this place up to date, I followed Decker to the bathroom. It was a large space with an old fashioned combined bath and shower to one side and a tidy vanity in the corner. The toilet sat on the wall opposite the bath/shower.

“You could use a set of shelves in here,” he murmured. “Leave it to me, I’ll see what I can come up with, and I’m sure I’ll be able to put most of this together without any cost to you.”

I didn’t like the idea of not covering costs. I was all for a little help, but I paid my own way. I always had right up until I used my inheritance to help me acquire this dream.

“I don’t need handouts, Decker, and I don’t want to inconvenience your father. If you could help me buy some paint for downstairs and fix that sign out front, it would be a great start.”

Decker shrugged. “What about food? You want me to drive you somewhere to get some groceries?”

“My furniture is supposed to arrive sometime this afternoon. I might just have takeout tonight and worry about groceries tomorrow.” I really couldn’t do anything with food until I had this kitchen cleaned and my fridge anyway.

“Okay, well, I guess I’m going to get out of here.” Decker said, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“No worries, I know you’ve got shit to do today,” I said with a smile, reminding him of his words back at the airport.

Decker looked a little chagrined. “Yeah, sorry for being an ass. I guess I had a bad morning.”

I shrugged. Decker had always been somewhat of an ass as far as I was concerned. Appropriate since he had one perfectly taut ass that I had a hard time keeping my eyes off.

“Got your phone handy?”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my iPhone. Decker snatched it from my fingers.

“Rude much,” I said, stomping my feet. His fingers were quick and dexterous across the screen before he handed it back to me.

“My number is in there now. If you need anything, just call. I’ll get back here when I can with some supplies and help you out with this.” He waved a hand over my kitchen.

To be honest, I liked the old rustic look. I liked old things in general and would happily use the kitchen as it was. Maybe doors on the cupboards would be nice though. And a pantry would be helpful. Not to mention a new stove.

After Decker hauled my suitcase upstairs, I was left with the silence of my own thoughts. I leaned against the wall of my studio apartment and grinned. Mine. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I had something that was mine. A place I could call home, my home. I grinned. Yep, this city could try to chew me up and spit me out, but it wouldn’t like the taste of stoic determination. This little duck was going to be just fine.