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“Your reputation is not ruined. A few uptight old biddies think you’re a bit wild, so what?”
“They called me a sexual deviant.” Her humiliation still burned as brightly as a newly lit flame. “And a blight on their community.”
“It’s not true. You’ve helped out so many families at the community center, you’ve painted faces at the summer fair,” Debbie said, and Wren could practically see her sister ticking the items off her perfectly manicured fingers the way she always did when she was mad. “You’ve made cupcakes for almost every bake sale and your stuff is always the first to sell out, you’ve—”
“Enough.” She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Never in her life would she admit how much it hurt that Charity Springs had ostracized her, and hearing her sister point out all she’d done was only making it worse.
She may not be the biggest fan of the small town—or its residents—but it was still her home.
“Debs, please. Can we not rehash this again? I know you’re upset with me for leaving and I’m sorry. But I need to do this.”
“You ‘need’ to run around fixing other people’s problems, do you? All right, I guess you do.” It was as close to acceptance as Wren was going to get, so she’d take it. “What are you supposed to do, spend your days playing spy?”
“I’m working at a gallery and I’m painting. It’s not exactly a hard life.” She didn’t bother to mention the recon activities she was planning, like trying to break into her new boss’s email account.
Details. You’re doing the right thing by your friend—that’s all that matters.
Debbie made a scoffing sound on the other end of the line. “You’re so full of shit.”
“And you swear way too much for a girl who’s going to be an upstanding pillar of society.” Wren began to unpack her groceries. Flour for her pizza base, some fresh kale, tomatoes, basil and a delicious-looking knob of buffalo mozzarella.
“Upstanding pillar of society?” Debbie snorted. “Spare me. And I’ve noticed that your little list of activities doesn’t involve screwing your hot neighbor.”
Heat crawled up Wren’s cheeks. Thank God she’d decided not to video chat with her sister, because she was sure her face would be flaming tomato red right about now. “I never mentioned he was hot.”
“That heavy breathing did all the talking for you.” Her sister cackled. “Not to mention the fact that you seemed to forget how to string a sentence together as soon as he came near you.”
Usually, she didn’t engage in her sister’s teasing, but right now she was grateful that the conversation had turned away from her secret mission. “Okay, he’s good-looking. So what? That’s not reason enough for me to sleep with him.”
“Isn’t it? When was the last time you got laid? And if you tell me that you haven’t had sex since you broke up with Christian, so help me...”
For someone who was supposedly a “sexual deviant,” she’d actually been quite conservative when it came to sex. There’d been no one in the six months since she’d broken up with her ex—because now all the men in town either thought she was easy or bad news. Neither of which was true.
Sucking on her lower lip, she concentrated on continuing to unpack the groceries. Milk, eggs, butter, vanilla extract.
“Wren?”
A spring-form pan, parchment paper, confectioners’ sugar. “Yeah?”
“Really?”
“You said not to tell you if I hadn’t...”
“Are you serious?”
“The only guys interested in me now are the ones I don’t want.” She slammed the box of granola down on the counter harder than necessary. “And I’m not ready to try opening up to anyone else, not after the way Christian humiliated me.”
“You’re never going to be ready until you take a risk. You have to put yourself out there. Listen to me, I’m a doctor.”
Wren gritted her teeth. “First, you don’t get to say you’re a doctor until you finish med school. Second, why do you care so much about my sex life?”
“Because you’re my sister and you deserve to have a sex life. You’re twenty-six, for crying out loud, not a hundred and six. But if you don’t get some action your vagina will dry up like an old prune.”
Despite herself, Wren let out a burst of laughter.
“It’s a fact. A medical fact. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” This time Debbie said the words through her own giggles. “Do you want a pruney va—”
“Shut up.” Wren shook her head and bundled up the empty plastic bags. “I’m not having sex with the first guy I see just for the sake of it.”
“Seriously, you need to stop hiding away because a few people said bad, untrue things. You deserve to live a full life. Orgasms included.”
“How do you know my neighbor will be good enough to give me orgasms?” Flashes of her dream from last night came back to her—Mr. 401’s large hands roaming her body, his full, wide mouth covering her breasts.
Dammit. It wasn’t right to fantasize about a guy without knowing his name.
“Judging by the crazy way you were giggling, I think he will.” Debbie sounded smug as hell, the evil little thing. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. Sex is a very natural and healthy part of life. It’s good for your brain and your heart. You’re really doing your health a disservice by not having sex.”
“Is that another medical fact?” She grinned in spite of herself and shook her head. Her sister knew exactly how to push her buttons and get under her skin, but they always looked out for each other. No matter what.
“Yep, I’m sure it’s in one of my textbooks. I have to go. I’ve got a study session planned and the last person there has to buy coffee.” She paused. “I miss you, Birdie.”
At the sound of her childhood nickname, Wren smiled. “I miss you, too. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“You’d better.”
She hung up the phone and steadied herself against the countertop. Debbie had a point. Her life had been filled with nothing but stress the last few months; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live a little.
So long as living doesn’t involve any promises or commitment. You’re done with that crap!
Totally done. She’d trusted her ex, had even flirted with the idea of getting hitched in the late darkness of night when she’d curled up against him. But it turned out that she hadn’t really known him at all...and he clearly hadn’t known her.
She wouldn’t put herself in a position to be ripped apart like that again. But she could still have some fun...right?
Wren drew a knife from the wooden block next to her stove and placed it on her cutting board. She didn’t have to make any decisions right now. She would be in New York for at least a month, so she could take her time. Maybe talk to Mr. 401 a little more before she made a move.
But first she had a pizza to make; she wasn’t in the habit of doing any serious thinking on an empty stomach.
* * *
RHYS GLOVER ROUNDED the last corner of his run, dodging a couple with linked arms as he pounded his feet into the pavement. He loved nothing more than getting fresh air on the weekend, be it running, biking or otherwise. He put long hours into his job—which he wouldn’t trade for anything—but it didn’t exactly make for an active or healthy lifestyle during the week.
So Saturdays and Sundays were all about getting out of the house. Getting his blood pumping and his heart racing. Getting his sweat on.
You might be able to do a few of those things indoors if you had the stones to ask Blondie on a date.
He shook his head as he slowed to a stop in front of his walk-up, detouring to collect his mail. Blondie—aka the smoking-hot fox who’d recently moved into the apartment across from him—occupied far too much of his headspace lately. But, try as he might to evict her image from his mind, the waist-length hair that shimmered like spun gold and those long limbs tempted him beyond belief. Rhys prided himself on being a man of solid self-control, but one glance at her and he was as horny as a teenager.
Chiding himself, he shoved the key into his box. A small stack of letters sat inside, mostly bills. A bright blue envelope caught his attention. It bore his stepbrother’s neat, utilitarian print and the childish scrawl of his niece. A happy face decorated one corner. They insisted on sending him a real birthday card, even when he told them he was happy with an email or phone call. A wave of jealousy ghosted through him.
It wasn’t fair to resent his stepbrother, Marc, for the perfect, happy life he’d been gifted. But it was hard not to compare. Or compete. They were the same age and had grown up together as best friends before their parents had gotten hitched. He’d always envied how easily everything came to Marc—grades, girls, sports. Everything.
And now, as adults, Marc still had the edge. He’d given their parents two grandchildren and he had a beautiful wife whom he adored. Marc often joked that he envied Rhys his bachelor lifestyle, but Rhys didn’t believe it for a second.
Rhys knew part of the reason he felt compelled to settle down was because it was the one thing Marc had over him. In their parents’ eyes, he’d achieved the dream. Happy wife, two healthy kids...and Rhys was still lagging behind, as always.
But it was hard to have a relationship when he didn’t even put himself out there. He was just too busy with work to meet people.
“You don’t even know if Blondie’s single,” he muttered to himself as he started up the stairs.
But she hadn’t looked at him the way a woman in a committed relationship would when they’d almost bumped into one another earlier.
The pink blush that had crept into her cheeks had done crazy things to him. The kind of crazy things that were not so easily concealed in a pair of running shorts.
The fourth floor was deserted, and Rhys couldn’t stop himself from glancing at number 402 as he walked up to the door of his own apartment. Maybe he should formally introduce himself? It would be the neighborly thing to do.
He glanced down at his sweat-soaked tank and shorts. It might be the neighborly thing to do, but he wasn’t exactly going to make a great impression if he knocked on her door smelling like a locker room.
Tomorrow.
Satisfied that he’d committed himself to an action, he pushed open the door to his apartment with his free hand. Toeing off his sneakers, he hung his keys on their designated hook and placed the letters into the inbox he kept on the bureau near his desk. All except the blue envelope, which he tore open as he walked into the living area.
Inside the brightly decorated, homemade card—which looked like an insane craft teacher had thrown up all over it—were messages from his stepbrother and sister-in-law, his eldest niece and a proxy message from the little one. They’d even drawn on a paw print to represent the dog.
He put the card on his entertainment unit, next to his new fancy universal remote—the birthday present he’d gifted himself since his family didn’t really get his love of technology. The card looked totally out of place in what Marc jokingly referred to as “the computer nerd’s bachelor pad.”
By the time he reached the bathroom he was itching to get out of his workout clothes. He pulled off the soaked cotton. A light ache had spread through his muscles, a sign he’d pushed himself hard today and he’d need to spend some time on the foam roller to ease out the knots.
He’d been tighter than usual the last few weeks. Stress, his trainer had said. Lack of stretching, according to the remedial masseuse. Working too hard, his buddies at the security company admonished. But he knew it wasn’t any of those things.
Dissatisfaction. A lack of purpose. He’d felt it burrowing slowly under his skin, creating an incurable itch that niggled at him in the quiet portions of his day. In the dead of night. In the dark corners of his dreams.
He shook off the troubling thought and stepped under the running water, sighing as warmth seeped into him. As he lathered up, the scent of soap filled his nostrils. Perhaps it might be a good idea to put himself out there again. After all, his life couldn’t be all work and no play.
Tomorrow.
The promise rolled around in his mind, and just like that Blondie popped back into his head, soothing all his worries away. God, she was gorgeous. Fair skin and rich golden hair, bright blue eyes. And perky breasts that seemed to often be uninhibited by a bra. This morning he’d noticed the way the pert mounds moved beneath her white tank top, the stiff little peaks of her nipples pressing forward against the fabric.
He was hard as stone just thinking about it. He wondered if those nipples would be golden like the rest of her, or would they be rosy and pink? Would she have a dusting of hair between her legs or smooth, silky skin?
He’d gone way too long without sex and now all the carnal thoughts had piled up like traffic on a highway. But a knocking sound snapped him out of the fog of arousal. He rinsed off the last of the soap suds and shut off the water. Another sharp knock rang through the apartment.
“Hang on!” he called out as he wrapped a soft gray towel around his waist, knotting it to conceal the still-raging erection he was sporting.
His wet feet skidded on the floorboards as he hurried to the door. Who on earth would be dropping by without calling first?
Grasping the knob, he pulled the door open and was greeted with the very object of his fantasies. Blondie.
There she was in all her golden glory, long hair tangling around her shoulders and spilling down her body. Eyes wide and blue and bright. It wasn’t until he saw the wad of blood-soaked tissue in her hands that he realized something was wrong.
2 (#u90755d5e-b73a-5b41-8407-b1eb3366a897)
“UH...HI,” HE SAID, his eyes darting down to her hands and widening.
Crap. This was really not how Wren had imagined their first conversation would go. Especially not after Debbie had gotten the idea of having sex into her head. But he was topless, and boy, oh boy, had her dreams failed to do his body justice. His muscles had muscles of their own, and the gray towel he’d knotted at his waist hid very little. A spark of arousal flared low in her belly.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyebrows crinkled.
“Oh yes. I, uh...cut myself.” A nervous laugh bubbled up in her throat but she pushed it down. No need to do anything else to convince him that she had a screw loose. “I don’t have any bandages in my house and I was wondering—”
“Of course. Come in.” He held the door and let it swing shut behind her. “Let me grab my first-aid kit.”
“Thank you.” Only then did the throbbing pain start to push through her giddy state. “I’m sorry I interrupted your shower. I should have thought to buy some bandages at the grocery store today.”
But, as usual, she’d gone without a list. Or without any idea of what she needed or wanted to buy. Wren usually let the ingredients inspire her as she shopped—allowing her to make up her dinner menu on the fly—and that meant that important purchases like bandages and antiseptic lotions were often forgotten.
He pulled a small white tin down from the top of his refrigerator and opened it up. The inside was neat and tidy, like a perfect Tetris arrangement of adulthood. Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, burn lotion, cotton balls and gauze bandages all neatly packed in a way that made her feel slightly inadequate.
“Show me.” He held out his hand and she gingerly removed the wadded-up kitchen towel.
Blood immediately pooled in the slice along her palm, trailing along the crease in her skin and rushing toward the edge of her hand. She dabbed at it, but the paper was soaked through.
“Let’s get that hand under some running water.” He led her to the bathroom sink, her skin sparking at the comforting way he touched her arm. “You’ve done a number on yourself. Thankfully, it doesn’t look too deep. You shouldn’t need stitches.”
He held her hand under the running tap, the blood washing over her fingers and staining the water pink before it swirled down the drain. In the confines of the small room—which mirrored her own except for the simple gray shower curtain that hung in place of her own chaotic rainbow version—he was incredibly close. The scent of soap on his skin filled her nostrils and made her giddy.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled her hand out from under the water to inspect the cut. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“No.” She shook her head. Thankfully, she could blame the wooziness on the blood—although the truth was it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She’d never been the squeamish sort. “I’m fine.”
Mr. 401 disappeared for a moment and returned with the necessary first-aid items. Within moments, she was patched up and almost as good as new.
“Thank you so much, uh...”
“Rhys.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it as best she could with her injury.
“Rhys,” she repeated, weighing the name in her mouth. It suited him—strong, masculine. Direct. “I’m Wren.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Wren.”
She inspected the expertly applied bandage. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”
“I do a little downhill mountain biking. Cuts and scrapes come with the territory.” When he smiled Wren felt like she was staring directly into the sun.
“Well. I’m very grateful you’re so prepared.”
“You make me sound like a Boy Scout.” His honey-brown eyes twinkled.
Judging by the way her mouth had run dry and her heart galloped in her chest, Boy Scout was the last thing she would compare him to. Man Scout wasn’t a thing...was it?
