Ty's Heart: California Cowboys 3
Page 21
It’s nearly eight pm by the time I leave my apartment for the first time today. I grab a t-shirt off the bedroom floor and put it on with my sweats. It’s easier to wear sweats because of the brace, but I don’t really care anyway, I have no reason to wear anything but sweats, so it all works out nicely. I run a hand through my hair and opt to put a ball cap on it, flipping the brim to the back of my head.
I could have the Thai place down the block deliver my dinner, but I’m supposed to walk a certain amount every day so I follow the doctor’s orders. I know it won’t ever get me back on an NHL rink, but I think I’ll want to do a few things like walk and run, so I adhere to the regimen, hoping that eventually the plastic hip joint they’ve given me will act like a normal one.
As I shove my wallet in my front pocket and dig for my keys to lock the door, I hear a huff of frustration from the hallway behind me. I turn to see a woman struggling to unlock my neighbor’s door. I know it’s not my neighbor, a Petrovich associate of some sort, because she’s short, brunette, and a good five years older than me, while this woman is blonde, tall, and has an ass on her that could star in my spank bank.
My dick takes charge and I find myself hobbling the fifteen feet down the hall to stand near her. “You need some help?” I ask.
She jumps, dropping the keys, and nearly stumbling over the duffle bag she has at her feet.
Her hand goes to her chest as she looks at me with wide eyes that grow even wider in recognition. Yes, I really am him. I sigh. It can get old.
“Uh…” She breathes out, then rallies, visibly gathering her wits and also a little spark in her eyes. It makes her even more striking than she already is.
“I think I have it, thanks.”
“Really? Because it looks like you can’t get in, and I happen to know for a fact that you don’t live here.” I point to my neighbor’s front door.
“I’m housesitting for my professor,” she explains, then her eyes narrow. “What’s your excuse for loitering?”
I point to my apartment. “My place,” I answer, one eyebrow raised.
Her face goes pink and I chuckle. Then she bends down to pick up the keys she dropped. I barely manage to keep from checking out her ass again.
“So, your professor apparently didn’t tell you the secret to opening the doors in this building,” I say as I gently lift the key out of her hand and slip it into the lock. “First left.” I twist the key counterclockwise. “Then right a half turn.” I twist it back a hundred and eighty degrees. The lock clicks and the knob turns in my hand. I push it open and gesture for her to walk through.
“Okay,” she admits grudgingly. “I’m impressed.”
“Now that you know the trick you’ll be a pro.” I grin at her, then in a less than graceful move I bend my good knee, letting the braced leg swing behind me, and scoop up her duffle bag from the floor. “Come on, let’s check out your new digs.” I sweep my arm out again, encouraging her to walk ahead of me. I’m hoping that she’ll be too polite to wrestle her bag out of my hand and tell me to fuck off. My gamble pays out when she nods and steps over the threshold. I follow close behind. I’m fully aware that if I weren’t a celebrity she would never let me inside like this. It’s one of the perks, but also the reason celebs who aren’t good guys can be so dangerous. People mistakenly think that because they recognize you it means they know you.
We make our way into the apartment that’s the same floor plan as mine, but decorated entirely differently. The floors are wood like mine, but a light ash color, the walls are gray and the furniture is all glass and chrome. A huge black leather sectional is the most prominent piece of furniture, and the walls host a few framed pieces of modern art, the only bits of color in the space.
I set her bag down on a barstool and put my hands on my hips taking a look around. “I’m Mick, by the way,” I say, holding out my hand.
She smirks as she shakes it, and when her skin touches mine my insides do a little merengue. “Yeah, I sort of figured that one out. I’m Solana.”
“Welcome to the building, Solana,” I say, not releasing her hand even as she tugs slightly.
For the first time in five months my interest is piqued, and I’m not about to let the object of that interest escape.
Game on.
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About the Author
Selena Laurence is an award-winning and USA TODAY bestselling author who loves Putting the Heat in Happily Ever After. Her super sexy stories take place everywhere from rock concerts to family ranches, and her books can be found around the world in four languages, at libraries, bookstores, online, and in audio.
Selena lives in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where she can often be found at a local coffee shop, hiking the trails, or watching soccer. At home Mr L, her kids, “goldendoodle” and “demoncat” keep her busy trying to corral chaos. A veteran Indie author, Selena also coaches writers through her blog and workshops on turning #Passion2Profession.
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