by Maggie Riley
Shane in his tight gray shirt. Shane with his worn, snug jeans. Shane with all his muscles.
I’m hungry, my body said. Starving, in fact.
Behave yourself, my brain said.
Feed me, said my body. FEED ME.
My stomach gurgled and everything else seemed to ache. Ache for something very specific. Something that I hadn’t had in a very, very long time. And before I could stop myself, I was swinging my legs out of bed and heading toward the door.
SHANE
I heard the door to the bedroom open. The couch was ridiculously uncomfortable, and despite my exhaustion, I hadn’t been able to fall asleep. Of course, the image of Allie dropping her towel was also contributing to my restlessness. All that soft, round skin. Those thighs, those hips, those breasts.
Jesus, man, get it together. Stop mentally ogling Liz’s best friend.
I rolled onto my stomach as Allie passed by the couch. Clearly I needed to get laid. It wasn’t as if I had purposefully been avoiding sex for the past few years—it just hadn’t been a priority. But now, with Megan living in dorms, away from home for the first time since our parents died, I would actually be able to have women over. I could get back to the love life I had before the accident—casual flings with women who weren’t interested in more. No-strings sex and lots of it.
In the dark, I heard Allie in the kitchen, opening up cabinets and cupboards. When she opened the fridge, I risked a glance and saw her illuminated in the glow from the single bulb inside. I bit back a smile at the sight of her in pajamas—actual pajamas. Buttoned up nearly to her neck. She might have been flustered getting out of the shower, but I had a feeling that this was the real Allie. Controlled. Focused. The kind of girl that made plans.
Unfortunately, I was pretty sure Ms. Tightly Wound had no idea that the illumination from the fridge made her thin pajamas practically see through. She might have been covered in fabric, but I could see a clear outline of everything underneath. Everything I had already gotten to see when she dropped her towel earlier. Everything good.
I could see her frown at the fridge, and I knew that she was looking at a pretty barren kitchen. There was nothing to eat there, and I knew because I had looked when I first arrived. I was wondering what she was going to do, when my stomach let out the most obnoxiously loud growl.
Allie’s head whipped towards me. Caught. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair.
“Sorry,” I told her, and my stomach let out another rumble. “I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Neither did I,” she said, frowning once again at the barren fridge before shutting the door with a sigh.
The apartment went dark again and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, to find her again. She had her hand on her pajama top, keeping it closed against her neck as if wasn’t dark in the kitchen and I hadn’t already seen her completely naked several hours earlier. It was pretty adorable.
“We could order something,” I offered, grabbing my phone to check the time. Late. Really late. “There are a few places that are open.”
Allie let out a small laugh. It was husky and low and sexy as hell.
“I forgot that,” she said. “Guess I’ve been away from New York for too long.”
Reaching over, I clicked on the lamp next to the sofa. The dim light cast the room in a yellow hue. Allie was still standing in the kitchen, still holding her pajamas, as I scrolled through food options on my phone.
“How does pizza sound?” I asked.
Her stomach growled, and she slapped her other hand over her midsection.
“I’m partial to a good grandma pizza,” I told her.
Her face lit up. “You read my mind,” she said.
We got two large pizzas, breadsticks, and chicken wings, laying it out on Liz’s coffee table, filling the apartment with the perfect smell of melted cheese. I went for the wings first, while Allie grabbed a slice of pizza, finally releasing her death grip on her pajama top. Not like I could see anything even if I tried. Which I didn’t. Not a lot. With the first bite, Allie’s eyes closed and she let out a small moan of pleasure.
“Oh my god,” she said, practically devouring the slice. “Nothing beats New York pizza.”
“Uh huh,” I managed, unable to look away.
“I missed this so much,” she reached for the wings.
“The pizza or the three a.m. delivery service?”
“Both.” She tore into the wings with the same enthusiasm, dipping each bite in ranch dressing, and licking the sauce off her fingers. “Not easy to get, either, on the road.”
“On the road?” I tilted my head, regarding her. “Are you a roadie?”
She laughed.
I tried again. “Traveling knife salesman?”
She shook her head. “I’m a stage manager,” she told me.
“I’m going to pretend I know what that is,” I said.
She gave me a small smile. “If you go to see a show, I’m basically the person who makes sure everything runs smoothly for each production.”
“Like Broadway shows?”
Allie nodded. “That’s the goal,” she said. “What about you? You’re the landlord, right?”
“I am.” I took another slice of pizza. “But most of my time is spent building furniture. I have a workshop on the ground floor.”
Her eyes widened. “So that’s why you smell like sawdust.”
“You smelled me?” I asked, amused.
Allie went red. “I didn’t smell you,” she said indignantly. “Not on purpose. Your smell just got in my nostrils, that’s all. I couldn’t help it.”
“That sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse,” I teased.
She waved it off.
“But you own the building, right?”
I could practically see the wheels turning in her head.
I nodded. “I was looking forward to being close to my workshop,” I said gently and watched her deflate. But I wasn’t about to give up my convenient living situation for a pretty girl. No matter how pretty she was.
“I understand,” she said, trying her best to hide her disappointment. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Then she lifted her chin stubbornly. “I just need to make a list,” she said.
“A list.”
“A list can fix everything,” she informed me.
“Is that so?” I was never one for making lists, or really making plans of any sort.
Allie nodded vigorously. “I never do anything with making a list—it’s good to weigh the pros and cons of things, or just write out exactly what you’re hoping for. Helps you organize your thoughts.”
“My thoughts have a very complex filing system already,” I told her.
She smirked. “Oh yeah? Is it like Liz’s?”
“Ouch,” I said. “Low blow.”
She giggled.
“So.” I took another bite of pizza. “How long were you planning on staying here?”
She shrugged. “Until I found a job.”
My eyebrows went up. “But your lists! Didn’t they include getting a job?” I teased.
Allie gave me a withering look. Clearly she didn’t think I was very funny. What I couldn’t figure out, beyond her apparently obsessive love of lists, was how she was friends with Liz. They seemed to be complete opposites.
“I have five interviews lined up for tomorrow,” she said. “And I was going to find my own place.” She sighed. “I just hadn’t expected I’d have to do it so quickly. And without any time to research and plan.”
This situation was less than ideal. Clearly we both needed the apartment. With Megan starting college, I needed to be watching our finances a little more closely. Rent on the building paid the mortgage but not much else. I was getting a steady flow of orders for the handmade furniture I sold, but I had really been counting on saving money by staying in Liz’s place for a few months.
We were at a standstill. And I could see that it was stressing her out.
“I’m sure I can find a hotel,�
� she said, but it was more like she was saying it to herself.
“You can’t stay at a hotel,” I told her.
She looked at me, her expression stubborn. “Of course I can. There have to be some moderately priced hotels nearby.”
I gave her a look.
She sighed. “OK, extremely overpriced hotels, but I’ll be fine.”
I looked at her, considering my options. On the one hand, she wasn’t my responsibility. Liz had screwed up. That wasn’t my fault. On the other hand, it wasn’t hers either. And I couldn’t, in good faith, let her waste money on hotels when she didn’t even have a job yet. I told myself it was a good thing she wasn’t my type, especially considering what I was about to suggest.
“Stay here,” I said.
Her eyebrows went up.
“At least until you can find another place,” I added, taking another piece of pizza. “Don’t waste your money on a hotel.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, but I could tell she was interested.
“Why?” I crossed my arms. “Are you a slob?”
“No!” She placed a hand on her pajama’ed chest, the offense obvious.
“Do you tap dance or play trumpet in the middle of the night?”
Her mouth quirked up in a smile.
“No,” she said. “But only because my tap shoes and trumpet are in storage.”
“Well, as long as you promise not to sing—and ruin—any of my favorite songs while you’re in the shower, I think we can work something out.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking around. “This apartment hardly seems big enough for one person, let alone two.”
I shrugged. “It’s only temporary, though you can stay as long as you need,” I said. “I can survive a few nights on the couch.”
She shook her head. “If I stay here, I insist on staying on the couch.”
“Not going to happen,” I told her. “You get the bed. Don’t argue with me.”
Allie regarded me. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”
“I have a younger sister,” I reminded her. “I never get my way. This would be a new, novel thing for me.”
She laughed, and something in my chest twisted. She had a really great laugh. I liked her, I realized. She had a terrible singing voice, but she was nice and funny and pretty. I got that strange twinge in my chest again. Near my heart. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe being in close contact with Allie would be more challenging than I had anticipated. But I had already offered, and I wasn’t one to renege on an offer.
“If you’re sure.” She chewed on her lip.
I wasn’t, but when had that ever stopped me before?
Chapter 4
ALLIE
That night I slept better than I had in months, and my dreams were full of a certain sexy, sawdust-smelling man throwing me over his shoulder and taking me off to have his wicked, wicked way with me. I woke up feeling both rested and horny as hell.
Shane was in the kitchen when I emerged from the bedroom.
“Morning.” He was standing in front of the fridge in just a pair of boxer shorts.
I picked my jaw off the floor at the sight of all those muscles, and forced what I hoped was a casual look on my face.
“Morning,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I, uh, was going to go use the shower if that’s OK.”
“Yep, I already used it today,” he told me, turning back to the fridge, and I noticed then that his hair was wet.
“Oh, OK.” I clutched my towel a little more tightly to my chest, watching a droplet of water slide down his back. “Maybe we should come up with a schedule, or something,” I suggested.
Lists and schedules. That was a sure-fire way to kill any man’s libido. It had sure worked on Kevin.
“At least until I find a place,” I added quickly.
He straightened and turned back to me, a piece of pizza in hand.
“That’s a great idea,” he said, taking a bite. “I’m running a little late today, so I’m usually downstairs in my shop at this point.”
I made a mental note of the time, trying to hide my surprise at his willingness to have a schedule. A schedule to shower in his own apartment.
“OK, well, if you want to leave me your email or something, I can send you a mock-up schedule when I figure one out, and then you can let me know if any of it needs to be changed.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “A mock-up, huh?” He grinned. “Sounds so professional.”
“It’s what I do,” I told him.
“Speaking of which—you’ve got those interviews today, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, good luck.” He tipped his half-eaten pizza in my direction.
“Thank you,” I said, then paused.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” If the whole schedule thing hadn’t put a damper on any attraction between us, correcting him sure would. “It’s just that in the theatre, you don’t say good luck. You say ‘break a leg.’ ”
“Really?” Shane raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Well, break a leg, then.”
“Uh, thanks.” I stared at him, waiting to see a flicker of the kind of annoyance that I had so often seen on Kevin’s face.
“And if you need fortification,” Shane said as he closed the fridge, “there’s plenty of pizza left over.”
“What is it with guys and cold pizza for breakfast?” I asked. “My brother loves that, too.”
“Something in our DNA, I guess,” Shane joked. “Me man, me eat cold pizza. No well-rounded meal for me.”
I couldn’t help it, I snorted. And quickly slapped my hand over my mouth.
But Shane was still smiling at me.
“I’m going to, uh, go shower.” I gestured toward the bathroom door, and he nodded.
“Well, if I don’t see you before you go . . .” He winked at me. “Break a leg.”
I took a quick—cold—shower and got ready for the interviews I had lined up. I had scheduled them perfectly—all but one of them were for upcoming Broadway shows, which meant they were within a fifteen-block radius of each other. I had enough time between each to read through the notes I had written for myself about the producer, the theatre, the production, the director, anything that would show them how prepared and ready I was.
I even gave myself extra time at lunch to search for apartments. Shane’s offer had been more than generous, but after my extremely vivid dreams last night, I knew that it was best if I didn’t linger too long in an apartment that kept me in very close contact with someone who made me that hot and bothered. My body, of course, disagreed, but my brain was the one paying the bills, so it got to make all the decisions.
I frowned at my duffel, knowing that I’d also have to do laundry. With the exception of my interview dress, the bag was full of dirty clothes. Organized, but still dirty. Not that anyone would be able to tell without a sniff test. Everything I owned was black.
Being a stage manager meant I had to blend in. Being on the road meant I had to travel light. So I didn’t have a lot of clothes, and everything I owned had to double as a work outfit. Hence my entire fashion philosophy. Josh called it my Wednesday Addams phase. I called it my living-out-of-a-suitcase-and-having-no-fashion-sense phase that is probably not actually a phase. Zipping up my simple black dress, I pulled my hair back into a neat bun and grabbed my shoulder bag—also black—and headed towards the nearest subway.
After abandoning me the day before, luck seem to have returned to me that morning. I managed to grab a seat on the L train, and, pulling out my headphones, I turned on a podcast and began looking through my notes. The jostling roll of the train was a familiar comfort—I had forgotten how much I loved riding the subway. It was relaxing and soothing, so different from driving or even from being driven somewhere. I had always been extremely productive and focused while on the train. Liz had joked that if I took my tests on the A train, I would have ace
d all my classes.
She also found it amusing that someone who was as much of a control freak as I was would enjoy relinquishing that control to something as unreliable as the New York subway system. And I couldn’t really explain it. Something about the construction of the intricate, complex network of trains and schedules soothed me. Even when it didn’t work perfectly. It helped remind me that no thing or no one was perfect. A lesson I had a hard time applying to myself.
I exited the subway into the crisp New York air, finally feeling like I had returned to the place I truly belonged. Thanksgiving was around the corner, and this time of year was my absolute favorite. People were wearing sweaters and scarves, all bundled up together, looking at the twinkly lights that were going up all over the place. Bars were serving hot toddies and spiked apple cider. Comfort food was on all the menus, and the sweet, familiar smell of roasted nuts from the sidewalk carts was everywhere. The humidity of the summer was long dissipated, but we were still a few weeks away from the first snowfall and the beginning of what would likely be a very cold winter. Right now, New York was perfect.
That sense of comfort and peace did not last very long. It soon became abundantly clear, after my second interview, that while I was probably a great touring stage manager (their words—because I was definitely a great touring stage manager), they were looking for someone with more experience. Like, ten or fifteen years of additional experience. But they would be happy to offer me the chance to interview for the assistant stage manager position. A step backwards.
The third interview and the fourth said basically the same.
Suddenly, New York didn’t feel that welcoming anymore. The wind felt a little colder, the day felt a little more gray, and I ducked into a coffee shop to go over my notes for my last interview, even though part of me didn’t even want to go.
I got some coffee, which warmed me and woke me up. I was not a quitter. I was not the kind of person who made an appointment and didn’t show. I would not let myself get discouraged. I didn’t want to start over as an assistant stage manager, but I would if I had to. But I couldn’t help the sinking sensation I felt when I thought about taking a position I had long outgrown. It felt like failure. And I hated failure. Still, I wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t my style.