Page 46 of Boyfriend of the Hour

Nathan coughed. “I don’t mean about the house rules. I meant…me. I’ve been told I can be sharp sometimes. Or unfeeling.”

I snorted. “Nathan, I already knew that. Been there, told you off for it, remember?”

For that, I was rewarded with something thatalmostlooked like the start of a smile. And for the first time, I wondered what it would look like if I got the rest of it. Just like I also wondered why I’d never seen it before either.

“I just want you to know that I don’t intend it that way,” he said. “And if I am, please tell me. Otherwise, I thought maybe things like the studio would make up for it. Because I am also…appreciative. That you’re considering this, I mean.”

I looked around the room with a new understanding of what it was. A gift. A sign that, for some crazy reason, Nathan Hunt feared deep down that he wasn’t worthy.

I didn’t know how or why that was possible. But that insecurity was there.

And that was something I completely understood.

Without stopping to think, I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed. Slowly, his hands found my waist, then slid up my back and returned the embrace.

I tried to ignore how good it felt as I lay my cheek on his big shoulder. How warm his skin was. How good he smelled.

“Thank you,” I said, then pulled away before I wasn’t able to anymore. “I appreciate it too. More than you know. Now, let’s go back to the apartment. I want to get a look at my room before I sign my life away.”

I was struckwith another wave of déjà vu when we stepped out of the stairwell on the eighth floor.

Well, of course, I was. I didn’t remember the number of the apartment I’d snuck out of last week, but all the floors probably looked the same in this building. Maybe one floor down? Orone door over? Arden—Anders?—and Nathan were friends, or at least friendly enough that Nathan recognized the couch.

God, I hope I don’t run into my shaggy one-night stand.

Nathan stopped outside a dark green door with a shiny brass 8F on the front and handed me a keychain with a little I Love NY fob dangling from the end.

“Try it,” he said. “I just changed the locks, so you should make sure your key works. It’s the same for the deadbolt and the bottom.”

We stood close as I unlocked the door, trying and failing to ignore the scent of sandalwood and soap next to me. When he’d come downstairs to introduce me to the doorman, Nathan had looked as prim as ever in his glasses and just as sexy in a light blue T-shirt and gray joggers that hugged his legsperfectly. Even in scrubs at nearly one in the morning, the guy still looked like the teacher in an SAT prep ad in the subway—and it was embarrassing how stupidly hot I found that whole vibe. It wasn’t fair, especially when I probably had raccoon eyes from all the stage makeup and was hobbling around like Tiny Tim.

The door opened easily, and Nathan held it open before following me inside and dropping my bag in the entry.

I didn’t make it very far. Just past a shoe rack with two pairs of Hokas under a coat rack currently only bearing a rain jacket and Nathan’s navy pea coat, then past a small round table in the foyer holding a familiar-looking fern and a bowl for keys. To the left, I stopped short at the living room entrance.

This was beyond déjà vu. I knew those windows and the view of the Hudson. I knew the painting over the fireplace and the photographs of classic New York buildings and Central Park on the opposite walls. Most of all, I knew that couch, the gray one with buttons and a neat row ofHarper’smagazines spread on the elegant glass coffee table.

This wasn’t just a similar apartment. It was thesameapartment.

I whirled around. Nathan stood by the foyer table, arms crossed, while he watched me with open curiosity. And expectation.

“I believe you’ve been here before,” he said quietly.

I gawped. “This wasyourapartment the whole time?”

Nathan nodded. “I found the bra in my living room. When you mentioned the couch, I knew it was yours.”

I whirled around, ready for the lurking ghost of Beardy One Nighter to pop out of one of the bedrooms and shout “gotcha!” at me.

“Aiden moved out. He couldn’t live here anymore.”

There was something more to that statement, but he didn’t offer any more detail.

Jesus. I’d heard of men ghosting their dates, but I’d never heard of someone literallymovingto avoid seeing me again.

Still, it was some relief to know I wouldn’t run into him in the halls.

Then another thought curdled my blood. “Oh my God, you didn’t, um, hear us?”