Page 6 of Hello Trouble

DELLA

I wearily eyed the house in front of me before Hayes’s long stride crossed my headlight beams and he stopped, waiting with his arms folded over his chest.

I got out of my car and gave him a suspicious look. “I’m not sleeping with you, Hayes Madigan,” I said.

He smirked, still lit up by my headlights. “No one said anything about sleeping.”

I gaped at him, but he just chuckled. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Princess. Follow me.”

My heart was beating faster than normal as I walked behind his long, lean form to his front door. He pulled it open without unlocking it—no one in this small town ever locked their vehicles, much less their houses. And then he led me inside.

I’d never been inside Hayes’s home before—even knowing him most of my life.

He was several years below me in school, and when we saw each other, it was only in work settings or at family gatherings.

Even so, I drank in my surroundings, curious to see what his home would tell me about the enigma of Hayes Madigan.

He was always a bit of a mystery to me. I suspected there was something behind his cavalier demeanor, but I didn’t know what.

Realizing I was a few steps ahead of him, I glanced back to see him tugging off his hoodie. His T-shirt lifted up with it, and my lips parted at the view.

Tattoos covered nearly every spare inch of skin I could see, rippling over the muscles of his stomach. When he took off his hoodie and met my eyes again, I knew.

He’d seen me staring. Again.

But he didn’t comment on it this time. Instead, there was a pleased look in his eyes as he gestured toward the living room. “Look around. What do you see?”

“A living room?” I asked as I eyed the sparse space with dark leather couches, a glass coffee table, and the giant TV that was a staple in any bachelor’s home. Then I frowned. “One that needs a lot more color.”

He smirked. “Look again. Hard furniture. Nothing a girl would like to hang out on. No frilly throw pillows. No plushy rug. Nothing that says, ‘Welcome home, make yourself comfortable while I make us breakfast.’”

My eyebrows pulled together. But before I could speak, he said, “Follow me.”

Dazedly, I fell into step behind him, where he led me down the hallway past his kitchen. “This house has two bedrooms,” he explained. “This one is mine”—he tapped a finger on a wooden door to his left—"and the other...” He opened a door on his right, and I stared inside.

The entire room was stacked floor to ceiling with boxes. The only vacant space was an aisle down the middle of the room to access the boxes.

I looked a little closer at the labels, noticing one of them said brAKE PADS. Another, OIL FILTERS. I raised my eyebrows. “Did you run out of room at the shop?”

He leaned against the doorframe, all lean muscles and carefree confidence. “Hell no. I have plenty of room.”

“So you decided to bring your collection home because you love your job that much?” I needled.

I folded my arms across my chest, and I watched his gaze lazily trail down my body.

It was like all my staring had given him an invitation—one he happily accepted, judging by the heat in his eyes.

When they met mine again, a shiver went down my spine.

I almost didn’t comprehend his words when he spoke again.

“This room sends a message, Moonshine.”

“That you really love your job?” I countered. Why was my voice so breathy when I was trying to be pithy and snarky, unaffected by his sex appeal and the intoxicating scent of his cologne?

He shook his head, holding my gaze until I had to look away. “It says the only space for a woman in my home is in my bed, screaming my name.”

His words came out a low rasp that told me just how much he enjoyed his time there. And despite the pounding in my heart, despite the breathlessness of my chest, I said, “What are you trying to say?”

His lips twisted wryly to the side. “ That’s how I stay single. I won’t have it any other way.”

“But that’s not what I asked,” I said.

“Isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “I asked how you stayed single and happy.”

“They mean the same thing.” He gestured that we should leave the room, so I stepped farther down the hallway and he turned out the light before shutting the door.

The snap of the latch against the strike plate was just the cleanser I needed as I walked to his living room, feeling Hayes’s eyes on me as I went.

A question was stirring at the edge of my tongue, but before it came out, Hayes asked, “Want a beer?”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “Thought the only place for a woman was in your bed?”

He ran a hand through dirty-blond hair. “You don’t count.”

“And why is that?” I asked, trying not to show how much that bothered me. It was just a reminder of all those times men’s gazes slid over me at the bar like I didn’t really exist. Or how, when I was in college, guys only befriended me to get my skinnier friends’ phone numbers.

My interest in Hayes frustrated me, because he clearly wasn’t interested in me.

“Actually, I will take a beer,” I said with a sigh.

He went to the fridge, bottles clinking as he pulled them out. Using the hem of his shirt, he twisted off the lids, showing another slice of his stomach, which I tried hard not to stare at.

I didn’t meet his gaze again until he passed me a bottle. I pulled it to my lips, letting the tangy liquid distract me from this sinking feeling.

Hayes was known to be a womanizer. What did it say about me that I was the one woman he wasn’t interested in?

He gestured at the couch across from him, and I defeatedly went and sat on the cold black leather.

Damn, he was right. It was fine for a little bit but wouldn’t be comfortable enough to sit on through a whole movie or anything.

The first thing I would change about this place would be adding some throw pillows and blankets to make it more comfortable.

His voice was low, eyes trained on his beer bottle when he finally spoke. “I don’t shit where I eat, Della. That’s why you don’t count.”

“What does that even mean?” I asked. I picked at the corner of the label on my own bottle, pulling back the paper.

He took a swig of his drink, and it was hard not to stare at his lips forming a seal around the bottle, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the swipe of his tongue over his shining mouth.

“I don’t want my... relationships to make things worse for my family.

” He held up his fingers to count off a list. “My nieces’ teachers, employees, and family friends.

” He gestured at me. “That would be you... All off-limits.”

I put my hand over my chest, pretending to simper. “Did you just call me your friend? Aw, Hayes. So sweet!” Okay and maybe I was secretly relieved that it wasn’t just about my looks.

He waved his hands while swallowing his drink. “I said family friends. Not my friends.”

I pulled his move and winked at him. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” I set my beer on his coffee table while he looked curiously at me.

“You still haven’t told me, friend , why do you care so much about finding someone?” Now his eyes were fully on me, unabashedly staring while waiting for my answer.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t get it. Not when you’ve set up your whole life to keep women at arm’s length.” I was genuinely curious, so I had to ask, “You came from a big family, Hayes. Almost all your brothers are happily married. Don’t you see the allure?”

His gaze darkened for a fraction of a second, but then he was back to his cavalier facade. And I realized it was a mask... with something hiding behind it. “I see the allure of a relationship in one place, and that’s?—”

I rolled my eyes at him. “The bedroom. Yeah, yeah, I get it. You don’t want someone around, cramping your... style.” I made a face at his couch.

Hayes pretended to be wounded. “You think I’m that shallow?”

I gave him a look. Wasn’t it obvious he cared about surface-level things only?

“What would you rather have, Princess? Freedom to do whatever you want whenever you want... Or some dude who farts when he sleeps, leaves his clothes on the bathroom floor, and forgets your anniversary as often as he remembers it?”

“Gee, you’re romantic,” I drawled, even as my heart was squeezing with worry. Was that really all there was out there for me?

“I’m a realist. And I don’t see the point in being any other way. Most women dream of a man who will sweep her off her feet. But the only thing waiting for them is some guy who will lift up his feet for her to sweep under them.”

My eyebrows pinched together. “Is that how you think of your brothers? Just losers for their wives to look after?”

“Of course not!” he argued. “But they’re the exception, not the rule.”

His cynicism was seriously getting me down. Especially considering I was about to move to get a chance at love. “You’re forgetting something,” I reminded us both.

“And what is that?” he countered, elbows resting on his knees.

“You don’t love someone just because of their good qualities. To love someone, and to really be loved, you have to see all their flaws and choose them anyway.”

Hayes was quiet for the first time that evening.

After a moment, I set my bottle on the table and said goodbye.

Because Hayes Madigan?

He would never understand.