Page 12

RIVER

“Hey, Maya, it’s River. Your boss and best friend.

” I add that part just so she doesn’t hate me for bothering her again.

“I sent you a text about this, but I’m calling too, because, well, you know me—I’m neurotic and obsessive.

The meeting with the photographer got pushed tomorrow because she has to take her kid to the doctor. It’s at ten now, not nine. I?—”

My words die as the bedroom door is pushed open and Dean walks over the threshold.

He’s drenched in sweat.

Every inch of his light blue workout shirt is clinging to him like a second skin.

I know Dean works out, not just because he’s been living here five days now and he always leaves the house at the same time each night to hit the gym, but because it’s obvious even through those button-up shirts and band tees he always wears.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be able to count his abs—all six of the mouthwatering things.

He pulls his wireless headphones from his ears, the muscles in his arms jumping with the action. He’s still breathing hard like he just ran all the way here from the gym. To be honest, I wouldn’t put it past him. He seems like the show-off type.

A pair of gym shorts are riding low on his hips and?—

Wow. Yes. That is definitely the outline of his dick.

He clears his throat, and I snap my eyes to his and away from this gift he’s unknowingly given me.

His dark brows are lifted, a playful smile strung across his mouth.

Busted.

“Like what you see, River?”

His words are teasing, fun.

But his eyes? The way they’re burning with intensity?

They say something else entirely.

I pretend he’s not staring at me like he wishes there weren’t so much distance between us and pull the phone from my ear, mashing the red button on the screen.

I make a mental note to explain the voicemail to Maya later and turn my nose up at Dean, forcing my attention back to the computer in front of me like I wasn’t just ogling him like I’ve never ogled before.

“I’ve seen better,” I say as coolly as I can muster.

I hear the waver in my own voice.

I like what I see.

I like what I see way more than I should.

“Sure you have. One of all those hot dates you’ve had?”

I hold back my sigh. Sometimes I forget he’s had a front-row seat to my various dating mishaps. Living next door, I’m sure he’s seen all the times I’ve come home alone and all the mornings I’ve crawled out of bed looking like a hot mess, trying to pick up my wounded heart/ego.

He laughs drily. “Please tell me it wasn’t that guy wearing the Hawaiian shirt. That’s going to sting.”

Ah, yes. Hawaiian shirt guy.

The first date we went on was to the bowling alley.

I dismissed his outfit because I thought he was being quirky.

He cracked a couple jokes and the evening wasn’t a complete disaster, so I said yes to a second date.

This was back when I was just getting into the dating scene again and was still optimistic.

Silly me.

I let him pick me up for the second date, and imagine my surprise when I opened my door to see he was wearing another Hawaiian shirt.

Now, I love clothes. I love fashion and being able to use an outfit to express yourself, but there are a few places I draw the line.

Hawaiian shirts are one of them.

Of course, because that was just my luck, Dean had to step out of the elevator as we were getting on. He had a lot to say the next morning at the diner.

That was the last time I let a guy pick me up from my apartment; I didn’t need Dean’s commentary about my dating life. I’d seen plenty of women coming and going from his place over the last year and never once made any unsolicited comments about his choices.

“As a matter of fact, it was—and he had a leg up on you too. There was an eight-pack hiding beneath those stunning shirts.”

His eyes spark. “All I just heard was that you counted my abs.”

I sure as hell did. “It was a shot in the dark.”

“Shot in the dark, my ass,” he mutters, moving toward his pile of things.

He drops to his haunches and starts rummaging around, looking for a change of clothes. “What are you doing in here?”

“Working.”

“I’m glad you came in here when I was gone and not asleep like you’ve done all week. Big improvement there.”

I wince. “Oops. I’ll bring my?—”

“Work laptop home—yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“I’m sorry, are you being grumpy with me?”

He pauses his movements, then sighs. “Maybe a little. It’s not you.” He stands, turning toward me. “Well, it is…but not completely.” Another sigh, his shoulders slumping on the exhale. “It’s just been a long week.”

He looks worn out. Run down. Like he’s running on his last leg.

“I promise to bring my laptop home.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I’ll text Maya and make sure she reminds me.”

He grunts and sits on the edge of his air mattress.

I can’t imagine that’s lending any hands in the sleeping department. Dean’s way too big to be sleeping on that thing, and I know it’s not comfortable.

We tried to rescue his bed from his apartment, but it smelled too much like smoke to us. We weren’t sure if that was just the smell burned into our nostrils or if it was toast, but we weren’t taking the chance.

“What are you working on this late? The shop closed hours ago.”

I click through my email one last time, making sure I haven’t missed anything. “Photographer.”

“You have a photographer?”

I nod. “We sell items online, started it at the beginning of the year. It’s still just us three managing the shop and now the online sales, so it’s a lot of extra work to keep it running efficiently, but it will help keep business steady when tourist season is down.”

A lot of work and a lot of added stress. It’s why I run in here at night to check on things. Why I’m forever going in early and why I’m always the last to leave. We’re a small shop, but our online presence is growing every day and the internet is demanding as hell.

“Do Caroline and Maya know you’re staying up late and taking on the brunt of the work?”

There’s something in his voice that almost sounds like concern.

His worry is sweet—something I never thought I’d say when referring to Dean—but it’s not needed.

At the end of the day, Making Waves is mine, and since I’m not at the point of comfortably hiring more employees or paying the ones I already have more, it’s only fair for it to fall on my shoulders.

“Yes.”

“And what do they have to say about it?”

“Not much.”

“So, what, they just think you’re that good at running a well-oiled machine from the shop and not killing yourself at night?”

“No. They know I work from home sometimes.”

“Do they know how often?”

I sigh. “What difference does it make to you how much time I spend working?”

“Because it wears you out and makes you overworked and you start acting extra assy.”

I lift my brows. “Did you just call me an ass?”

“ Assy , but yes.”

My lips twitch, amused. “Well then.”

He doesn’t look sorry, and I like that he doesn’t look sorry. That he sticks to his guns. That he’s not afraid to call me on my shit when I’m being a brat, which is probably often.

“Just calling it like I see it.” He lifts his shoulders. “I’ve known you for a year now and, in that time, you’ve grown more and more irritable. Maybe it’s time for a vacation.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you ever stop to think that the reason is you?”

“No. I’m a fucking angel.”

“If you mean in the sense that Lucifer was once an angel, you have that right.”

He snorts, diving back into his bag of belongings. “Hilarious coming from you, Little Miss Call the Landlord because my music is too loud instead of just, I don’t know, knocking on my door like a normal neighbor would.”

“What? I’ve never called Lucy on you.”

He peeks at me over his shoulder, his eyes in narrowed slits. “Puh- lease . Don’t try to act all innocent now.”

“I’m serious, Dean. I have never called Lucy on you. I’ve wanted to a lot but never could bring myself to do it. Other than banging on your wall, that afternoon of the fire was the first time I acted on your obnoxiousness.”

He stares at me, thick brows lifted.

They slowly drop back down as the realization that I’m not lying hits him.

Does he think I’m that petty? That I’d snitch to our building manager over his music being too loud?

Have I wanted to complain to Lucy about his loud music and generally insufferable behavior? Hell yes. Every damn day.

But it wasn’t me.

“Then who did?”

“Not sure, but I’d love to meet them and shake their hand. Your music taste sucks.”

“You can’t say that if you don’t like music.” Shaking his head, he pushes to his feet again, stretches his arms back over his head, and strips his shirt off in one swift movement.

My jaw drops just as easily as his clothes slid off.

He’s standing not ten feet away from me without a shirt on and oh my sweet baby Jesus.

If I thought his body was impressive when it was covered, I was wrong. Dean’s back is nothing but corded muscles, the lines defined and sexy.

Since when do I find backs sexy?

As if he knows him being shirtless is doing a number on me, he chuckles. “I can feel you staring, River.”

I’m sorry, do you own a mirror? Of course I’m staring!

I gulp and give myself a good shake, turning my attention back to my computer.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

“Weird, because I definitely wasn’t staring.”

Another laugh. “Just admit you find me tempting.”

I wrinkle my nose and push to my feet, grabbing my notebook. “The only thing you tempt me to do is commit murder. I?—”

He turns around, and for the second time tonight, he leaves me speechless.

I’m not usually one to salivate over a man with a chiseled chest but… good gravy .

I can still see the beads of sweat running down the contours of his well-defined abs, the muscles jumping as my eyes rake over his body like he can feel my stare caressing him.