Page 4 of Unhitched
Chapter three
Mya
“Wait,” Kace says, pulling the key from his door and spinning on his heels.
When he’s turned toward me, our faces are mere inches apart.
He startles at my closeness and tries to back up.
Instead, he stumbles a bit before regaining stability by bracing his hand on the doorframe.
It only allows me to focus on his features better.
The man is fine . The definition of handsome.
His brown hair is perfectly mussed in a way that’s unclear if he styled it or a woman ran her fingers through it.
Although, I’m assuming it’s intentional with the way he’s spoken about relationships in the little time I’ve known him.
His skin is more tanned than mine, which makes no sense since I spend as much time outside as possible.
Plus, no one in Washington should be tan right now with the dreary, sunless winter we’re having–must be the genes he was blessed with.
I shrug internally, brushing over that fact without jealousy.
We all have different gifts, and if I don’t want others to feel jealous of mine, I refuse to turn green over theirs.
And it just so happens that some of Kace’s gifts are benefiting me through an impeccable view .
Seriously. His scruff is perfection. It’s neat but also rugged?
Can those two things exist at the same time?
I haven’t seen him smile yet, but I already know it’ll be the cherry on top.
I wonder if he has dimples. God, I hope he has dimples.
What am I doing? The last thing I should do is encourage my attraction to the guy giving me a place to sleep.
His deep brown eyes stare back at me, his brows scrunching together. Oh yes, he needed to say something. “Hit me with it!”
“What’s your name?” He digs his phone from the pocket of his black jeans, swiping up on the screen. Does he want my phone number?
“Ummm. Mya?”
He makes a sound that I think is a chuckle, but there’s no smile to confirm it. This guy’s light is duller than a glow-in-the-dark ceiling star. “Your full name.”
Not wanting to meet his gaze, I stare at where his black and white flannel is rolled above his forearms, revealing his other sleeves underneath.
His tattoos are H. O. T. Hot. They’re moody, black and gray trees with fog wisping in between them.
I readjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder.
“Ask me something else.” I lock my gaze on the ink covering his muscular forearms.
His body goes rigid, and he freezes with his fingers over the keys of his phone. “Are you not who you say you are?”
“Oh. What?” I laugh. “Sorry. Nope, I’m me.” I reach out, resting my hand on his forearm. He remains tense. “I just hate my real name.” Finally, his arm relaxes, like it could have released its own breath.
He considers me for a moment, glancing from where we’re touching to my face. “Well, I’m going to need to know. So I can run a quick background check.”
My hand flies to my chest in faux offense. The man is letting me stay in his home. He can have anything he wants from me. “Kace. The lack of faith you have in me. Do you see this face?” I beam at him. “This is the face of a girl you can trust.”
“I don’t trust anyone.” His vibe is a flatline, stealing any joy within sight. Dang. He’s going to be a hard nut to crack.
“I’m kidding. Just promise you won’t laugh at my old lady name.”
He stares at me, unreadable as a scratched CD.
“On second thought, maybe I do want you to laugh at it, so I know it’s possible.”
“Do you want to get moved in sometime tonight, or…?” This man has the grumpiest exterior, but something tells me he’s a teddy bear on the inside, and I’m making it my new job to find that version of him. Everyone deserves to be more sunshine-y. Especially someone willing to take in a stranger.
“Eleanor Mya Holloway.”
He taps away on his screen, unphased by the reveal of the name I’ve hated since I was a kid. “What’s your name?” I pry.
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Kace Levitt.”
“Ooooh. Like Joseph Gordon?”
He spares me a glance as he scrolls through the webpage he’s on. “No idea who that is. Birthday?”
“What!” I screech. He looks up like he’s offended by the sound, but I’m the one who is truly appalled.
“He’s only one of the greatest actors OF.
ALL. TIME.” I punctuate each word with a poke on his biceps.
He’s unflinching as he follows the movement.
Damn, this man is a stone wall. Literally and figuratively.
“Uh huh. Birthday?” he repeats.
“February 15th, 1995.” His eyes snap to mine, his brows furrowing, maybe like he’s realizing it was three days ago–the day after we met, the day after my breakup.
I ignore the thought and continue before he has time to chime in.
“You’ve never seen 10 Things I Hate About You ?
500 Days of Summer ? Oh!” I snap my fingers.
“You seem brainy. Surely you’ve seen Inception . ”
His eyes meet my hopeful gaze. “I have seen that.”
I clap my hands. “You’re not a total loss, then. But don’t worry. Now that we’re going to be roommates, there’s plenty of time to get you acquainted with the classics.”
He raises a brow. “Don’t mistake this for anything more than being roommates. And only until you figure out your next step.”
“I know, I know.” I bounce on my toes, leaning over his phone to see what he’s doing. “You’ve made it very clear you’re a miserable man who prefers to be alone.”
He glances up, our faces inches from each other. Damn, he smells good. Like walking outside on a crisp fall morning. Our eyes lock, and I hold my breath, not wanting to breathe hot air on him. “Here.” He reaches his phone toward me. “Put your social security number in.”
I hesitate, but follow his gaze to his phone and pull it from his hand. Punching in the nine numbers, I watch them immediately turn to black dots before returning his device.
“Thanks.” He taps a few more things on the screen. I lean further into him and watch him press Submit on the form. “You really have no personal bubble, do you?”
I shake my head but step back, catching the judgment in his voice. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says mindlessly.
Seconds tick by, and it feels like we’re frozen in time–him staring at the phone screen and me watching him.
He’s hard to look away from if I’m being honest. I’m not looking to date.
Even though my last relationship was only three months, it was still serious.
We still did all the things–living together, sex, grocery shopping, watching “our” shows, taking turns making dinner.
It was civil. Low pressure. Low sparks. Low chemistry.
Low excitement. I’m the kind of girl who wants excitement.
It’s how I prevent myself from feeling my age.
Despite all of that, I didn’t lose my ability to notice an attractive man.
And Kace is the tippy top tier of them. Well, if you take his grumpy personality out of the equation.
For my sake, and I think his too, there will be no dating.
No vibes. No sparks or interest. Definitely no sex. This is just Eeyore taking in Tigger.
Finally, he scrolls through what I’m assuming are the results from my background check.
“Am I a total psycho?” I grin at him, my fingers looped into the straps of my backpack containing all my makeup, skin care and hair stuff.
Two suitcases and a duffel bag sit in the hallway next to us.
I’ll bring the rest of my things inside depending on what space and storage look like.
I don’t want to invade his space so much that he finds a way to kick me out sooner than I’m ready to be on my own.
The truth is, I say I’m fine. And I am. Relatively.
But these past three nights alone were more challenging than I expected after having someone in a bed next to me for three months.
Even before that, I hadn’t been on my own in a while, and while I fully believe in my ability to survive that way, I’m thankful Kace is giving me this opportunity.
“Not according to this check, but it’s still to be determined.” He doesn’t crack a smile, but I swear his brown eyes twinkle a bit.
I feign relief with a sigh. “Oh good. Those lawyer fees were worth it.”
His mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
I chuckle. “Kidding! I’m kidding.” I wave my hand toward his locked front door. “Show me the way to the kingdom.”
He hesitates, but when he finally puts the key in the lock, this time he completes the turn of the knob, opening the door and holding it in place for me to walk through. “Wait!” I scream, and he turns toward me, startled.
“What?” he asks with wide eyes and furrowed brows.
“Shouldn’t I do a background check on you? I mean, just because you say you’re not a killer doesn’t mean you’re a good guy.”
I think I catch a hint of a smile before he neutralizes his face. He pulls out his phone again, taps on the screen, types a few things and scrolls the web page before handing it over to me.
I scan the form. Kace Levitt. “Wait. What is your middle name?”
He shrugs. “Don’t have one.”
“Why does that feel shady? Like how can I trust someone with no middle name?”
He says nothing, raising one brow like he doesn’t believe my concern.
“When I have a kid, I’m making his middle name Danger. How cool would that be? He could say, ‘Danger is my middle name.’” I giggle at the thought.
“Already sounds like you, and he doesn’t even exist,” Kace mutters, and it makes me grin.
“Alright. Moving on.” I glance back at the screen. “Birthday. July 31st. ” I slap his arm. “Kace! That’s my mom’s birthday AND Harry Potter’s birthday. You’re so lucky.”
“Lucky. That’s me.” His voice is laced with sarcasm.
I feel like he’s funny, but I can’t be sure yet. Black dots hide his social security number, and I scroll past it to hit submit.