“Oh, I…” I stick my foot out, moving it in a slow circle, and grit my teeth at the tenderness while I search for a lie. “Just tripped over my bag at school today.”
He hums lowly, a clear indication he thinks it’s bullshit, but he doesn’t push.
The elevator stops on my floor, and I give Garrett a small wave.
He follows me.
“Where are you going?” I look to the door across the hall, and annoyance prickles my nape. He’s got a concussion for fuck’s sake. But hey: “Maybe she’ll dress up and play nurse.”
His brows lift at the bite in my tone. “Just walking you to your door, sunshine.”
“Oh. Oops.”
“Yeah. Oops.” Silence stretches. “Thanks for driving me home.”
“Yeah. Of course. If you need anything, help or whatever…you know where I am.”
“Thanks, Jennie. Just gonna take a swim and head to bed. I’ll be fine.”
“A swim?” A prop a fist on my hip. “Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy? No working out.”
“It’s not a workout.”
“Swimming is physical activity that accelerates your heartbeat. It is a workout, you pylon.”
His lips quirk. “Did you just call me a pylon?”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t one of your brightest ideas.” My hip juts with attitude; I’ve always had a fuckton of it. “What if something happens while you’re in the water?”
He sighs, slipping a hand under his toque to scratch his head. “Look, Jennie, I feel fine. It’s a precaution more than anything. I’m not gonna do any vigorous swimming. I just wanna relax a bit, loosen my muscles.” At my crossed arms and pursed lips, he grins. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you come with me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I snap.
I don’t catch his response. He mutters it from behind the hand he scrubs over his mouth, but half-naked, hard, and gonna kill me are definitely part of it.
“Look at it this way: Carter wanted me to be your babysitter, now you can be mine. We don’t have to talk. C’mon, Jennie. I won’t be long.”
I huff, unlocking my door, then spin back to him. “Wait a second. We have a pool?”
“Across from the gym.”
“We have a gym?”
“For the top two floors,” he admits sheepishly, then grins. “I can give you my code so you can use them whenever you want.”
“You’re damn right you’re giving me that code.” I prop the door open with my hip. “I have to get changed. Want to wait in here?”
The way his face lights up at the simplicity of me accepting his offer makes me wonder if he craves company the same way I do. “You’re coming?”
If I’m being honest, I absolutely want to see him mostly naked and soaking wet. A mental flickpick I can file away in my Flickapedia for future usage.
Like tonight.
Yes, I’m 100 percent gonna flick it to the image of Garrett Andersen. Sue me.
“Well, duh, Garrett. I don’t want you to drown.”
CHAPTER 7
WE GET IT; YOU’RE HOT
JENNIE
Should I pay attention to the glaring neon sign in my head, the one blinking BAD IDEA!?
Maybe.
Ideally.
Am I going to though? Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous.
When I step out of my bedroom, Garrett’s shocked stare lands on me. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“What, this?” Fluffy, microfleece robe between my fingers, I spin. “My robe and slippers.”
Not sure what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t him keeled over, slapping his knee while howling with laughter.
“You look like my mom,” he chokes out. He points at my outfit, my robe covered in ballerina dogs, my dog slippers with floppy ears, and opens his mouth. Instead of speaking, he shakes his head and laughs again, loud, obnoxious, and irritating. “Holy fuck.”
“Yeah, well, your mom must be hot as hell then.” I stomp by, chucking the hat he left here post–dildo debacle at his head. “Here’s your hat, Gare-Bear.”
He cackles some more, following as I strut to the elevator.
If I thought my condo was incredible, it’s nothing compared to Garrett’s. His penthouse is flawless, open and sprawling, a breathtaking mix of old industrial and modern, with high exposed ceilings, brick walls, and slate marble counters. With the east-facing wall made entirely of glass, he must get amazing natural light and one hell of a sunrise.
“Ready?”
I spin, stopping short when I spy him.
“Oh my God,” I cackle. “What the hell are you wearing?”
His grin is electric, dipped in mirth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the sheepish half smile I normally get from him. “My robe and slippers,” he parrots back. The man even punctuates his sentence with a smug hip pop.
“My robe actually covers my body. You…that…” I gesture at his sky-high silk robe, the way it shows off too much—and yet somehow not enough—of his muscular thighs. “I can’t. You look ridiculous.”
“I look hot as fuck.” He ushers my still-laughing ass into the hall. “Carter got us these as a joke for their wedding. We had a photoshoot.”
“I need the pictures.” I tug his elbow. “Please.”
“No way, sunshine. I’m never letting anyone see them.”
“But I’ve already seen you in this,” I argue, ignoring the nickname as he leads me up one flight of stairs. I’m pretty sure he only calls me it to get under my skin. The smell of chlorine fills the air as the floor opens to a beautiful pool, the city below us lighting up the dark Vancouver skyline through the endless windows.
“And with any luck, you’ll forget what I look like in this.”
“Nope. Not happening. Burned into my memory, where it will remain, forever.” Along with another image, which is Garrett de-robing while staring at me with a goofy, lopsided smile.
I swallow my groan as he reveals the most immaculate body I’ve ever laid eyes on.
He’s pristine, all corded arms and carved muscles, leading down to a lean, tapered waist, and a bathing suit that does nothing to disguise the fact that Cara was, unfortunately, very correct: the weapon this man is carrying is big enough to destroy a small country. It’s been an unholy number of years since I’ve been intimate with somebody, and there’s a part of me—a very minuscule part—that wouldn’t mind being that small country.
Sliding off my robe and slippers, I set them next to Garrett’s things on the bench. When I turn back to him, I find his eyes locked on me.
His throat bobs, gaze heating as it falls, slow to come back up. In a moment of weakness, I reach for my robe, desperate to cover myself back up.
“I take back what I said earlier,” he whispers, halting my actions. “You definitely do not look like my mom.” His eyes widen, head wagging, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. He gestures at me with one hand, the other in his hair. “I mean, you have a belly button ring.” He smashes his lips together. “No. No, that’s not what I…I wasn’t…” He covers his face with both hands, dragging them down in slow motion. “Aaah…”