Before he could stop himself, Gage Adams squinted, trying to catch glimpses of his naughty neighbor through her still-swinging blinds. “Don’t hide on my account, Gamer Girl.”
The image of her lunging at the blinds, nude from the waist down, was going to remain with him for a long time. Too bad her lights had been dim. He hadn’t caught a good enough glance to quench the sudden curiosity that had cropped up in his gut from the quick flash of her sleek thighs and the shadowed area between them.
The bowl of Corn Pops he held in his hand was certainly not going to cut it anymore. He’d poured a helping of his favorite cereal as a little pick-me-up between the demands of the difficult client he’d just had and the moment he could finally crawl into bed.
But when he’d seen Gamer Girl’s lights on, he’d headed over to the window, looking forward to catching another glimpse of her leaning over a controller, limned by the glow of whichever video game she was currently playing.
He hadn’t expected to find her, instead, spread-eagled with her fingers between her thighs.
He’d nearly dropped his Corn Pops.
Then, just as he’d realized he needed to look the fuck away, she’d opened her eyes, her gaze connecting with his. There really had been no choice but to acknowledge the situation with a friendly wave.
He bit his bottom lip as he fought back another grin, his spoon clanging against stoneware as he dropped it into his soggy bowl of cereal.
“I thought you were fascinating before, but now?” He shook his head as he walked over to his kitchen to deposit his bowl in the sink. That she gamed more than she ate, had riotous hair of indeterminate color, and smiled every time their gazes connected across the alleyway amounted to beans in the interest department after what he’d just witnessed.
Gamer Girl was quickly becoming one of his favorite people.
He’d been meaning to head over and introduce himself anyway in the month since she’d moved in. Their apartments were mere feet apart, and they looked at each other enough in passing, sending little waves here and there when they both happened to be home at the same time, that remaining strangers had not really been an option for much longer without it becoming awkward.
Looks like it just got awkward.
What to do, what to do. He could pretend this had never happened. Pour another bowl of cereal. Head to bed. Try to sleep while visions of what her shadowed pussy could look like under full light danced in his head.
Or, he could do what he should have done a long time ago. Introduce himself. Try to smooth over this situation so she didn’t feel like she couldn’t relax in her apartment anymore. Find a way to get them both to the laughing-about-it-someday part.
Well, this is a no-brainer.
He strode over to the closet by the door, grabbing his favorite leather jacket so the desert night air wouldn’t chill him out. The next second saw him locking his door behind him and walking down the sidewalk to his neighbor’s adjacent building.
A friendly tenant held the door to Gamer Girl’s apartment building open for Gage, which only made him want to shake the man until his teeth clacked together. Letting just anyone into his building. Vegas could be a dangerous city. Didn’t this fool know that?
Both he and Gamer Girl lived on the bottom floors of their respective buildings, so Gage bypassed the staircase and ducked his head to fit beneath a door frame.
As soon as he entered her hallway, he spotted her door, and not just because it was in the right spot to be directly across from his.
Her door was littered with colorful stickers.
His lips twitched as he picked up his pace a bit. He paused in front apartment 7G.
Video games. Every sticker on her door was from a video game. There were some classics, like Link smashing a clay pot, but she also had current games represented, like the blond smiling dude from the Fallout franchise. Her devotion even extended toward some obvious international games, if the foreign languages were any indication.
A breath that sounded like a laugh tickled his nose. The landlord’s gotta love this.
He raised his fist to knock on Master Chief’s helmet, but paused.
Some imbecilic neighbor had blithely let Gage into the building.
Would she freak out if someone knocked on the door? Or would she know immediately it was him and not some stranger who’d wandered down her hall?
He pressed the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth and lowered his fist back to his side. Can’t have her getting scared.
Leaning back, he looked at the doors lining the hallway, then moved one to the left: apartment 9G. Maybe it would help if Gamer Girl knew a neighbor had seen Gage in the hall. People didn’t typically show their faces to someone and then commit a crime.
Unless they’re stupid. She could just think you’re stupid.
Right. So . . . head home now?
He knocked on the surface of the completely ordinary, boring door. Well, too late to pull out now.
Oh, yes, brilliant maneuver. He rolled his eyes at himself.
A shadow passed over the peephole from the other side, and Gage smiled brilliantly. Less than a second later, the door opened.
An elderly woman on the short side of four-foot-eleven peered up at him through thick glasses. She observed him in silence for a few long seconds, but then she straightened her glasses and smiled at him. He relaxed. He didn’t have much going for him, but he did have his looks. Luckily, they’d worked for him in his favor this time, beating out his height, which he knew from past experiences could be intimidating.
The woman gripped the doorframe with one gnarled hand. “Can I help you, young man?”
Now what do you tell her, genius? Well, it’s like this, sweet little old lady. I saw your neighbor’s pussy and followed it over here like a goddamn idiot, and now I’m knocking on your door because she’ll most likely mace me when I knock on hers, and I’m hoping, somehow, that us talking will make this all okay.
God, this plan sucked ass.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” He looked at the number on her door and frowned. “I was looking for apartment 7G.”
She clucked her tongue. “Just missed it, dear.” She leaned out into the hallway and pointed at Gamer Girl’s door. “There’s Cassidy’s apartment.”
Cassidy. This woman before him had offered up her neighbor’s name to a stranger she didn’t know from Adam without the slightest provocation. He stiffened his neck to keep his head from shaking. Would it be completely out of line for him to suggest Gamer Girl, aka Cassidy, find a safer apartment building?
Yes, it would be, psycho.
“Ah, my mistake.” He stepped back. “Thank you, Mrs.—?”
“Mortensen.” She patted her hair absently, her cloudy-eyed gaze straying down to his chest. “Mrs. Mortensen. Though I’m widowed, actually.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or pull his jacket together in the front and cut off her view. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She waved a hand in the air. “Years ago.”
If she wasn’t careful, she was going to burn a hole through his black T-shirt. “Well, lovely to meet you, Mrs. Mortensen. If I could ask just one more favor?”
Her eyes went slightly glazed behind her glasses. “Uh huh.”
He pressed his lips together to keep them from twitching. “Would you mind sticking right here for a moment? Just in case I got the wrong apartment and need help again. I think it’s supposed to be 7G, but . . . ”
She nodded absently. “Yes, dear, I can watch you for a moment.”
This time, there was no fighting the grin. Luckily, Mrs. Mortensen’s gaze was locked on his body as he backed away slowly, so she missed it.
He felt the elderly woman’s gaze hold his backside as he made his way toward Cassidy’s door and rapped his knuckles three times.
Half a second after a shadow passed in front of the peephole, he heard a gasp.
“Go away,” said a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
The sound of Gamer Girl’s voice did funny things to the tiny hair follicles all over his body, bringing them to standing attention. How her voice managed to be panic-pitched and husky at the same time, he had no idea.
He leaned toward the door, the weight of Mrs. Mortensen’s curious gaze still heavy. “Um, it’s me.” Now, why would you say that? As though that would mean anything to her.
“I know who it is. Go.”
He darted a sideways glance toward Mrs. Mortensen, but the lady was still laser-focused on his body and not betraying the slightest indication she was listening to their conversation. Her gaze was now resting solely on his biceps where they barely fit into the sleeves of his jacket, a sizing he’d done purposefully.
Okay, time to pull out the big guns. He leaned in toward the door. “Mrs. Mortensen here helpfully pointed out your door for me. You don’t think we should talk about what happened? When I saw you through the window, you seemed to be struggling with something. Something master—”
Another gasp. “Don’t you dare.”
“—ful and important.”
The door jerked open, and he caught his first up-close glance of Gamer Girl. He dimly heard Mrs. Mortensen say, “Oh, hello, Cassidy, dear.”
Cassidy was clothed again—more’s the pity—in jeans and a white T-shirt sporting Batgirl, Supergirl, and Wonder Woman, which read Anything Boys Can Do, Girls Can Do Better. Features he hadn’t really been able to place in their across-the-alley interactions thus far now stood out in stark relief. Namely, Gage found himself entranced by the constellation of freckles across her pert little nose, which wrinkled in the most adorable way as she glared at him.
Huh. Guess I like freckles. That was something he hadn’t known before this moment. It was hard to drag his gaze away from the sight of those sweet little dots, but drag it away he did, only to discover that her eyes were green. Vivid green, like just-mown grass. Bracing himself, he checked out her hair, which had always been a shadow from his apartment.
Red. She’s a fucking redhead.
Something went ping in the general location of his heart. Or maybe that was just his groin—he did tend to confuse the two when it came to women, but he’d thought he’d moved past that in recent years. As, despite the beating it had taken from his recent client, his dick began to stir behind his fly, he breathed a silent sigh.
Groin it is. Thank God.
Cassidy ducked her head out into the hallway, saw Mrs. Mortensen standing there blinking their way, and glared at Gage with renewed vitriol. “What are you doing here?” she hissed in a barely audible voice.
The question of the hour. “Uh.” Gage shuffled his fingers through his hair, his gaze sliding from hers to a spot just over her shoulder. “I thought this would be helpful after seeing you in a compromising position through the window?” Was he asking her? Jesus. “But, this was a bad idea. Obviously. You wouldn’t want to talk to me after—”
He didn’t get another word out. Next he knew, Cassidy was gripping his wrist with surprising strength. “Good night, Mrs. Mortensen!” she called down the hall. Then she hauled him into her apartment with a quick jerk. He managed to duck his head just in time to avoid beaming himself. She slammed the door behind them.
He blinked down at her tiny fingers wrapped around his skin.
“What the fuck, man!”
His gaze jerked up to hers. Her green eyes were wide, and her freckle-marked nose was wrinkled again—damn it. He raised his eyebrows. “Uh,” he said again, brilliantly.
“You can’t say shit like that in front of Mrs. Mortensen!”
He frowned. Had he said anything incriminating? He was having trouble remembering with the delicate pressure of her touch clouding his mind.
“She attends Mass, like every day, and I’m pretty sure she had all four of her kids through immaculate conception.” Cassidy shook her head sorrowfully, as though she couldn’t believe he could be so dumb.
Say something. Say something! “Immaculate conception? Well, then, she’s probably very familiar with what you were doing earlier.”
Silence.
Shit.
Cassidy’s lips formed a small O. Her lips were speckled with a few of their own freckles, and that hunger that brought him over here in the first place gained ferocity. She cocked her right eyebrow, and when there was a corresponding glint of light, he spied a delicate gold ring.
Ah, fuck. He was a sucker for piercings. Does she have more I can’t see yet?
Yet? Double fuck! Just what was he planning here?
Cassidy dropped her hand from his wrist, and he cringed. Invade her personal space. Make an inappropriate sex joke. Fantasize about hidden piercings.
He was just opening his mouth to apologize and make a hasty exit when she tossed her head back and laughed.
Really laughed. From deep in her belly. It was so loud, it echoed through her small apartment.
He caught himself drinking in the sight of her throat as it worked hard to accommodate such a big sound.
Cassidy’s head abruptly straightened, her gaze meeting his. He shifted his feet, clearing his throat a little. Had she caught him staring at her?
She didn’t seem to notice that he had been. She dashed tears of laughter from her eyes with the back of her hand. “This day has been some shit.”
His brows drew together. Was this where he apologized?
Cassidy turned her back on him and walked into the kitchenette at the other end of her living space. She opened the fridge and bent over. Several clinks of glass ensued, which he barely heard. Was he supposed to let himself out? He tried with all his might to keep his eyes off her ass. Small, the perfect round fit for his hands, and thrust in the air: his absolute favorite.
When she stood and made her way back to him, she carried a beer bottle in each hand. She shoved one his way, and he accepted it automatically.
“Cheers, neighbor.” She clinked her bottle against his, twisted the top, and proceeded to guzzle half the bottle in one draw.
“Cheers,” he muttered, twisting off his own bottle cap. He didn’t take a drink though. Usually, he never felt awkward in social situations.
The fact that seemed to be changing clogged his throat too much to allow room for something like a sip of beer.
She hooked her beer bottle with one finger and held her other hand out to him. “May as well introduce myself since you’ve . . . you know.”
“Seen you naked?” He gritted his teeth. I swear to God, if I could kick my own ass . . .
She cocked that pierced brow again. “Yes.” She wiggled her still-hanging-out-there hand, and he took it. “Cassidy.”
“Mrs. Mortensen told me,” he confessed.
Cassidy’s lips twisted. “Of course she did.”
“I knocked on her door first.” The word vomit just kept coming. “So you would feel more comfortable talking to me.” He rolled his beer bottle between both palms. “You know, because Stranger Danger and all that. I hoped her knowing I was here would put you at ease.”
She smirked. “Oh, yeah, sure. Like that makes a difference. You could just kill her, too.”
He froze, his beer bottle clinking against the ring he wore on his middle finger. “Whoa.”
Cassidy winced. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as it came out of my mouth. That took a turn, didn’t it?”
He nodded his head. “A dark one.”
Cassidy sighed and tapped her temple. “Can’t seem to turn off the writer brain.”
A writer? She peered up at him, her nose wrinkling, and this third sighting of what appeared to be a common mannerism of hers had just as potent of a reaction from his gut as the first one had. So damn hungry.
“You aren’t here to kill me, right?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Definitely nope.”
“Then we might as well sit down.” She started walking toward the two gaming chairs that served as the only seats in her living room. He looked around the apartment for some sort of clue. Was that it? He’d passed her inquisition just by assuring her he wasn’t there to kill her? There had to be more.
“You never told me your name, by the way.” She flopped into one of the low-to-the-ground leather chairs.
Ah, here it came. He cleared his throat. “Gage.” He crossed to the free chair and sank into it. The damn thing was way more comfortable than it’d appeared across the room.
She looked at him silently for a moment, her gaze traveling from his face to all over his body.
Every muscle he had stiffened, and the non-muscle between his legs perked up, too. It’d taken her long enough to notice his appearance. It usually happened much sooner.
What was she thinking as she took him in? Why do I care?
“Gage,” she repeated. She took another swig of beer. “It fits you.”
“Thanks.” It should suit him. He’d intentionally picked a name that would fit the persona he used at work. One that matched the leather jacket, the boots, the tight black clothes, the motorcycle.
She was still looking at his body, her green gaze heating up just a fraction.
Liking what she sees?
This was something he was more than used to, but with her, the focus only reminded him of what he did for a living and how he really wouldn’t mind doing it with her. “So”—he sloshed the beer around in his bottle—“want to talk about your shit day?”
Her gaze snapped back to safe territory, and she made a rough noise in the back of her throat. “Which part? The one where I helped put a sexist game on the market? The part where I almost got fired? Or—and this is my personal favorite—the part where I couldn’t even manage to rub one out so I could finally relax, and my hot neighbor caught me mid-failure?”
Hot neighbor? He straightened in his seat and tried to keep his voice neutral. “Any of it,” he said. Great. That husky rasp of a voice he’d let loose practically screamed, Let’s talk about sex, baby.
She laughed through her nose and brought her bottle to her lips. “Men,” she said into the mouth of the bottle so that it echoed through the space.
Damn. She’d noticed the horny voice, too. “I know.” He shrugged. “We’re obvious.”
“No shit.” She lowered the bottle a fraction and narrowed her eyes at him over it. “I just don’t get why you’d walk all the way over here for this. I mean, why? What are you, the patron saint of orgasms?”
He felt himself beginning to grin. Well, now that you mention it. She was just taking a sip of beer when he said, “Well . . . I’m a gigolo.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a huge swallow of beer.
“So”—he continued—“yes. I do answer prayers—for believers.”