Page 46 of Heart Over Heels

The driver turned in his seat, waiting for me to move, and I caught myself wishing I’d asked Colette for a ride instead.

I would have, if she’d been available. But the club was still quiet when I’d crawled out of bed at 11:00 a.m., determined to have this task completed before Beck arrived. Maybe he’d give me a pat on the back. Or a thumbs up. Or that CEO promotion…

“You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

I squinted out at the sunbaked scenery. “Circle the block. I might be a minute.”

Mercer’s house was so plain it bordered on invisible—not shabby, just… temporary, like a rental nobody loved enough to claim.

I slipped the driver some extra cash to encourage patience, then stepped out onto the curb. Remembering the way Mercer’s gaze had skated over me at our dinner and how many times I’d made him blush, I’d put effort into my outfit. He’d seen me undressed often enough, but as the saying went, the clothes make the man.

Today, I planned on makingthe mansweat while he watched my ass in this skirt.

Halfway up the sidewalk, it struck me that Mercer might not live alone. I hadn’t seen a wedding band or heard mention ofanyone special in his life, but there was always the chance I’d be met by a wife, a partner, or even kids.

If so, I’d hand off the paperwork and bail as smoothly as I could. Wander the block. Or plant myself at the curb and hope the Uber looped back before the neighbors noticed.

But the closer I got, the more the place gave itself away. No welcome mat, no flowers, nothing to suggest concern for curb appeal. Just bare steps and a front door that looked like it hadn’t seen a wreath in its life.

Definitely a bachelor pad.

Even with that reassurance, my stomach knotted as my Uber rolled down the street and then turned out of sight.

Reaching the porch, I pressed the doorbell and considered how I should stand. Arms crossed? Too defensive. Hip cocked? Too flirtatious.

In the end, I clasped my hands behind my back and curled my tail around one thigh with its tip pointing like an arrow down my leg.

The deadbolt clicked over, the door creaked inward, and Mercer peeked out. His eyes narrowed then widened, and his cheeks stained with the faint blush I’d come to savor.

“Morning, Mercy,” I greeted.

He glanced down to check his watch. It was a heavy-duty thing—tactical, black, and studded with buttons. Very Swiss Army. Very cute.

“Is it still morning?” he asked, visibly bewildered.

“Not all of us are out here chasing six-packs before sunrise.” I freed a hand to poke at his stomach. Half excuse, half experiment. Unsurprisingly, he was solid under his shirt, just like I’d felt when clinging to him on the bike. Not much give in that gut.

I tipped my head and smiled, trying to coax out another blush. “So, are you gonna invite me in, or are we doing this on the porch?”

He blanched. “Doing what?”

His concern tempted the devil in me, and my smile spread. “Invite me in and find out.”

Mercer dashed a glance over his shoulder, and my worries about a wife and kids flared. Barely a moment passed before he stepped back and swung the door wide. “All right.”

I trotted in, letting my tail slither loose and drag across his waist as I passed.

And I took in the sights, which were far less fantastic than I’d hoped.

The living room was a study in beige—builder-basic and bare-bones. It housed a nearly new sofa and chairs, but the cushions looked stiff and the seats uninviting. There were no throw pillows, no blanket laid out, no evidence that a human lived here at all.

The walls were equally devoid of personality, no photos, no art, and the shelves were empty, save for dust. The windows had no curtains, just blinds pulled up halfway to admit square beams of sun.

I glanced back at where Mercer hovered beside the front door.

“Cozy,” I quipped.

His mouth bent in a grimace. “I uh… just moved back. Haven’t had time to do much with the place.” His hand raked over the back of his neck.