Page 34 of Tears of Ink

It’s easy to reach the door; the apartment has the same cubic square feet as a hamster cage. “Sorry.” I begin unlatching the locks. My fingers are fumbling. I wish they wouldn’t.

I pull on the handle and as I do, I can’t help wondering which version of Elijah will be standing on the other side. Is it going to be the man in sliders with the easy smile, or will it be the awkward guy in the expensive suit?

The door opens, and I smile. Actually, he’s somewhere in between.

And hell does he look hot.

His jeans are faded and fit just fine. His legs are long, and doesn’t the denim know just how to fit perfectly around his thighs. A navy T-shirt stretches across his chest. I couldn’t comment on the curve and definition of his chest… because I’m not looking.

Who the hell am I kidding? I’m looking.

He’s wearing a Quiksilver baseball cap.

And I do believe this is the finest he’s looked yet.

“Come in.” I open the door wider. “You’re early. I’ve only just got up.” I turn and stare with a sinking stomach into the stinking pit that is my home.

“Uh, Faith.”

“Yeah?”

He points an index finger at my armpits.

Holy fuck! I’m a sweaty mess anyway, now I’m hanging with Hades in hell.

I remove the crumpled shreds of tissue from under my arms and turn to him sheepishly. “I actually have nothing to say about that.”

He laughs. It’s the most wondrous chuckle I’ve ever heard. “Truthfully, you are something else.”

And he doesn’t even know me yet.

“That’s me. One of a kind.” I brazen it out and walk towards the tiny kitchenette. “Would you like a coffee?” I should attempt some civility in the moment.

“Here.”

I look at his hands for the first time—that’s how wondrous the T-shirt is—I haven’t even noticed he’s holding two Costa coffee mugs in a cardboard holder in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

He smiles, his lips lifting on the left, a small dimple appearing. “I decided to play a little game of guess the coffee.”

He’s got one big mug wedged in the holder and one espresso. His eyes narrow as he runs them over me, sweeping across my skin. Resting on my chest.

Holy fuck. I haven’t put a bra on yet. A vest—no bra. It’s too hot for a damn bra.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I fold my arms and glare. “Stop looking at my chest.”

“Sorry, it’s just kind of there.” He shakes his head a little and I march away into the small bedroom. I dig out a sports bra and somehow manage to get it over my sticky skin. I walk back out yanking my vest back over my head.

He’s watching. There’s no hiding it.

“And coffee?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.

He blinks a little, obviously refocusing. “Here. I went for a short and strong espresso for you.”

How did he know?

“Are you a specialist in coffee habits?” I smile a little and hold out my hand for the small cardboard cup.