Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
A singsong voice draws my focus from the risky flap of Angel’s towel.
“What was that?” I murmur, my tone hardened with lust.
Angel smiles like she knows the cause of my distraction before she murmurs, “The shower is free.”
I’d recently entered the apartment when Mrs. Richler called to announce that Angel was on her way up. I only had enough time to strip and wrap a towel around me. I could use a shower. I just can’t. Jimmy swears integrity is the quickest route to instalove. Since I need Angel head over heels in love with me in less than four days, I can’t call myself out as a liar from the get-go.
“Thanks, but I already showered. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Angel stops prancing across the warped floorboards and then twists to face me. “Then what’s that horrid smell?”
Her nose twitches when she points it toward the kitchen and inhales a big whiff. She doesn’t seem bothered by the scent pluming from the half-full trash can. The same can’t be said when she enters the living room and flares her nostrils. She looks on the verge of being sick.
“Eww.”
Before checking the bottom of my shoes, I sniff my pits for the rancid scent responsible for her screwed-up face.
Both are free of encumbrances.
I don’t understand the source of her disgust, but I lose the chance to inquire when she asks, “What brand of aftershave do you wear? It smells like…”
She takes a moment to deliberate. Her verdict better include something of high monetary value since my aftershave costs over a thousand dollars a bottle.
I don’t get close to the reply I am seeking. “It smells like the toilet spray my grandfather used to cover up the aftermath of a Cancun Seafood Boil.”
I balk before sniffing myself again, attempting to discredit her claim.
Numerous whiffs produce the same results. I don’t understand a single gripe. I smell fresh. Luxurious. I’d even go as far as sexy. But again, since I have days to work my magic, I murmur, “I guess another shower wouldn’t hurt. It isn’t like this part of the world is on water restrictions.”
She gleams like my reply humors her before a stern mask slips over her beautiful face. “Wash your hair too. The plastic on the couch is to deter stains. It’ll do little for oil slicks.”
Ouch.
I should have stayed naked. She’s less picky when she struggles to veer her eyes from my abs.
While standing, I run my fingers through my thick mop, feigning my ego wasn’t scalded by her diss. “It was a long flight. Not everyone has the funds to buy a first-class ticket, and even if I did, not all planes have showers.” I flew first class, and my preferred airline has showers. I just can’t disclose that right now.
Guilt features on Angel’s face for half a second before she shrugs it off for nonchalance. “While you shower, I’ll order in. Is there anything in particular you’re craving?”
“You pick,” I reply, returning the ball to her court.
The more control she believes she has, the faster our exchange will move on to the skits Jimmy assures me is where the real magic happens.
Don’t ask me why, but my eyes drop to Angel’s tiny towel at the end of my sentence. I know why I’m looking. I just don’t want it explained to me since it will most likely see me wanting to sue myself—my thoughts have never been more corrupt.
Liaising with leaseholders sexually is not a part of my contracts. It specifically states that it is off the agenda during and after their tenancies. So why do I keep looking at Angel as if she is a snack I can’t wait to devour?
Because according to Mrs. Richler, Angel doesn’t have a lease.
Needing a moment to think, I jerk my head toward the kitchen. “My wallet is on the counter. I cashed a money order at the airport, so there are plenty of funds for dinner.”
This is part of the integrity I mentioned earlier. Giving her underhanded permission to snoop through my things announces that I have nothing to hide. It will lower her defenses and have her eating out of my pants in no time.
Palm. I meant to say palm.
“Okay. Great.” Angel twists to face me, her smile heart thumping. “Enjoy your shower.”
The purr of her last sentence raises my suspicion. It seems more uneased than genuine.
I guess that can be expected. Her Airbnb advertisement announces that she invites strangers into her home on a regular basis, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be a little apprehensive.
“Thanks. I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need. Just don’t forget to wash your hair. I don’t want to have to call Greenpeace.”
Laughing, I enter the hallway while working my belt through the loops of my trousers.
After I enter the bathroom, I guide my pants down my thighs while striving to gauge Angel’s response to my business attire. She doesn’t seem the type to dig a suit, but her cheeks were as flushed when she exited the bathroom as when I let her into her apartment in only a towel, so my theory could be a little awry.