The One I Want

I like that job. A lot. But I’d give it up if it meant we could pick up where we left off earlier tonight in bed. “I’m sorry.” Pressing my face into the corner of the door, I whisper, “I’m sorry I lied,” hoping he can hear me.

Stepping back, I wait a few more minutes, silently begging him, willing him to open the door. When he doesn’t, I decide I need to walk away. Not for me, but to give him the peace he’s seeking.

I bypass the elevator and push through into the stairwell. It’s only one flight down, but I’m dragging my feet. When I swing open the door to my floor, I stop. Down the hall on the right, long and muscular legs in fitness shorts stretch before him with sneakers on his feet. His T-shirt hanging loose around his torso might be the most casual I’ve ever seen him dressed. He wears it well like everything else.

Drew might be the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but his mood permeates the hallway. His presence fills wherever he exists, and it’s easy to get consumed by it. Right now, I’m willing to take the chance.

The door comes flying closed and whacks me in the ass, sending me stumbling forward. “Ow!” Graceful.

He turns, and the recognition filling his eyes has him scrambling to his feet as fast as he can. “Where have you been?” There’s no harsh tone but one of worry.

I rub my ass and then toward him. “I’ve been waiting for you upstairs. I knocked. A lot. Probably disturbed your neighbors. After a while, I finally came back down.”

“The same.”

I cover the last few feet and ask, “For how long?” Call me a romantic, but it matters.

“Until you opened the door.”

I’m not sure I’m doing a good job of hiding my smile when I twist my lips to the side, but at least, I’m trying. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I was an asshole, and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t—”

“I am, actually. I’m an asshole in life, a miserable jerk who cares more about a company than my own life. But you know what, Juni?”

I’m surprised to be having this conversation so quickly, so honestly, so easily. That has to be a good sign if we’re trusting in those sorts of things. And I do. I lean on the wall across from him. “What?”

“I’m not such an asshole with you. And I don’t mean to you, if you can momentarily forget my behavior upstairs, but to everyone because of you. You make me less annoyed with the world. You make me see the little things, the important things, everything I ignored before.” He steps closer, but each is tentative. “Instead of getting upset, I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure you have a good reason for not telling me you live here.”

Glancing back, he scans the door and the wreath hanging on the outside. It’s dusty, and I should have packed that away, but my grandmother loved it, so here it’s stayed. I pull my key from my pocket and move forward, knowing I’m totally letting him into my small corner of the world if he’ll stay. “Actually, I don’t have a good reason, other than you called me a stalker on day one, so I did everything I could to make you believe otherwise.” I roll my eyes just listening to myself admit that out loud. “You know, like a stalker would do.”

Shoving the key in the knob, I unlock it and open the door.

But then he does more than I could ever ask of him. He says, “I was willing to wait all night for you. I think I’m the stalker, after all.” He takes the heat off me. I might have hearts in my eyes. Fine, I do.

“Since you know where I live, psycho, come on in?”

“I’d like that, but first, I hope you accept my apology for how I treated you. So many excuses from being tired to realizing you’re the one who has kept me up so many nights with your cooking concerts to the lie have run through my head. But I failed to acknowledge my part in all this.”

Taking my hand in his, he brings it to his mouth to kiss, and then again. “I’m sorry, Juni, and I’m sorry for not making you feel safe to share the truth. I never thought you were a stalker.” The smirk comes first in a direct hit to my knees. Why does he have to be so good at everything, including weakening me? Then the wink. “But,” he says, playing it off in that non-bragging but totally bragging way, “you’re not the first woman to follow me home.”

My smirk pales in comparison, so I give him my best smug grin. “I bet I’m not. I can only imagine all the girls tripping over themselves when you were in high school.” When I move closer, his arms envelop me without hesitation, bringing me against the soft T-shirt that covers his hard chest. I close my eyes, absorbing everything I can about this man. We are friends, but we’re becoming much more, and I recognize that now.