Hothead (Irresistible 4)

“Seriously?” I hissed at my screen because one, he wasn’t even a Baltimore fan and two, his stupid passive aggressive hashtags were clearly directed at Drew and three, he spelled the word “damn” wrong.

What an ass.

I was still frazzled and wearing kale juice when I typed a dirty, bitchy, completely inappropriate reply to his post that I really, really wished I had the nerve to actually post.

Just do it. He deserves it. Hit enter, the devil on my shoulder urged me wickedly the second Iain finally texted me back.

“Thank God,” I exhaled, but then I read his text.

IAIN: Unfortunately I don’t know the answers to any of these questions but I’m sure the fridge is fine and the alarm company will understand. Just breathe and remember the password in case there’s a next time. I let Drew know to come home early to address any further issues you might have.

“No! No, no, no, no!” I yelled at my phone, typing back a dozen different replies and settling on none to actually send because it was probably inappropriate to ask Iain what he was thinking texting Drew when I texted him specifically to avoid talking to Drew. I already felt dumb for caving and texting him about our new rule today, and even dumber since he didn’t respond, so the last thing I needed was for him to be informed that I “needed” him home.

Ugh.

I wasn’t even unpacked yet.

Dragging my feet upstairs, I went into the guest room where I’d left my bags and pulled out something clean to change into. I was in the middle of yanking my top on when I heard the elevator humming up to the entrance of the penthouse downstairs.

Drew was home.

I ran out of my room eagerly before realizing that I wasn’t sure if I was even eager to see him. We hadn’t spoken since that bizarre and incredibly hot night that almost felt like a dream at this point, and he was no doubt in a crappy mood over tonight’s epic loss.

On top of that, Iain had texted him something about me and all the stupid issues I’d been having in his home, which I now realized were pretty trivial, and the last thing Drew needed to deal with. So I felt kind of bad about that.

And I felt even worse when midway down the steps, the elevator doors opened and Drew’s eyes were pinned immediately on me.

“Hi,” I breathed out, freezing in place as I took in the sight of him looking hard, steely and hotter than I was comfortable with in a white crew neck and grey sweats.

God, that body.

He said nothing to me, instead striding silently into the kitchen and tossing his wallet onto the counter. He eyed the still-beeping fridge and conveyed the utter lack of emergency it presented by taking a swig from his water bottle and returning a few texts before walking over to it. Then with a look at me, he hit some button that I swore I’d hit ten times to try and shut it up, and the damned thing stopped beeping.

At that point, I pretty much wanted to turn on my heel and go back upstairs, but I forced myself to at least attempt to break our three-day silence before going to bed. He was clearly a seasoned pro at intimidating others, but if I was going to be living under the same roof as Drew Maddox, I refused to be scared of him.

I watched him pay attention to everything but me as I joined him in the kitchen. I thought about what Aly had said the other day, what I’d texted him today, and nodded silently to myself.

Yeah. Definitely. No fucking this moody prick. Now, soon or ever, I resolved as I drew in a deep, inaudible breath and worked up the nerve to break the silence.

“So. Have you eaten yet?”

It was all I had in my arsenal since “how was the game” was out of the question. Plus, it had always been my daily greeting to Mike after I got home from work. It helped me figure out whether I needed to take care of him or whether or not I could go shower and do my own thing.

I rested my palms on the countertop to convey casual calm, but my toes were tapping away in my slippers as I waited for Drew to respond to my question. He took his sweet time, opening the door of the freezer and taking out what looked like an ice pack before finally speaking.

“Password for the alarm is Christopher,” he said coldly. “Memorize it.”

Okay. I see how it is.

This was probably how he started the ice-out Aly was talking about, but I wasn’t having it.

“Who’s Christopher?” I dared to ask, earning myself a look from Drew as he made his way over to the living room.

“No one you’ll ever meet, so don’t worry about it.”

God.

I rolled my head back and shared a can you believe this guy look with the ceiling, because I had no one else to gripe to. Still, I wasn’t letting him break me. I was going to remain unflappably civil and find a way for us to leave off on a decent note before going upstairs. This was where I was sleeping for the next three months, and I wasn’t about to let it become a toxic environment. I was too old for that shit.