Running into Love
Page 3
“Hustler on West Fifty-Fourth Street,” I say with a straight face.
“Thanks for your service.” He winks, and laughter bubbles up the back of my throat and my head tilts back as I laugh loudly. “What do you really do?” he asks softly when my laughter has died down and I’ve wiped the tears from under my eyes.
“I’m a fifth-grade teacher.” I smile, then let out a frustrated breath as Muffin grabs the treat from between my fingers and swallows it in one gulp.
“Do you like it?” He laughs at Muffin as she scoots over just enough to shove her head under his hand so that he’ll pet her again.
“Love it,” I respond immediately. “I know it’s cheesy, but there is no better feeling than seeing a kid’s face when they learn something new.” His eyes change and fill with a softness that makes my stomach flutter.
Seeing that look, I know I need to get out of here, because the level of hotness is enough to make me question my recent decision to join a convent. I enjoy dating about as much as I enjoy getting my monthly Brazilian.
The whole dating scene has changed so much during the last few years. Now instead of just telling someone that you like them and you would like to spend time with them, you’re left competing for—I don’t know what. The whole swipe left, swipe right, call, don’t call, text, don’t text, interested, not interested, have sex, don’t have sex scene has left me a little confused and a lot overwhelmed. On my last date, the guy openly compared me to another woman he was seeing. I think he was drawing up an Excel spreadsheet in his head while I sat across from him. He actually asked me my jeans and shoe size. I was surprised he didn’t ask me my SAT scores or bank balance. When I got home from that date, I knew I was done. I decided that I would rather spend my days alone than be made to feel inadequate.
Looking at Muffin, I pray she takes me up on my next offer so I can get out of here. “Do you want to go for a walk?” Barking excitedly, she jumps off the couch and leaves through the crack in the door. “Finally,” I mumble, then turn to face Levi again. “Thanks for being so cool about this.”
“No problem.” He smiles gently, and my stomach flutters again.
“It was nice meeting you.”
“See you around, Fawn,” he rumbles, making my girlie bits sit up and take notice.
“See you around, neighbor.” I give him a dorky salute, then head across the hall to my apartment, grabbing a hoodie from the coat closet and Muffin’s leash. Leading her down the two flights of stairs, I smile when Levi greets us with a smirk from the bottom landing.
“Are you sure you’re not following me?” he questions as we descend the last three steps.
“Positive.” I roll my eyes, before remembering my manners. “Thank you.” I smile as he opens the door, letting us exit before him. I guess chivalry isn’t totally dead—yet.
Looking both ways, I try to figure out where he’s going to go so Muffin and I can head in the opposite direction. “Which way are you going?” I ask, giving up trying to figure out his path. There are two subway stations close to our building, and depending on what precinct he’s working at, he could take either train.
“This way.” He nods to the right.
“Bummer, we’re going the other way.” I tilt my head to the left, then smile. “Be safe at work.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, like he finds something entertaining, and he rubs Muffin’s head briefly before meeting my eyes again. “See you girls around.”
“See ya around.” I wave as I drag Muffin down the sidewalk away from him. Halfway down the block, I can’t help myself, and I look over my shoulder, then bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions in check when I see that he’s still standing where I left him. Crossing his arms over his wide chest, he lifts his chin ever so slightly and his eyes bore into mine.
Pulling my gaze from him I whisper, “I’m in so much trouble,” earning an unsolicited bark from Muffin.
Chapter 2
TOTALLY READ THAT WRONG
FAWN
“I think we should get dressed up for Halloween and go out tonight. We never go out on Halloween anymore,” my sister Mackenzie complains as she flops down onto the couch next to Muffin, who then takes an opportunity to lick her face.
“We went out last year,” my little sister, Libby, mumbles while frowning at her cell phone.
“Yeah, we went to one of your stupid snooty clubs. The whole night was a complete bore,” Mac says, glaring at Libby, who lowers her phone to glare right back.
If I didn’t know for a fact that we were sisters, I would think we were switched at birth because we are all so different. Mackenzie, better known as Mac, is the oldest and a complete tomboy. Okay, a tomboy who looks like a model when she dresses up. Mac has long, natural red hair and big green eyes, just like our dad. Our baby sister, Libby, is the beauty queen of the three of us, with dark-brown hair that ends at the middle of her back and crystal-blue eyes—she looks just like our mom’s high school prom picture. Then there’s me, the classic middle child and the nerd, with untamable curly blonde hair and odd blue eyes that look more like river gray than Libby’s ocean blue. Our parents still question where I got the blonde hair, and there’s a running joke that my features match the postman’s, which would be funny if it wasn’t true.
“I wanted to order Chinese, watch Hocus Pocus, and hand out candy,” I say, knowing neither of them will likely listen to me or what I want to do, even though they both chose to come to my house for the night. Where my sisters love to go out, I enjoy hanging at home. I would much rather spend an evening in my pajamas than get dressed up to go anywhere.
“You always want to stay in,” Libby mutters, gaining a nod of agreement from Mac.
“There is nothing wrong with staying home,” I grumble under my breath, defending myself.
“No, there is nothing wrong with staying home . . . occasionally . . . but you would never leave the house if you didn’t have to,” Libby says, tossing her phone onto the coffee table, then looking me over and barely concealing her obvious disappointment in the fact I’m not like her and could really care less about my appearance. Those crystal blues travel from my hair—tied up in a ponytail—to a tee stating I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to my ripped jeans that I’ve had forever before resting on the grubby red Toms that I refuse to part with. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
I sit back in my chair and put my hands up to my scrubbed-clean face. “Nope, not happening. I’m not going to let you hook me up with someone again.” I shout the last word, and her nose scrunches up like I’m being dramatic. The first and last time I let her set me up was a disaster. The guy was an actor who thought he was god’s gift to women.
“You didn’t even give Phil a chance.”
“In Fawn’s defense, Phil is high maintenance,” Mac chimes in, gaining a disapproving glare from Libby.
“He’s a nice guy,” Libby defends her friend.
“He asked to use my compact during dinner,” I growl at her.
“So what’s wrong with that? Maybe he had something in his teeth.” She waves her hands around dismissively.
“Yeah, I thought so, too, until he used my powder, saying that the lighting was making him look shiny.” Mac starts giggling, and Muffin stands above her, wagging her tail happily thinking that she wants to play.
“He’s an act-or,” Libby states, like that fact alone should make it okay for a man to use a woman’s makeup, when in all actuality, it’s not okay for a woman to use someone’s makeup without asking for permission.
“Well, then, cross actors off my list,” I grumble.
“What kind of men are you interested in?” Libby asks, and for some stupid reason the hot detective next door comes to mind, but I push that thought aside, since for the last two weeks I have avoided any contact with him—going so far as to hide in my room when he’s knocked on my door.
“I’m focusing on work right now, so I don’t really have time to date,” I lie, watching her eyes narrow.
“Thanks for your service.” He winks, and laughter bubbles up the back of my throat and my head tilts back as I laugh loudly. “What do you really do?” he asks softly when my laughter has died down and I’ve wiped the tears from under my eyes.
“I’m a fifth-grade teacher.” I smile, then let out a frustrated breath as Muffin grabs the treat from between my fingers and swallows it in one gulp.
“Do you like it?” He laughs at Muffin as she scoots over just enough to shove her head under his hand so that he’ll pet her again.
“Love it,” I respond immediately. “I know it’s cheesy, but there is no better feeling than seeing a kid’s face when they learn something new.” His eyes change and fill with a softness that makes my stomach flutter.
Seeing that look, I know I need to get out of here, because the level of hotness is enough to make me question my recent decision to join a convent. I enjoy dating about as much as I enjoy getting my monthly Brazilian.
The whole dating scene has changed so much during the last few years. Now instead of just telling someone that you like them and you would like to spend time with them, you’re left competing for—I don’t know what. The whole swipe left, swipe right, call, don’t call, text, don’t text, interested, not interested, have sex, don’t have sex scene has left me a little confused and a lot overwhelmed. On my last date, the guy openly compared me to another woman he was seeing. I think he was drawing up an Excel spreadsheet in his head while I sat across from him. He actually asked me my jeans and shoe size. I was surprised he didn’t ask me my SAT scores or bank balance. When I got home from that date, I knew I was done. I decided that I would rather spend my days alone than be made to feel inadequate.
Looking at Muffin, I pray she takes me up on my next offer so I can get out of here. “Do you want to go for a walk?” Barking excitedly, she jumps off the couch and leaves through the crack in the door. “Finally,” I mumble, then turn to face Levi again. “Thanks for being so cool about this.”
“No problem.” He smiles gently, and my stomach flutters again.
“It was nice meeting you.”
“See you around, Fawn,” he rumbles, making my girlie bits sit up and take notice.
“See you around, neighbor.” I give him a dorky salute, then head across the hall to my apartment, grabbing a hoodie from the coat closet and Muffin’s leash. Leading her down the two flights of stairs, I smile when Levi greets us with a smirk from the bottom landing.
“Are you sure you’re not following me?” he questions as we descend the last three steps.
“Positive.” I roll my eyes, before remembering my manners. “Thank you.” I smile as he opens the door, letting us exit before him. I guess chivalry isn’t totally dead—yet.
Looking both ways, I try to figure out where he’s going to go so Muffin and I can head in the opposite direction. “Which way are you going?” I ask, giving up trying to figure out his path. There are two subway stations close to our building, and depending on what precinct he’s working at, he could take either train.
“This way.” He nods to the right.
“Bummer, we’re going the other way.” I tilt my head to the left, then smile. “Be safe at work.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, like he finds something entertaining, and he rubs Muffin’s head briefly before meeting my eyes again. “See you girls around.”
“See ya around.” I wave as I drag Muffin down the sidewalk away from him. Halfway down the block, I can’t help myself, and I look over my shoulder, then bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions in check when I see that he’s still standing where I left him. Crossing his arms over his wide chest, he lifts his chin ever so slightly and his eyes bore into mine.
Pulling my gaze from him I whisper, “I’m in so much trouble,” earning an unsolicited bark from Muffin.
Chapter 2
TOTALLY READ THAT WRONG
FAWN
“I think we should get dressed up for Halloween and go out tonight. We never go out on Halloween anymore,” my sister Mackenzie complains as she flops down onto the couch next to Muffin, who then takes an opportunity to lick her face.
“We went out last year,” my little sister, Libby, mumbles while frowning at her cell phone.
“Yeah, we went to one of your stupid snooty clubs. The whole night was a complete bore,” Mac says, glaring at Libby, who lowers her phone to glare right back.
If I didn’t know for a fact that we were sisters, I would think we were switched at birth because we are all so different. Mackenzie, better known as Mac, is the oldest and a complete tomboy. Okay, a tomboy who looks like a model when she dresses up. Mac has long, natural red hair and big green eyes, just like our dad. Our baby sister, Libby, is the beauty queen of the three of us, with dark-brown hair that ends at the middle of her back and crystal-blue eyes—she looks just like our mom’s high school prom picture. Then there’s me, the classic middle child and the nerd, with untamable curly blonde hair and odd blue eyes that look more like river gray than Libby’s ocean blue. Our parents still question where I got the blonde hair, and there’s a running joke that my features match the postman’s, which would be funny if it wasn’t true.
“I wanted to order Chinese, watch Hocus Pocus, and hand out candy,” I say, knowing neither of them will likely listen to me or what I want to do, even though they both chose to come to my house for the night. Where my sisters love to go out, I enjoy hanging at home. I would much rather spend an evening in my pajamas than get dressed up to go anywhere.
“You always want to stay in,” Libby mutters, gaining a nod of agreement from Mac.
“There is nothing wrong with staying home,” I grumble under my breath, defending myself.
“No, there is nothing wrong with staying home . . . occasionally . . . but you would never leave the house if you didn’t have to,” Libby says, tossing her phone onto the coffee table, then looking me over and barely concealing her obvious disappointment in the fact I’m not like her and could really care less about my appearance. Those crystal blues travel from my hair—tied up in a ponytail—to a tee stating I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to my ripped jeans that I’ve had forever before resting on the grubby red Toms that I refuse to part with. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
I sit back in my chair and put my hands up to my scrubbed-clean face. “Nope, not happening. I’m not going to let you hook me up with someone again.” I shout the last word, and her nose scrunches up like I’m being dramatic. The first and last time I let her set me up was a disaster. The guy was an actor who thought he was god’s gift to women.
“You didn’t even give Phil a chance.”
“In Fawn’s defense, Phil is high maintenance,” Mac chimes in, gaining a disapproving glare from Libby.
“He’s a nice guy,” Libby defends her friend.
“He asked to use my compact during dinner,” I growl at her.
“So what’s wrong with that? Maybe he had something in his teeth.” She waves her hands around dismissively.
“Yeah, I thought so, too, until he used my powder, saying that the lighting was making him look shiny.” Mac starts giggling, and Muffin stands above her, wagging her tail happily thinking that she wants to play.
“He’s an act-or,” Libby states, like that fact alone should make it okay for a man to use a woman’s makeup, when in all actuality, it’s not okay for a woman to use someone’s makeup without asking for permission.
“Well, then, cross actors off my list,” I grumble.
“What kind of men are you interested in?” Libby asks, and for some stupid reason the hot detective next door comes to mind, but I push that thought aside, since for the last two weeks I have avoided any contact with him—going so far as to hide in my room when he’s knocked on my door.
“I’m focusing on work right now, so I don’t really have time to date,” I lie, watching her eyes narrow.
