“You don’t mind stopping here real quick?” I ask Halsey as I pull up to my apartment.
To say things have been awkward is an understatement. I worked the whole day at the office so Oden took him home yesterday, but now that the guys are out of town, I’m back to driving Halsey.
I don’t mind.
But it seems like it’s extremely painful for him.
And sure . . . he touched my boob.
It was an honest mistake. Not quite sure where he was going with the whole proximity thing, but it’s not like he set out to touch my breast. He apologized profusely, even stuck a Post-it Note on my door for when I got home that said I’m sorry. He holed up in his room for the night, which made things even more awkward.
So when I came into his room for our good night slumber party, he was stiff as a board, apologized once more, then turned away from me and went to sleep.
This morning, I made the smoothie that sprayed across his entire apartment and tried to make a joke about it, but I could see just how uncomfortable he was, even though he attempted to smile.
I am hoping it was the fact that he didn’t mean to touch me that has made him so miserable. And not the fact that my boob was so disgusting that it sent him into this catatonic tailspin where I am made of sludge and cooties. Because I know I have great boobs, but now I’m starting to doubt that with every minute that goes by that he doesn’t talk to me.
“No, it’s cool. I can stay in the car. Give you some privacy.”
This guy . . . the number of times he’s offered me privacy since the boob touch.
I don’t want privacy. I just want things the way they were.
Getting slightly irritated because I miss the fun Halsey, I turn in the car and say, “You touched my boob.”
His frantic expression would make me laugh if I wasn’t so frustrated.
I press my hand to his and smile. “Halsey, it’s okay. I don’t feel like you violated me or whatever horrific thoughts are running through your head. It was an honest mistake.”
“I would never violate you, Blakely,” he says while his hand eclipses mine.
His large . . . callousy hand.
“I know.” I look him in the eyes. “But you’re acting like you did, and it’s weird. I don’t want it to be weird.”
“I’m sorry.” His thumb rubs over my knuckles, and for the first time in a really long time, a wave of butterflies hits me—like they were unleashed with the short, tight stroke, erupting an influx of lust through my veins.
Where the heck did that come from?
“Um, yeah, I know you’re sorry,” I say, me now taking the awkward role. “It was an accident, no need to apologize anymore. I wasn’t offended. Honestly, it was the most action I’ve gotten in a while. So I should be thanking you.”
That brings the smallest of smirks to his lips.
“Yeah, it was the most action I’ve gotten in a while as well.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So that means you didn’t get that penis piercing?”
It’s his turn to give me a brow raise. “Think I’d be walking normally if I did?”
I laugh out loud and shake my head. “Guess not. Plus, I’d probably have to drive you to get it. What an adventure that would be.”
“I’d never be able to look you in the eyes again.”
I squeeze his hand and say, “I’m glad we had this talk about you touching my boob.”
“Yeah, it’s been a real thrill for me.”
I laugh some more, loving how in the right moments, he can be so funny.
“Okay, now that things are not awkward anymore, do you want to come up to my apartment and see where all the water damage is? If you thought the conversation we just had was a thrill, wait until I give you a water damage tour. You’ll barely be able to go to bed tonight from all the excitement you experience.”
His smile stretches across his face. “Can’t wait.”
We both get out of the car, and when I round it to join Halsey, I take a chance and lean into him, putting my arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug. I half expect him to stiffen, but he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight. It feels so . . . natural. Weird.
“If you accidentally touch my boob again, please don’t let it be weird.”
“Promise,” he says softly. His arms feel like two giant security blankets wrapped around me.
We stand there for a few more seconds before I let go of him and then lead the way up to my apartment. He’s quiet for the most part, just taking it all in. We reach the second floor via stairs that we took slowly for his sake. He said we didn’t have to go slowly, but I told him if he injures that ankle again on my watch I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
When we reach my front door, I take out my key and unlock it.
“The place I had with Perry was much nicer than this, but I don’t mind this building, and it’s close-ish to work. Just sucks that it flooded on day three.”
He doesn’t say much, just takes it in. And I know he’s not judging me. For someone so wealthy, he’s not an elitist. So different from Perry, now that I think about it. Which makes me wonder why I feel I have to justify this apartment . . .
When I push open the door to my apartment, I’m greeted with clear duty tarps, construction materials, and tools. And an odd, funky smell. No clue what that is.
“And this is home,” I say on a sigh.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” He glances around, and I can see some worry etched in his brow as he takes in the size of my tiny kitchen and the lackluster living room space that barely fits a loveseat.
I shut the door behind us and say, “My other place was much bigger, but since it’s just me, I thought this would do. Although, after being at your place for a few weeks, this feels like a cardboard box compared to your luxury apartment. There isn’t even a doorman in this building or a parking garage. Man, I should have never stayed with you.” I laugh it off, but I don’t think he finds it funny.
“You can stay with me for as long as you want,” he says, turning back to me. “Seriously. I don’t use that second room, which is obvious from the lack of bed in it, so you can occupy it as long as you want.”
“That’s really nice, Halsey, but this place isn’t bad, plus, if I take that job, who knows if I’ll be moving or not.”
“Right.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Are you here to grab something?”
“Yes,” I say, walking toward my bedroom with Halsey following. “I have a wedding to attend this Friday, and I need to grab the dress and shoes I planned on wearing.”
“A wedding, that’s cool,” he says.
“You’ll be all alone on an off night with the boys out of town. What are you going to do without me?”
I glance over my shoulder to catch him twist his lips to the side. “I guess read.”
“Living on the edge.” I open the door to my bedroom where the most foul and mildewy smell swirls around us. “Oh my God, what is that?” I lift my shirt over my nose, but the smell is so pungent, my shirt does nothing to block it.
Halsey’s face nearly goes green as he lifts his shirt up too and covers his nose, giving me the smallest view of the patch of skin below his belly button.
“Fuck, that’s bad.”
“Bad? It’s atrocious. What is that?”
“Smells like death,” he says.
“All my clothes are in here, so they probably smell too,” I say, moving to my closet where I open the door and find a dead rat, right in the middle.
The most blood-curdling scream flies out of my mouth as I jump back and run right into the brick wall behind me—the brick wall being Halsey. His arm goes around me as I squirm against his rock-hard chest.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice full of concern.
“A dead rat, a dead rat, there’s a dead rat.” I run in place. “A half-massacred, dead rat in my closet!”
“Really?” He leans over my shoulder for a look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says in a menacing tone.
“Oh God, I’m going to puke it smells so bad in here.”
He quickly shuts the door behind me and places his arm around me. I squeeze in tight as the vision of rat guts dance precariously through my head. Holding me close, he leads me out of my bedroom and toward the front door. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“But I need to talk to the landlord because a rat is stinking up my clothes. Something needs to be done.”
“You’re not talking to the landlord—”
“Halsey—”
“You’re not talking to him . . . I am.”
And with that, he moves me out of the apartment, helps me lock up, since my hands are shaking, and then he takes my hand in his and walks me down the stairs, taking one at a time to make sure he doesn’t hurt his ankle again.
“Where is the office?” he asks.
“Halsey, you don’t—”
“Where is the office, Blakely?” he asks, his voice sterner this time.
Shocked, I answer, “In the back, last door on the right.”
Hand still in mine, he leads me back to the landlord’s apartment where he raises his fist and bangs on the door—not only startling me nearly out of my shoes but most likely the landlord as well.
While we wait, he turns toward me and quietly asks, “Are you okay?”
“Y-yes,” I answer, my mind whirling with the fact there is a dead rat in the closet . . . alongside the realization that Halsey has another side of him I’ve never seen before.
Protective.
It’s an asset I’ve always admired but never experienced until this moment.
He studies me, his hazel eyes examining me as if the rat himself came out and bit me. His hold on my hand grows tighter as he pulls me in closer to his side, and I allow it.
Not because I’m so terrified about a rat that if I don’t lean in I might faint, but because Halsey’s providing a form of comfort I want to lean into. He’s put me at ease.
You can hear my landlord rumbling around on the other side of the door. Halsey patiently waits, but I can see his fist gearing up to pound again for another knock. It takes about a minute, but when the landlord, Mr. Gorman, opens the door, I’m privileged to watch his face morph from utter annoyance to complete awe.
Look who’s a huge fan? It’s written all over his face. Too bad Halsey is not going to let the man fanboy.
“Halsey Holmes. Holy shit. Is it really you?”
Mr. Gorman pays no attention to me while he fumbles to sweep his hair to the side and straighten out his pizza sauce-stained shirt.
In a calm, but firm tone, Halsey says, “My girlfriend is renting 2B from you, the one that got flooded.” Girlfriend? Um . . . okay. Wasn’t expecting that, but I have no problem going along with it if it means this problem will be fixed, so I snuggle in close, playing the part.
“Oh yes, 2B.” Mr. Gorman straightens up. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long. We’ve had some minor setbacks.”
“Seems like you’ve had a lot of setbacks. Are you aware of the dead rat that’s in her closet, stinking up her entire bedroom as well as the clothes she has hanging in there?”
“A dead rat?” He swipes his finger under his nose, fidgeting beneath the glare of Halsey Holmes. “I was quite unaware. I’m sorry—”
“Look at her, not me. Blakely is the one you should be apologizing to.” The snap of his voice actually makes my nipples hard.
“Right. Right.” Mr. Gorman looks at me and says, “I’m sorry, Miss . . .”
“White,” Halsey says in such a dark, menacing tone that I’m slightly scared and also, God, I hate to admit it, but turned on.
“Miss White, that’s right. I’m sorry about the dead rat.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Halsey asks, challenging him, something I probably would have never done.
“Uh.” Mr. Gorman scratches the top of his head, the sound of his nails scraping across his dry scalp a complete wet blanket on the excitement rolling through me from Halsey’s take-charge behavior. “Well, I guess I can remove the rat.”
“You guess?” Halsey asks, brows raised.
“I mean, I will. I’ll be removing the rat because that’s unacceptable. And I’ll, uh, I’ll have the apartment cleaned.”
“Fumigated,” Halsey says.
“What?” Mr. Gorman asks.
“You will have the apartment fumigated.”
Mr. Gorman raises his hands as if he’s trying to calm Halsey down. “Now that’s not necessary.”
“Oh, you don’t think it’s necessary?” Halsey’s shoulders grow tense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Maybe on the ice before, but that’s different. That’s adrenaline. This is . . . this is outrage. He’s truly upset for me. And I disturbingly find it so hot. “So what do you think is happening to the dead rat in her closet? It’s already been chewed apart by God knows what, which means there are probably fucking maggots everywhere. In her clothes, around the bedroom. This is a severe health risk and you’re going to subject her to that? My girl?” Halsey points at his chest. “Over my dead fucking body. So you either get her apartment fumigated and disinfected, as well as every last possession she owns in there, or I’ll be speaking with my lawyer and, when I say I have no problem spending the money to teach you a lesson, I’m not fucking kidding.”
Mr. Gorman backs away, his expression completely stunned. “Is that a threat?”
“Yes,” Halsey answers with a sneer to his lip. “Fix it.” And with that, Halsey guides me down the hall and out of the apartment building. “You’re not fucking living here.”
“What?” I ask.
“There is no way in hell you’re going back there.”
“But . . . you told him to fix it,” I say, confused. Why make a big deal over fumigation if I’m not even going to stay there?
“Only because you need your things cleaned and disinfected. I’ll have my lawyer get you out of your lease and you can stay with me until you find a better place. No way in fuck are you going to live here. The guy is a fucking slumlord, the building is dilapidated, and you’re too fucking good to be caught dead in an apartment like that. Not happening.”
Umm . . . okay. Hard to fight with him when he says it like that.
When we get to my car, he’s shaking with adrenaline as he moves to the driver’s side and opens the car door for me. I don’t get in right away. I can’t. Instead I turn toward him. I want to calm him down. At least put an end to the tension in his shoulders. “Halsey, I appreciate you protecting me back there, but I do want you to know that it wasn’t that bad.”
“Wasn’t that bad?” he asks. “Blakely. The moment I walked into the building, I knew you didn’t belong there. It’s old, dirty, uneven, and doesn’t even have a lock on the front door. Anyone could walk into the building. Not to mention, I don’t trust that fucker to have a key to your place. Do you know what men like him do? They walk into your apartment whenever they want, waving the landlord card. I don’t trust the safety of the building, and I don’t believe any of the construction he’ll do will be up to code. He’s a cheat, a sleaze, and cuts corners, it’s evident by the quality of his building.”
“But it’s all I can afford right now.”
“My place is free. You can afford that.”
“Halsey,” I sigh. “I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”
His index finger slides under my chin, forcing my eyes on his. “Listen to me when I say, you will not be overstaying your welcome. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” He takes a deep breath and the anger slowly begins to slide away as he says, “Please just consider it.”
When he looks at me with those pleading eyes, I feel myself bending to his will. “I’ll consider it.”
“Thank you,” he says before pulling me into a hug, a hug I was not expecting but I’ll take. And as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I bury my head against his chest, I realize that this man has quickly wormed his way into my life. When I moved in with Halsey—temporarily of course—I never would have imagined that scenario turning into this, where Halsey hugs me on the side of the road after threatening my landlord.
Even though Perry was a very good boyfriend, I don’t believe he would have given Mr. Gorman the same trouble, nor would he have laid out a set of demands attached to a threat. Not that Halsey is my boyfriend or even romantically involved with me, but the mere fact that this . . . friend—I think that’s what I can call him—is more protective than my boyfriend ever was, surprises me. It’s astonishing how . . . safe I feel. Cared for. Did I not feel that way with Perry?
He cups the back of my head, keeping me close as he quietly says, “I’m not sorry for what I said and did.”
“I know,” I reply.
He gives me one more squeeze and says, “I’ll never be sorry for sticking up for you, Blakely.”
He gradually pulls away, his eyes on mine as his fingers slowly glide down my arm until he’s not touching me anymore—but the feel of his hand touching mine remains embedded in my skin as I stare up at him.
Calm passes over us both, an understanding of our friendship. He’s drawing a line in the sand, at this moment, letting me know that I am a part of his life now and no matter what, he’ll never let anything happen to me.
It makes me feel special.
Like I have more than just Penny to rely on, like my roots here in Vancouver might have been disturbed when Perry left, but they’re growing back with Halsey’s presence.
With his hand pulling on the back of his neck, he studies me before saying, “Okay . . . well, now we need to go shopping.”
Okay, that was a change of subject. “What do you mean?”
“For a dress. We need to find you a dress for the wedding.”
“Oh . . . you don’t have to go. I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to do.”
“No, I do,” he says. “I’m not doing anything, and I want to help.”
“Really? In all the years I was with my boyfriend, he never wanted to go shopping with me. I doubt you’d want to do that as just my friend.”
“I’m saying I do,” he says with conviction. “So take me.”
Is he for real?
From the expression on his face and the seriousness in his tone, I’m going to have to say yes. It might be nice to have someone with me, someone who could tell me what looks good and what doesn’t. And he’s right, I need a dress. I’m not about to put any rat-maggot dress on, so a new one is in order.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m buying dinner. Understood?” I point at him.
“We’ll see about that,” he says as he rounds the car and moves to his side.
Of course he’d say that. The man has chivalry tattooed to his heart.
I STARE at myself in the mirror, feeling slightly nervous. This is the first dress I’ve tried on after we spent about half an hour with the boutique owner of Luxe Closet, one of my favorite stores, walking around and pulling everything I thought might look good on me. And to my surprise, Halsey pulled a few too, ones I never would have thought to try on.
He’s now sitting outside on a red velvet couch, waiting for me to show him, and that’s where I stand with the nerves.
The first is a black polka-dotted dress. With a spaghetti strap, V neckline, and a ruffle skirt that’s short in the front but long in the back, I thought it might be cute. It shows off my legs while still being elegant. My first choice.
Stepping outside of the dressing room, I hold my breath as I show off the first dress. I stand there, feeling slightly exposed as Halsey’s eyes travel up my frame, starting at my feet and moving all the way up to my face.
My assumption is he’s going to tell me I look good in every single one of these dresses because he’s the kind of guy who’d never want to make me feel bad. Also known as the pleaser, I don’t think he’d ruffle feathers, so I need to watch his face closely to see if he truly thinks the dress is pretty on me or not.
“What do you think?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not for you.”
Oh . . . not, uh, not what I was expecting him to say, obviously.
I laugh. “Not for me?”
“Nope. Next.” He shoos me away with his hand, making me laugh some more.
“Oh, okay, fashionista.” I head back into the dressing room and strip out of the dress, a smile on my face. This just got a whole lot more interesting. I thought that dress was pretty, but now . . . now I’m invested in seeing what Halsey thinks is pretty.
I hang the polka-dotted dress back up and shift it to the “no” hook. Next, I try on a yellow tier ruffle dress with a scoop neckline. I have a feeling he’s not going to like this one either, but since I’m invested in his opinion now, I want to hear what he has to say.
I step out of the dressing room and in front of Halsey, who is already shaking his head.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t like it when you pulled it and I don’t like it now.”
“I see. Is it the ruffles?”
“Yes. They do nothing for you.”
“Good to know.” I nod and then say, “I do want you to know that I’m my own woman, and I’ll be making this decision based on how I feel, but I appreciate your feedback.”
“Uh-huh, now try on something else.” He leans back on the couch and stretches his arms out along the top of the cushions, manspreading and making himself at home. I don’t want to admit it because the man is far too attractive for his own good, but God is he owning that couch . . .
Just like he owned you in front of your landlord.
No, don’t get started with that. The last thing I need is to start having thoughts other than friendship about Halsey.
I change into a blue velvet dress that he said was okay but I can do better. A black dress with a long slit that I witness him stare at for longer than I expected but he passed. And a rose dress that had an overlay of lace he claimed to look like a tablecloth his grandma owned.
Now I’m wearing my last pick, which is a short red dress with a halter neckline and a tulle skirt.
“No,” he says before I can fully step out of the dressing room.
I rest my hands on my hips and say, “You didn’t even give it a chance.”
“Because it’s not for you.” He nods toward the dressing room. “Try on the light-blue one I chose.”
“The flowy one?”
“Yes, the flowy one.”
“Don’t you think that one is a little much?” I ask.
“For you? No. Try it on.”
I don’t know why, but that response makes me blush.
I go back into the dressing room, strip out of the red dress—which in all honesty I didn’t like either—and take the light blue gown off the hanger. The fabric is incredibly lightweight, gauzy almost with a hint of a sparkle. I fit it over my body and curse inwardly because I can already see that the bodice was made for me with its structured boning and beautifully draped, off-the-shoulder sleeve. It has a Grecian feel about it with a high slit on the right that reaches my upper thigh. And because of the tight, low bodice, it lifts my breasts, but I can’t quite reach the zipper.
“Might need help with this one,” I say as I stare at myself in the mirror.
It’s so beautiful. I hate that he was right that I should have tried this on in the first place. I thought maybe it was going to be a touch too fancy but it’s not at all. It’s just perfect.
“Help with what?” Halsey asks.
“The zipper,” I say as I poke my head out past the curtain. He lifts from the couch and walks toward me. When he parts the curtain and steps into the dressing room with me, I catch the way his brows raise while a slow smile tips up his lips.
I beat him to it before he can even say anything. “I know . . . I know. You were right.”
He stays silent as he moves behind me. From the reflection in the mirror I watch as he dips his head and grips the tiny metal zipper while his other hand holds the bottom of the zipper. With one tug up, I’m all closed in. That’s when he looks into the mirror as well from over my shoulder, staring at me in the confined space of the dressing room. He wets his lips, his expression morphing from cocky to pleased. Those eyes rake over me like they’re an X-ray, able to see right through me, leaving me feeling exposed, raw . . . and beautiful at the same time.
He steps back after a second and scratches the side of his jaw. I turn around to face him and in the small confines of the dressing room, I hold out the dress and ask, “What do you think?”
“I think you look beautiful,” he says, his voice low, gruff. “Made me speechless.”
Once again, my cheeks flame.
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “And I hate that I’m going to have to give you credit, but I think this is the one.”
His eyes travel down my body and then back up again. “Your choice, but yeah, you look really fucking good, Blakely.”
“Thank you. Okay, I’ll get this one.”
“Good,” he answers, not moving, just staring at me, keeping his eyes fixed on mine. I feel my body shiver under the strength of his gaze.
What is happening?
This is not the Halsey I know. I’m used to the guy who’s quiet, maybe a joke here and there, but remains neutral most of the time. This Halsey, he’s unwavering, he’s demanding, he’s bone-chilling with those expressive eyes that he usually hides behind.
“Um, can you unzip it for me?”
“Of course,” he answers as he rests one hand on my hip, then slowly unzips the back, letting each zipper tong pop before the next one. It’s so slow that the energy between us grows, the tension becoming thick. My pulse picks up, my breath, my awareness that there is an extremely attractive man behind me, unzipping my dress, and if I were to turn around, he’d get more of a glimpse than he was probably looking for.
“There you go,” he says, breaking through my thoughts.
I hold on tightly to the bodice, keeping it close to my chest, then turn around to look up at him one more time. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” He moves his hand over the back of his neck before offering me the tiniest of smiles. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “Knew that dress was going to be the one. Should have tried it on first.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Very true,” he says while casually wetting his lips. “The sweet feeling of knowing I was right all along is better with the upfront denial.”
“Cheeky.”
He smirks and then retreats to the couch where he drapes his arm over the back.
Yup, this is a different side of him for sure, and I’m feeling slightly out of breath. From his expressions, the subtle way he wet his lips, and his delicate touch as he zipped and unzipped my dress.
I offer him a quick smile before I shut the curtain to the dressing room and then lean against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.
You’re fine, Blakely.
Nothing to worry about over here.
Halsey just happened to defend your rights with your landlord, while holding your hand, and then state that you weren’t living in that apartment.
That’s fine, just a protective friend.
And sure, he took you dress shopping and patiently sat there while you tried on dresses and just so happened to pick the right dress for you. Because he knew what would look amazing on me. And maybe feeling his hand on your hip, unzipping your dress was a nice feeling, but that’s all it was, a nice feeling.
And the way he looked at you, that’s . . . that’s fine. It was just an expression. Nothing to it.
There is nothing to it at all . . .
Then how come I want to go back out there and have him hold my hand again? Or better yet, have his hands on me—because hell did that feel incredible.
