Outrageously in Love by Jen Morris

14

Ismooth my red hair down over one shoulder and key in the code Luke gave me to enter his building. When the door pops open, my heart jumps in my chest.

I climb the stairs, lugging a bag filled with art supplies I picked up earlier today. I thought it might be nice to hand-letter the place cards because I learned calligraphy a few years ago. Though as I reach Luke’s door, I can’t help but wonder if this is a bad idea. His pristine apartment hardly seems the right place to pull out a pot of India ink and a calligraphy pen. But then, I can’t do this in a coffee shop, and Alex needed her place quiet so she could focus. Plus, I thought it might be a nice surprise.

I knock on the door, trying to quell the anxiety rising from my belly. There’s nothing to be nervous about, I remind myself. Last time things were fine. Well, apart from when I got unreasonably aroused as he discussed color-coding the seating chart, but that won’t happen again.

The door swings open, and there on Luke’s face is a pair of black, square-framed glasses. “Hey,” he says, like this is no big deal.

But it is a big deal. It’s a huge deal. He’s every possible nerd fantasy come to life. Before I can stop them, my eyes sweep down his body, taking in his gray sweats and black T-shirt. Anyone else wearing this would look like a slob, but on him it’s sexy as hell. The shirt fits his shoulders and chest perfectly, clinging to all the right bits, and the pants are slung low across his hips. I bring my gaze back to his glasses, which he adjusts self-consciously, and I have to swallow down the saliva pooling in my mouth.

Shit, this was a terrible idea.

“Uh, hi,” I mumble, stepping into his apartment. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Yeah, sometimes my contacts irritate my eyes.”

When I turn back, his cheeks are pink. I hold up my bag of supplies, forcing myself to look away. “Where should I put these?”

He leads me to the dining table. “Is here okay?”

I glance at the perfectly white, glossy table, seated atop a perfectly white, plush rug. I guess this spot is as good as any.

“Sure. Thanks.” I take a seat and unload my supplies, focusing on setting up. I haven’t done any hand-lettering in a while, so I’m going to need to do a few practice rounds first.

“Can I get you a drink?” Luke offers as he wanders into the kitchen.

“That would be great.” I busy myself unscrewing the lid to the India ink and setting it down, then doing some practice strokes on the paper.

“Whiskey?” he asks, and there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. I ignore it.

“Sure.” Except, it’s been several hours since I last ate and drinking whiskey on an empty stomach, while alone in this apartment with him, is probably not such a good idea. “Actually…” I swivel around in my chair and he pauses mid-pour.

“Everything okay?”

“Well, I haven’t eaten, so I probably shouldn’t—”

“Me neither. Want to order something?”

I hesitate. Eating dinner here with him seems, I don’t know, intimate somehow. But my stomach rumbles as if on cue, and I nod. “Yeah.”

“Do you like Thai food?” Luke pulls a menu from a drawer and hands it over.

“Sure.” I run my eyes over the list, then hand it back, pointing to chicken Pad Thai.

“Is that all? Come on, you want more than that.”

“Well…” I nibble my lip and he laughs.

“I’ll order that and a bunch of other stuff. Trust me, it’s good.”

“Okay.” I smile and turn back to my lettering.

He orders the food then brings me my whiskey, peering over my shoulder. “Wow, that’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “I haven’t done it in ages. I’m a bit rusty.”

“Really? I think it looks great.”

I try to hide my smile, hoping he can’t see it from where he’s standing behind me.

“Are you sure you’ll get them all done tonight?”

“Yep.” I dip my pen back in the ink then stop, hyper-aware of the way he’s hovering. I turn and throw him a pointed look.

“What?”

“I can’t do it with you right there!”

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to it.” He laughs and wanders over to the sofa, hitting the button to reveal the TV. Then he sets his whiskey down and pulls out one of the game controllers, slipping on his headset and loading up a game.

I smile to myself as I feel my body relax. For some reason, things are feeling easy between us tonight and I’m relieved. If I could get my attraction to him under control, things might even be good. And I can do that; attraction is nothing more than a chemical response in the brain that I can just ignore. I’m a grown woman with self-control, for Christ’s sake. I’ll simply… stop being attracted to him. Easy.

I manage to get a whole bunch of the cards done before dinner arrives. The first couple are a little wonky, but by the end they’re looking good. Luke is so involved in his game he doesn’t notice the door buzz. I have to call out to him to get his attention.

“Sorry.” He removes his headset with a chuckle. Then he flicks the screen off, the TV sliding out of view. I reach for my bag to hand him some money but he shakes his head. “It’s on me,” he says as he lopes to the door. He returns a moment later and when I go to clear the table, he gestures to the sofa, so we settle in there with the food.

And he’s right; it is good. I eat quickly, washing it down with my whiskey, and he pours me another one.

“So I told you about my job, but I don’t think you’ve ever talked about your work,” he says over Panang curry. “What do you do?”

“Oh.” A whisper of embarrassment passes through me. I mean, my sister and his brother are both writers, and he has his dream job, whereas I…

He tilts his head to one side, watching me curiously, then amusement colors his features. “Wait,” he says, fighting off a smile. “It’s not something to do with porn, is it?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s teasing me, and I let out a laugh. “Oh, yes,” I joke. “Surely you’re familiar with my work?”

The side of his mouth kicks up in a sexy grin, his eyes burning into mine as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I am.”

My heart stumbles against my ribs and I glance down, mentally kicking myself. I need to be more careful.

“I, er, work in a cafe,” I mumble. “Making coffee, clearing tables, whatever.” I shrug. Then out of nowhere I hear myself saying, “But one day I’d love to open my own cafe. One that has board games you can play while you drink coffee and eat delicious baked things.” I jab my chopsticks into my noodles, surprised at myself.

Luke’s eyes brighten with enthusiasm. “That would be so cool! Tell me more about it.”

I smile, buoyed by his response. And then—I can’t quite believe myself—I set my food down and stand, grabbing the napkin from my bag and handing it over. I sink down onto the sofa again, feeling slightly ill and wondering what the hell I’m doing, showing this to him when I’ve never showed it to anyone else.

He sets his own food aside, carefully unfolding the worn napkin. It’s probably nonsense to him, given how many random ideas are scrawled on there, in no real order. But he turns it different ways, tilting his head as he examines every scribble. Then he folds it and hands it back without saying anything. I tuck it into my bag and pick my food up again, avoiding his gaze.

“I know it’s silly.” My face is hot as I stare down at my noodles. “It’s just—”

“It’s not silly at all.” He studies me for a moment. “You know, there are a few board game cafes here in the city.”

“Oh. There are? Well… never mind then.” I stuff a spring roll in my mouth. I thought it was an original idea, but if people are already doing it, then I’m too late. Disappointment lodges uncomfortably in my solar plexus. I didn’t realize quite how much I wanted this.

“No,” Luke says with a kind smile. “What I mean is, it’s obviously a concept that can work. If you do it right, it could be really cool.”

I munch my spring roll, thinking. Even though I dismissed the idea as unrealistic, it’s been blossoming inside me for years now. It would be the perfect way to combine my skills from working in the cafe with my love of games. But then I remind myself that our board game club back home closed due to lack of interest, and sigh. “I don’t think it would take off in my town,” I say. Thinking about home now stirs an odd feeling inside me. Despite it being little more than a week since I left, it seems almost like a different lifetime. “And I don’t know anything about running a business,” I add.

Luke nods, reaching for another carton of food. “Well, you could take classes in business.”

My shoulders slump as I think about university. I never went, not like Alex. After high school and all the drama, all the anxiety it caused me, I just couldn’t face the thought of going to university.

“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, wishing I’d never brought it up. “So, um, what game were you playing?”

His face lights up and he starts off on an impassioned spiel about the game and the designer of it and how ground-breaking it is. I nod along, half listening, half thinking about my board game cafe and trying to ignore the sense of defeat that’s settled over me.

I’m just about to reach for my whiskey when, out of the corner of my eye, I see something moving across the floor. Not just something—a turtle.

What?

I rub my eyes then check again—and yes, there is a turtle on the floor. What the hell?

“Is that… a turtle?”

Luke turns to look and heaves out a sigh. “Shit,” he mutters, setting down his food and pushing to his feet. “Not again.” He steps over and scoops up the turtle, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”

He gives me a sheepish look. “This is my turtle, Donnie.”

“Donnie?”

Somehow, he looks even more sheepish when he clarifies, “Donatello.”

I gulp down the giggle rising up my throat. “As in—”

“Yes.”

I try to flatten my lips but it’s no use; they pull into a wide grin. He’s named his turtle after the nerdiest of all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—and yes, I know, the fact that I know that makes me nerdy too. But we’ve already established that about me. He is so much worse.

Luke’s cheeks turn red when he sees my grin. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “Ever since I got his new tank, he keeps escaping. I can’t figure out how he does it. I have to hire a full-time house-sitter every time I leave town in case he gets out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I have a lady who comes and watches him.”

Oh, God. I can’t stop the laugh that squeaks from me at this point. He has a turtle lady? This is absurd; a man held captive by a tiny turtle.

“Let me guess, her name is April?”

Luke gives me a withering look. “Her name is Andrea, and she’s really good with him. She feeds him and changes his water and gives him his treats…” He shrugs, like this is perfectly normal and we all have turtle ladies.

I raise a hand to my mouth to hide my chuckle, but Luke doesn’t notice. He’s too busy holding Donnie up and speaking to him in hushed tones, softly scolding him for escaping. My laughter dies away as I gaze at this tall, gorgeous man, being so gentle with this tiny creature. And not just any creature; a miniature Ninja Turtle. There’s a flutter between my legs at just how fucking adorable this is.

He goes to put Donnie back in his tank, and when he returns beside me on the couch, his cheeks are still crimson. He picks up his food to continue eating, but I can’t stop staring at him. There goes any hope I had of curbing my attraction to him. Because there’s nothing sexier than a man who’s kind and loving to little creatures—and who also happens to love the Ninja Turtles.

It’s not just that, though. He’s different when we’re here, in his apartment—more awkward, almost nervous. I’ve never seen a guy blush so much. For some reason, it’s really working for me.

I turn back to my food with an almighty sigh. Goddammit, I’m in trouble.

When we’re done eating, I return to the table to keep working on the place cards while he continues his game. It only takes me another thirty minutes to finish, and I survey my work, pleased. I hope Alex and Michael like it.

I stand and stretch, wandering towards the couch, apprehensive about interrupting Luke’s game. But he hits pause and turns to me, slipping off his headset with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“All done. Can I use the bathroom? I just want to wash some of this off my hands.”

“Sure. Second door on the right,” he says, turning back to his game.

When I’m finished in the bathroom, I sneak a glance into Luke’s home office. In the corner is Donnie’s tank, and I spot him tucked safely inside, soaking up the warmth from the UV lamp. I giggle as I head back into the living room, imagining Luke finding him in random places all over the apartment. Little Donatello, the escape artist.

Luke pauses his game, looking up. “What are you laughing about?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He flicks off the TV and rises to his feet with an amused grin. “Nothing?”

“Just… Donnie. I can’t believe you have a Ninja Turtle.”

The smile slides off his face and he drops his gaze to the floor. I realize he thinks I’m making fun of him and my chest squeezes.

“No,” I say, placing a hand on his arm.

Shit. I should not have done that. I’d forgotten how lovely his forearms are, and when my fingers brush his skin and his gaze snaps back to mine, darkening behind those sexy glasses, my breathing turns shallow.

But my stupid mouth continues without me. “I think it’s cute. I think you’re—”

What the hell are you doing? Don’t tell him you think he’s cute!

I yank my hand away and take a step back, sucking in some air. My heart is hammering, but I force myself to pretend everything is normal. Luckily, I manage a smooth subject change. “Um, is it okay if I leave the place cards here to dry?”

Luke gives a slow exhale, glancing away as though he has to collect himself. “Sure.” When his gaze returns to me, he smiles. “They look great. I’m surprised you got them all done tonight.”

I chuckle. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

He stares at me, silent. He has the strangest expression on his face when he finally says, “Did you just… quote Darth Vader?”

“Yeah.” Why is he looking at me like that?

He swallows, so loud I can hear it. Fire kindles in his eyes as they move over my face. It makes me feel light-headed, because he’s looking at me like he did while I quivered against him on the plane. Heat flashes through me at the memory.

Jesus Christ. Get ahold of yourself!

“I should go,” I mumble, turning back to gather my things. My hands are shaking and I knock the jar of India ink, sloshing some out onto the table.

Shit.

I spin towards the kitchen, searching for paper towels, but his modern cabinets have everything stored away out of sight. Spotting a stack of napkins from dinner, I throw myself across the kitchen island to try and grab them. There’s a groan behind me, and I glance back over my shoulder to find Luke’s eyes fixed on my ass, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Okay, that’s on me. I am bent all the way across the kitchen island and, yes, my ass is right up in the air. But that is the least of my problems right now.

I grasp the napkins and straighten up, turning back to him. His gaze meets mine and he blinks. A muscle pulses in his neck.

“Uh—” I gesture past him to the ink on the table, but he’s oblivious.

“Fuck, Harriet,” he rumbles, and my thighs squeeze together.

And then I hear a sound that makes my blood run cold.

Drip. Drip, drip, drip.

We both whirl around to find black ink, trailing over the edge of the table and pooling onto the white rug.

Oh my God. No.

My hand flies to my mouth. I stand, frozen with horror. Luke glances from me to the ink on the carpet and a frown knits across his brow.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt as panic closes like a hand around my throat. “Is there a way we could somehow—”

“No.” His jaw tightens. “I think it’s ruined.”

My stomach dissolves. Sweat prickles on the back of my neck. “Shit, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I can get it cleaned, or I’ll replace it. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget about it.”

“No,” I insist. “If we can’t clean it I’ll buy you a new one. You just have to tell me—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He lets out a long breath, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He might be saying it doesn’t matter, but I can tell that it does. The way he’s looking at me makes something sharp twist through my middle, and I’m horrified when I feel tears sting behind my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I glance away, blinking rapidly and trying to hold myself together. Then I grab my things and race out the door.