Mostly because it didn’t feel good to be an asshole, and it certainly hadn’t felt good to run Charlie off, especially when the consequence had been her leaving and then not talking or looking at me.
“Fuck,” I muttered then tossed back the covers and sat on the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my face. I hadn’t been able to concentrate on my prep for today with the racket below—okay, more than being distracted by the noise, I’d been fantasizing about going downstairs and investigating Charlie’s plumber’s butt more closely . . .
An artist had to know—
More bullshit.
But my eyes caught on my notebook on the nightstand, on the sketches I’d made of Charlie’s profile . . . top and bottom. God, she was pretty and snarky and had mad skills with pipes—
So. Not. The. Point.
No women.
No sex.
No Charlie.
Just me and my hand, followed by a solid eight hours of sleep.
Right now, I only had the first two of that list, and they weren’t nearly enough. Groaning, I pushed off the bed and stumbled over to the bathroom. If I couldn’t have sleep, I wanted a hot shower and a pot of coffee.
Scratch that, a gallon of coffee.
I yanked the handle, expecting a stream of water to come pouring out into the tub, already turning for the kitchen to make some headway on that gallon of coffee.
Except . . . nothing happened.
Frowning, I shoved the knob from one side to the other, pushed it back in, tugged it out again.
Water did not magically appear.
“Shit,” I muttered. I tried the sink, the toilet. Nothing. Then I went into the kitchen, hoping to at least be able to make a cup of coffee before dealing with whatever was happening with the water.
The faucet over the kitchen sink didn’t prove any more fruitful.
Neither did the filtered water dispenser in the fridge door.
I groaned and let my head fall forward, chin resting on my chest. I just needed a little bit of water, just enough for one singular cup of coffee.
That’s it.
That’s all I was asking for.
Usually I’d have a cup with water out in the apartment somewhere—and no, I was not opposed to either a little dust or bacteria having collected on or in said cup at this point—but when I hadn’t been able to work, I’d cleaned up the previous night.
Fuck, why had I done that?
Maybe . . . I tugged the fridge door open. I had to have a bottle of water in here somewhere. But the only thing I had was a half-carton of milk, a six-pack of beer, some spinach and cheese, and a few slices of pizza leftover from lunch the previous day.
Because I wasn’t Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart and I was long overdue for some grocery shopping.
Great.
“Fine,” I muttered, glancing at the ceiling but now addressing the universe at large. “You want me to go downstairs and put this shit aside with Charlie? Fine. I will.”
Huffing, I stomped to the bedroom, yanked on a pair of shorts and shoved my feet into sneakers. Then I went back into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. I would go downstairs, nicely ask Charlie to turn on the water for a few minutes, or if that wasn’t possible, snag some water from the dispenser below.
Good. Done.
Look at me go with an adult plan.
I took a calming breath and strode down the stairs, hitting the code on the keypad of the door that separated the two spaces.
First stop, water dispenser.
Next stop, Charlie.
I filled my mug and strode down the hall.
“Argh—”
Water hit my shoes as the mug slipped out of my grip, somehow not shattering, which was a good thing because I wasn’t capable of cleaning up shards of ceramic, not when my jaw was dropping open at the sight in front of me.
Charlie, her back toward me, bent over as she worked on . . . something. My eyes wouldn’t even focus on what was in front of her. They could only process the long legs encased in tight denim, the perfectly curved ass that was gyrating in a way I’d only seen in strip clubs.
Fuck, she wasn’t just pretty and smart and strong, she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
And that was even before I heard her singing, her head bopping to the beat, a cord extending from her back pocket up to her ears.
Her voice was perfectly in tune, a low gentle rasp that slid down my spine.
My dick had been hard since I’d woken up that morning. Partly, from being forced to think about her—because I could hear working—but also because I’d dreamed about her, about the way she’d taste, that tropical scent, her curves beneath my palms, silky skin under my fingertips.
But hearing her sing, seeing her body move along with the beat of the music she was listening to . . .
Granite had nothing on me.
I watched her move to the music, listened to her sing, generally filed away this moment for later use that I knew made me a giant fucking pervert, even though I couldn’t stop myself . . . and all the while, a distant part of my brain tracked the puddle of water from my dropped mug as it slowly moved closer to her.
Six inches away.
At her feet.
Her shins.
Her knees.
That was when she felt the water, her voice abruptly cutting off and she bent to glance between her thighs.
And yes, I groaned out loud because—one, pervert, and two, the way she’d moved had tightened the denim over that luscious fucking ass and it was the hottest thing I’d seen in a long time.
Hell, maybe the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Which was a problem, since I’d been telling myself repeatedly that Charlie wasn’t for me, but also not one I was willing to pay attention to in that moment.
“What?”
She pushed off her knees, still staring down at the puddle on the floor.
Slowly, she turned and when she saw me standing there, staring at her, she jumped, gasping loudly. One hand went up to her earbud, yanking it out. “What the fuck, Garret?”
I bent, picked up my mug, holding it surreptitiously in front of myself.
I’d chosen exercise shorts, and they weren’t exactly hiding the enjoyment I’d gotten from watching Charlie.
Yes, still a pervert. No, I didn’t really want to make her uncomfortable.
“S-sorry,” I said on a cough. “You startled me, and I dropped this.” I started to lift the mug but caught myself just in time.
Charlie’s eyes drifting slowly down my chest made me realize I’d skipped putting on a shirt. Then they slid lower and her cheeks went pink, and I came to the conclusion that the mug wasn’t hiding much either.
Another cough.
“I’ll grab a towel,” I said, spinning around. “Sorry, I got you wet.”
Charged silence was all that greeted me in return, and I paused, glancing over my shoulder, taking in the growing spread of pink on her cheeks, going back over what I’d said.
Got you wet.
I’d like to do that.
Fuck.
Yes, also would like to do that.
Shaking myself, I made my way to the cabinet with the hand towels then hurried to come back and mop up the floor.
I was getting a lot of experience doing this lately.
Charlie didn’t move, just kept standing there in those tight jeans, the knees slightly darkened from the water, her eyes tracing up and down my body. I could hear the music blaring from the earbud, a fast pop song that I’d heard all over the place, but more than that, I could hear how quickly she was breathing.