The cab driver is sweet enough to help me with my suitcases. We walk them up the stairs to my apartment on the first floor, I pay him, and then I knock on apartment 309. Not a second pa.s.ses before it opens with a jarring bang as the security chain stops it from extending all the way. I jump and hold a hand up to my heaving chest. She scared the c.r.a.p out of me.

A wrinkly face appears in the gap, covered by thick c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses. I force a smile. "h.e.l.lo. I'm Helena Kovac. My sister Natalie told me she left a key with you for me."

The tiny woman's face wrinkles in confusion. She yells, "What?"

I blink.

Are you f.u.c.king kidding me, Nat?

I clear my throat and speak louder. "My sister Natalie says you have a key for me." But the lady just blinks. I dip my chin to stop myself from laughing. After I get myself under control, I lift my face and smile. I point to my own ear and say, "Can you hear me?"

But the woman just frowns at me. "You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be."

I nod sympathetically and near-shout, "My sister Natalie says you have a key for me. I'm Helena."

The woman scowls. "No need to holler, young lady. I hear just fine, thank you very much."

What the f.u.c.ktruck?

She heads inside and locks the door. I wait patiently, but nothing happens.

She's abandoned me.

I knock again. The door opens and the little old lady looks up at me through her gla.s.ses expectantly. I'm not sure what's happening here, so I go on and just stare back. When she attempts to close the door in my face, I quickly say, "I need the key Natalie left you to get into my new apartment."

The woman blinks. "You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be."

Oh, for the love of cake.

I dip my chin and my body shakes in silent laughter. New York, I like you already. I lift my face and ask slowly, clearly, and loudly, "Do you know Natalie in 306?" I point at Nat's apartment door to help her along.

The woman looks over at Nat's apartment, then back up at me. "She's not home. She works."

I explain again, "I'm her sister. I just came from California." I point to my suitcases next to me. "I need the key to my apartment." I point to my new apartment before making a key-unlocking-a-door motion.

The little old lady's face beams in recognition. She smiles. "You're the sister!"

I beam right back at her. "I'm the sister!"

She laughs. "You need the key."

I chuckle and confirm, "Yes! I need the key! The key, please."

She nods and steps back into her apartment. "Just a second, sweetie."

She closes the door and I sigh in relief. I wait. And wait. And wait some more.

Nothing.

I knock once more. Maybe she needs help finding the key. The door opens, and the little old lady looks up at me through her gla.s.ses like she's seeing me for the first time.

Part of me wants to laugh, but another part of me wants to knock her over the head with something so I can find the d.a.m.n key myself. I smile sweetly. "Do you have the key yet? I really need to get inside."

The woman blinks. "You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be."

I run a hand down my face.

Oy vey.

It takes me a whole forty-five minutes to get Mrs. Crandle to give me the fracking key. Turns out she's not only hard of hearing and forgetful, but she has a thousand cats, all of which she wanted to introduce me to. By name.

She made me promise to come drink tea with her sometime, and I promised I would.

As I put the key into the lock and open the door, I laugh in relief. Relief that this is actually the key and I won't have to word battle Mrs. Crandle again. I open the door and shuffle my suitcases inside. Pulling the door closed, I look around. My boxes are stacked nice and neatly by the right-hand wall.

A sudden thought comes to mind. You could pack your entire life into eight boxes?

That's kind of sad. They aren't even extra-large or large boxes; they're medium sized boxes, full of c.r.a.p. Yes, c.r.a.p, but all of that c.r.a.p, I love. Pushing the thought aside, I pull my phone out of my purse and text Nat.

Me: I'm at the apartment. Don't be p.i.s.sy. I didn't want to bother you. The place looks amazing!

Approximately thirty seconds later, my phone pings.

Nat: YOU DIRTY TOERAG! I KNEW YOU WERE LYING. YOU ALWAYS LIE! WHY DO YOU LIE?

I snicker.

Me: Whatevs, bro. I'll see you after work.

Nat: I'm going to tear you a new a.s.shole. But I'll bring cupcakes.

My eyes widen at the last part. I salivate. I freaking love cupcakes.

Me: Oh Em Gee! Pls pls pls get the salted caramel ones. And the choc fudge brownie. And maybe vanilla creme. You know what? I don't even care which ones, because CUPCAKES!

Nat: Now you get none.

Me: You're a rugmuncher.

Nat: And you have a hairy a.s.shole.

I burst into laughter. My sister is so vulgar. I love it.

Me: Love you x Nat: LY2. Can't wait to see you. Even though you're a lying sack of s.h.i.t x Ahh, feel the love?

I take my suitcases and roll them over to the bedroom. And I stop dead in my tracks. I blink, then back away into the hall. Shaking my head, I tiptoe over to my bedroom.

There's a man on the bed. A man spread-eagle, face-down, right on my bed.

My heart races.

By the way his back moves up and down in an even motion, I know he's asleep. My head tells me to call the cops, but if I do that, I need to be sure I'm in danger. A sleeping man on my bed doesn't seem like much of a threat right now. I think hard for a moment before quietly moving back into the kitchen and going through my purse. I take out my pocket mace and my cell phone, and walk back to my room.

It takes me a full minute for me to realize I have the mace to my ear and my phone held out as a weapon. Genius. I quickly switch them around and enter my bedroom. The man's sock-covered feet hang over the foot of the bed. Lifting my own foot, I nudge his calf. He grumbles, but doesn't wake. I nudge him again, harder this time.

A sleepy, "Nik, f.u.c.k off," comes out of the man, and my body goes rigid.

I know that voice.

I really like that voice. Why the h.e.l.l is he in my apartment? In my bedroom? I lower my mace and clear my throat.

"f.u.c.k off, man. Not kidding."

I don't bother with niceties. "You f.u.c.k off. This is my apartment."

His body stiffens. Without another word, he turns over, tilting his head up, blinking up at me. "Helen?"

Oh, man, you're on a roll, a.s.shole.

I glare. "It's Helena! Not Helen!"

He looks adorably mussed. His dark brown hair sticks up in the back and he blinks his sleepy golden eyes. His red-rimmed golden eyes. I don't like that. I frown as I speak, "Are you drunk?"

A look of confusion pa.s.ses him. "What? No, I'm not drunk."

"Then why are you here?"

He looks around the room, gathering his bearings before his body slumps. "Oh, s.h.i.t. I was supposed to be fixing a leaking faucet, but I guess, I...uh..." He scratches at his chin-his amazing, strong, manly chin-and finishes, "...fell asleep."

My brows rise in disbelief. He watches me closely. We don't say a word.

I take in a deep breath and respond on an exhale, "Well, if you're done, I need to move my stuff in...without anyone sleeping on my bed," I look down at my pillow and accuse, "or drooling on my pillows."

He quickly opens his mouth to defend himself, but turns around to look for himself. "I didn't drool..." He trails off as he sees the wet spot on my pillow. At least he has the grace to look sheepish. "I can wash that."

I scoff. "Yeah, right."

He stands and stretches, but as he lifts his arms over his head, extending his muscular arms as far as they can go, his tee lifts over the waistband of his jeans to reveal low-rise jeans, boxer elastic, and a well sculpted V.

The dark blue jeans he wears encase his strong legs. The plain black tee is nice and fitted over his muscular arms, but looks well worn. His feet are covered in white socks. A very obviously child-made, bright yellow, purple, and blue elastic loom bracelet rests around his right wrist.

He looks delicious.

Warmth hits my dipping belly and works its way down. I squeeze my leg together tightly, holding the doorframe for support. Holy s.h.i.t. I'm suddenly hyper-aware I have on no makeup and am wearing grey sweats with my white stay-at-home tank. It's a stay-at-home tank, because it's ratty. So extremely comfortable, but ratty.

Okay, it's more like a rag. Somehow, this only makes me angrier. "You can't just come into people houses when they aren't there."

Max rubs a hand over his face. Mid-yawn, he utters, "Sure I can."

My blood begins to boil. "No, you can't."

He lowers his hand from his face and smiles at me. All I see are full lips, white teeth, and that magical dimple.

That f.u.c.king dimple.

He takes a step towards me, eyes trained on mine. His voice is still sleep-husky when he drawls, "I'm here, aren't I?" He looks over my face then mutters distractedly, "A face like this should not be frowning."

My cheeks heat. I choke out, "What?"

He says louder, more confidently, "I said a face like yours should never frown."

I flush and mumble, "What's wrong with my face?"

Max looks me over, slowly, meaningfully, "Absolutely nothing, from what I can see." He smirks. "I'll just use my imagination for the things I can't." Then he winks.

He winks.

I take a shaking hand and point to the door, hard. "You need to leave."

He sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time." I watch him sit on the edge of my bed and slip his shoes on. Then he walks out to the kitchen. I follow. He lazily walks around my kitchen to the refrigerator. He opens it and scowls at the almost bare interior.

I ask heatedly, "Can I help you there?"

He continues to search the refrigerator while absently scratching his belly. "I'm hungry." He straightens. "Are you hungry? We should go get something to eat."

My mouth gapes. Boy, he works fast. I laugh humorlessly. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

His brow furrows. "Why not? You're hungry, I'm hungry. Let's eat."

This man is exasperating. "I'm not hungry!"

He looks into the refrigerator one last time. "Sure you are. You said, 'Max, I'm starving and would love to eat with you'. You said that. Just now. You don't remember? I think you should see a doctor about that."

d.a.m.n him for being funny. I bite my lip to stop my shocked laughter. In this moment, I can see why so many women like being fawned over. Despite my dislike of flirting, it does make a woman feel good to be fawned over. But I'd prefer real words to pretty lies any day. I'm suddenly very tired. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. "Listen, Mack..."

I hear his frown. "It's Max."

Yeah, don't feel so nice, does it?

Yes, I can be a complete child sometimes. But that felt good.

"Max, I'm tired. My flight wasn't great, the guy I sat next to was...ugh, and I'm stinky. All I want to do is wash the fat guy sweat-stink off me and sleep for a little while before Nat comes home."

I feel the warmth of his body in front of me. I quickly stand up straight and open my eyes. He looks down at me in concern. "You okay, cupcake?"

Oh my G.o.d. He's killing me.