Still holding her water close to her lips, wishing it were caffeinated, Freya shook her head. “No, I just missed him. He’s been here,” she glanced at her slim black watch, “three minutes.”
“Should we introduce ourselves?”
“Asher said to give him space.”
“Dang it.” Sophie pulled off her cotton cardigan and tossed it onto the entry hook. Freya had known Sophie for just over a month, and already found her to be eternally put together, aside from her fingernails that were typically chewed to nubs. Not a huge wardrobe, but precise and stunning. Shrugging, Freya decided she’d just have to help herself to her friend’s closet now and again.
Not that they were built anything alike. Where Sophie was slim and athletic, Freya was height and boobs and butt. As a teen, she’d hated her figure. In her early twenties, she’d risked basic nutrition in an effort to trim down.
Something about turning thirty had changed everything. She no longer hated her dark, frizzy curls, and loved that she had a curvy figure like the classic paintings and sculptures. And she no longer gave a damn that she was taller than most of the guys she dated, something she knew Sophie could relate to, as both were taller than average.
When Sophie had called to see if she wanted to be roomies while they both got settled, Freya had jumped at the opportunity. The pair had hit it off in the weeks before Pippa's wedding. And, according to Sophie’s pleas, Sophie needed a buffer so she and Asher would take things slow, a roommate to keep her within her meticulous budget, and, offered a generous discount for Freya’s artistic eye in fixing the place up. Freya had done a happy dance and a half. She loved her parents but couldn’t imagine bunking with them again, and she didn’t want to blow her budget on a place of her own yet.
As they stood staring like a couple of drooling puppies waiting for a treat, Zane came dashing down the steps.
Oh. She tightened her grip on her water, nearly dropping the cobalt glass as her attention locked on. Naturally, she’d expected the SEAL to be built. She hadn’t expected… yeah, that.
Suppressing the sigh before she proved to her new roommate that she was the sex-deprived horndog she felt like, she bit her lips together. Solid muscle, his black t-shirt clung to some ripped shoulders, hugging some spectacular abs she wanted to lick, and she hadn’t even seen his skin yet. Spiked up after a long day on the road, his walnut hair was just a little wild, an inch past a military fade.
Loosening the tie-downs on the back of his truck, he wound them back up and set them in the backseat of the truck, then did the same with the blue tarp. Damn, he moved like a confident man on a mission, but with a leisure that said he didn't give a fuck how long it took. A horny sigh passed her lips without her awareness, followed by a whimper.
Grinning at her side, Sophie teased, “Enjoying the view?”
Freya nodded. “He is a work of art. Look at the way he moves. That is pure power.” He hoisted a huge box and carried it up the steps like it didn’t weigh a thing.
“Think we should offer to help?”
“Maybe. Or you can pour us some wine and we’ll just watch the show.”
“I like you,” Sophie teased. “But I do feel bad, just standing here while he carries all that by himself.”
Freya glanced down at the strappy camisole and leggings she’d tossed on. Her dark waves were unrulier than usual, despite the shower. Wiggling her toes, she glared at her chipped blue nail polish. Sighing, she nodded. “I’ll get some shoes.”
“I’m going to go get changed first. I know I don’t need to dress in slacks and heels for accounting work in Foothills, but I can’t get used to not dressing up for work.”
Smiling as she tossed on her canvas shoes, Freya shook her head, “Wear what makes you happy. Can I borrow a hair thing? Mine are lost somewhere in my luggage.”
Sophie pulled out her ponytail and handed over the hair tie. Freya pulled her damp hair back into a messy bun and dashed out the door.
Sliding the cardboard across the slick floor to tuck another load under the kitchen bar, Zane spun on his heel and headed for the next box. His footsteps reverberated on the wooden steps as he thundered down. Slamming on the breaks, he skidded to a stop in the dirt before he crashed into a box with legs.
Behind the box, a muffled voice said, “Hi. I’m Freya.” A pinky lifted off the box; was she trying to shake hands?
He grinned at the odd gesture, his eyebrows scrunched in curiosity. With a gentle pinky shake, he tried to see the bearer of the box. “Zane. Thanks for the help.”
A lyrical quality to her voice, that flat west coast accent had a hint of something else he couldn’t place, danced behind her as she headed up the stairs, “Anytime, neighbor.” As she strolled up the steps, her hips swayed, her strong arms held steady around the box. Dumbfounded, his feet rooted to the ground until she disappeared into the apartment.
Shaking his head at the odd meeting, he grabbed another box. Nearly dropping the damn thing, he boosted it higher, his forearms already burning to keep the thing from crashing to the ground and crushing his toes. He chuckled when he read the Sharpie label in front of his nose, Kitchen, HEAVY. At least he’d tried to warn himself.
Freya’s feet tapped in a cheery rhythm as she dashed down the steps. He stood to the side
