Not very helpful, I mentally chastise him, which is about as useful as eating peanut butter to ward off vampires.
The box resumes its disastrous slide down my body. I twist around, attempting to save it from making nice with the floor.
The man drops his box, and it lands with a muffled thump. No glass was broken in the making of this disaster.
He grabs my box before it can crash against the concrete and parks it by my feet.
Whiskey wags his tail and lunges toward the man, tugging on my calves.
I’m unable to untangle myself in enough time and go down like a felled tree.
Timber!
The next thing I know, strong arms wrap around me, keeping me upright. The crisp scent of a man’s aftershave or cologne accompanies them.
“Are you okay?” he asks, releasing me once he’s sure I’m stable on my feet—or fairly stable. He bends to scratch Whiskey behind the ear and unfastens his leash.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, the tension in my muscles deflating like air escaping a hot air balloon.
I really need to work on my overactive imagination. This whole thing about having a contract on my head is making my paranoia work double time.
With his hand still on Whiskey’s collar, the man passes me the leash. “Here. You can free yourself now.” He resumes fussing over Whiskey—who laps it up like a doubly absorbent paper towel.
I take his momentary distraction to untangle my legs and click the leash back on Whiskey’s collar.
“He’s a cute dog,” the man says.
“Thanks. I take it you like dogs.”
“I love them. I don’t have one yet, but I’m looking at getting one soon.”
Part of me points out that I should tell him that Whiskey’s looking for a forever home. The other part screams out that Whiskey is Landon’s dog, and one day soon, he’ll realize that for himself.
I’m about to sheepishly point out that the apartment doesn’t allow pets, but I don’t get the chance.
“You’re Chloe, right?” he asks, and instantly my Spider-Girl senses go on high alert. I take a step back.
Before I can say anything or hightail it out of here, he adds, “My grandmother lives in the building. She’s told me all about you. I think she’s hoping I might bump into you at some point and ask you out. I’m Eric, by the way.”
Okay—that was unexpected.
I chew on my lip for a second, unsure what to say.
So I go with the partial truth. “I have a boyfriend.”
“You do?”
I feel my eyebrows shoot up my forehead at his response.
“Sorry, that didn’t come out right. Of course, you have a boyfriend. You’re gorgeous.”
A heat wave makes a beeline for my face, and he chuckles. “And now I sound like some loser using a pickup line.”
Kinda.“Not at all.”
“I’m sure your boyfriend tells you all the time that you’re gorgeous. And if he doesn’t, you need a new boyfriend.”
I laugh. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
