Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

10. Midnight

10

Midnight

Zack struck me as an Alpha type: used to calling the shots on the field and at the door. He had a list. But he put me on it. I was in. The ‘it’ girl. Cool enough to take a break with.

Who knew throwing lemons was the secret to grabbing his attention?

He parked in a guest spot and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’ll walk you to the door, just in case.”

“I don’t need an escort.” I chuckled. If he wanted more time together, all he had to do was ask. I grabbed my paper bag, flashed him a daring smile, and stumbled out of the car.

“Hey, watch your step.” He trotted over and lightly touched my back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I waved him off as flames climbed my cheeks. I did this all the time: walked in heels and exited cars with grace. Maybe not after a few drinks, but the fries should’ve absorbed something. “Do you want to wash your hands?”

He retracted his palm from my back. “What?”

“The fast food.” I held up the bag and shook it. “Those flimsy napkins don’t do jack to stop you from getting greasy fingerprints all over your car, right? You said you maintain it.” Plus, I’d rejected his initial offer to walk me up, so this was a second in.

He tilted his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Um, sure. I could wash up, if that’s–”

“You can come in. This way.” I strut through to the lobby. We’d only just re-met. I didn’t want him to think he could swoop in five seconds after I broke up with someone. But midnight was only a few minutes away, and I did want a kiss. It only made sense for us to try it.

We slipped into the elevator. I braced my lower back against the metallic walls while Zack stood at my side. He still held himself like a bouncer, his hips straight as he crossed his arms and eyed the door. For all I knew, the clipboard was still jammed in the back of his jeans somewhere.

The floor numbers ticked by, and my stomach swooped with each one. Shouldn’t we be flirting? Teasing? Most guys I knew would play with the keys around my neck to pull me closer in a situation like this.

The doors slid open.

Zack frowned. “This is your floor, isn’t it?”

“Right.” I strode to my door and bent over to use my necklace to let us in. I swung inside as my heart hammered fast. This was another big reveal. I wasn’t the quiet girl wrapped in a too-big jacket anymore. I was Nikki, Nyx: model extraordinaire with casual luxury and nice legs.

My heels clicked across the tiled entryway as I strode to the kitchen island. I propped my forearms on it and leaned on my back foot for a flattering angle. “This is it. Home sweet home.”

“Nice.” He lopped his thumbs into his belt loops as he scanned the open-concept kitchen and living room. “Too bad I’m not pretty enough to get paid for it. This is a lot of space.”

“I’ve got it all to myself.” No boyfriend or family members were sneaking in on my rent. This was for me and my eventual husband. Although if he had a nicer place, I'd keep this one to rent. Second properties could make a killing. But tonight, I didn’t want a ring. I smiled and flipped my hair over my shoulder. What would Mr. Alpha want to do next?

He glanced down the hall. “So, where’s your bathroom?”

I pointed. “First door on your right.”

“Thanks.” He tipped his chin and strode off in that direction.

The guy had surprisingly little game. Of course, it was possible he saw my place and got intimidated by my success. But did that matter if we were never going to see each other again?

The water squeaked on. Maybe he thought we’d do more than kiss and wanted his hands clean for any touching. That was…classy.

I brought my sandwich to the white, L-shaped couch in my living room and flopped down on the pile of cushions. I supposed I could’ve called him handsome and stroked his ego. But after Theo, I’d had enough of that.

My phone pinged with a text.

Theo: Wish you were here [broken heart emoji]

Then maybe he should’ve treated me better. Two years down the drain.

I swiped him away and opened my camera app to take a few photos. That usually made me feel better. My cheeks were still flushed from alcohol and the cold. After adding a filter, I was golden. But I also wanted to make a video. “New Year’s resolution: Be smart, keep it classy.” I winked at the camera and raised my pinky before taking a bite of my salty, delicious sandwich.

“Your sauce is dripping,” Zack called upon reentering the room.

I jerked my head back with a gasp and tilted the sandwich to check. Sauce oozed out of the sides of the bun, then splatted onto my leg. I cursed and scooped the sauce with my pinky. How did this get so messy so fast?

“Hey, keep it classy.” He smirked and got some of those crappy napkins out of the bag. Like he was so with it, Mr. Perfect.

I hurled a throw pillow at him.

He crouched and caught it under his arm as if it was nothing but a plushy football. “Are you mad because you need to dry clean your sequin thing?”

“It’s on me , not my outfit.” I snatched some of the useless napkins and set the sandwich on its wrapper.

His eyes crinkled. “Don’t worry. You’re still pretty.”

Was he mocking me? Heat splashed my chest and cheeks. I roughly wiped my leg. “Damn it, Zack. Stop trying to compliment me.”

He rubbed his shoulder against his ear. “Cursing isn’t classy.”

As much as I wanted to side-eye him, my exasperation broke through in a laugh. Something jabbed my thigh. “Oh shit; my phone fell.”

“Wash your hands before you touch anything,” he said, mimicking my earlier invitation. He leaned his forearms on the back of the couch and crossed his ankles. Were we playing or fighting?

I poked my phone awake. “Don’t worry, I’m not touching you tonight.”

He chuckled and tossed the hood over my head. “Of course not. You’re finishing your sandwich and going straight to bed.”

No midnight kiss?

“You’re such a dad,” I grumbled.

He poked the back of my head. “You like it.”

No, I didn’t. I waved him away as best I could with my hand still around the dirty napkin. “Egomaniac.” Not kissing him was definitely for the best.

“Yeah, yeah. Can I have my hoodie back?”

Ugh. All he cared about was his jacket. I slung it off and handed it to him.

He pried that and the napkin out of my hand. His meaty fingers briefly hooked mine and sent a jolt down my spine.

“I’ll take the garbage and get out of your hair,” he said. “Drink water. Brush your teeth. See you next year, and all that.”

“What, you’re leaving?” I asked.

He shrugged the hoodie on. “I have to get back to work.”

“Oh, yeah.” I shuffled after him and played with my top straps. “Good luck with all the drunks.”

“At least one of them is off the streets.” He smirked, then glanced at my feet. “Hey, take your heels off, they’ll ruin the hardwood.”

“Excuse me.” I bent to unhook the straps and wobbled dangerously.

“Sit down, geez.” He eased me onto the couch and bent my leg so he could help me.

“Oh, aren’t you a gentleman?” I teased, but he didn’t say anything.

His neck and ears flushed red, most likely from frostbite.

We’d touched a lot tonight, and we never had in high school. It was weird. Especially to have him on one knee, tending to my feet.

He fumbled with a strap.

“Careful. Those are my money makers,” I said.

“Of course, your majesty.” The second he pulled a shoe off, my toes stung where the edges had rubbed me raw.

I hissed and winced. Party shoes were the worst.

Concern etched his face. He lightly squeezed my ankle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Those toes would un-bend eventually.

He glanced at the bathroom hallway. “Do you want a band-aid or antibacterial cream?”

I shook my head and raised my other leg. “This happens every holiday. They’ll be fine in a few days.”

He frowned and got to work on the other foot, gently working it free. There weren’t too many guys who’d do this without intending to bed somebody. Maybe he was controlling. Or maybe he liked my legs.

Zack hooked the heel straps with his fingers and stood. “No need to get up. I’ll place these by the entrance and lock the door on my way out. There’s just one more thing…” He swallowed hard. His gaze slipped to my lips.

Aw, did he want affection? I tilted my chin toward the light. “You can say whatever it is. Unless you’d rather show me.”

“What?” He scratched his ear.

“Happy new year,” I said, and opened my arms to him.

“H-happy new year.” He bent down for a one-armed hug and squeezed.

Part of me wanted to turn my face to meet his and find out what it was like to kiss the quarterback. We’d see if I could stop that loud mouth of his and melt his sturdy frame in an embrace.

But he didn’t shift toward me. Apparently, he had no need for a kiss. He probably wanted to get back to work and control shit.

No more egomaniacs , I reminded myself.

New year, new me, new man.

Fine . I let go of him.

He flashed me an awkward, genuine smile. “Um, okay. Keep it classy.”

I shrugged. I would, I guessed.

As he left the apartment, I played with my phone. The clock ticked from 11:59 to midnight. Somewhere, the ball had dropped, and I was okay with it.