Up to Date by Susan Hatler

Author:Susan Hatler [Hatler, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Hatco, Inc.
Published: 2014-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Ten minutes later, I trudged upstairs to Greg’s condo. What were the odds that a gorgeous, single doctor would be home alone on a Friday night? Oh, so slim. Seeing him with another woman would be torture. Why did Greg have to win my auction item? Was the universe exercising a sick sense of humor at my expense?

At least Greg was quieter than my previous upstairs neighbor. I supposed that should count for something.

I stepped onto the “welcome” doormat that I’d picked out—a gorgeous camel-brown straw rectangle with chocolate-brown script and green bay leaves that reminded me of Greg. Actually, the leaves reminded me of a dream I’d had about the two of us running together on a forest trail at sunset, smiling and happy. Clearly, the mat represented my inability to accept what was healthy for me.

Greg had said the door was unlocked, but I knocked anyway. I mean, did I want to walk in and find him cuddling on the couch with some random woman? Um, no.

The front door opened and there he stood, looking incredibly hot in gray, athletic shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Not exactly date-wear. Maybe he’d been working out? Hopefully alone. . . .

Sucking in a breath, I forced a smile. “Hello.”

“Hello, yourself.” He held the door wide, so I could slip past him. “The door was unlocked.”

“Was it?” I used my most innocent tone as I moseyed inside, and he shut the door behind me. I scanned his living room for any sign of a date. No woman’s jacket hanging on the antique coat rack I’d brought over yesterday. No lipstick-stained wineglass. No heady perfume. And, most importantly, no woman. “Are you alone?” I finally blurted, the suspense tormenting me.

“No.” He smirked, seeming pleased by my question. “The Skipper’s here.”

Whew. Only The Skipper. That was a load off. Even though Greg deserved to find a nice woman to settle down with, I sure didn’t need to catch the show.

As if recognizing his name, the little gray kitten came prancing into the living room, then hooked his neck around my ankle. Mew. Mew.

“Hey, boy.” I bent down, then scratched behind his ear. He made a purring sound that vibrated against my hand, and he seemed happy to see me. “Aw, you love that. Don’t you?”

Greg watched us for a moment, then slid his hands into his pockets. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks.” I stood, snuggling the sweet kitten, who kept burrowing his soft cheek against the back of my hand. “After the day I’ve had, it might put me to sleep.”

His brows came together. “Everything all right?”

“I got fired,” I blurted, before I had time to consider keeping such personal information to myself. Whatever. Not like my being canned was a big secret or anything.

“Oh, man.” He came toward me, lifted my hand, and held it in his own. “What happened?”

“Laid off, actually. Cost cutting, I think.” Butterflies danced in my belly from the feel of his skin against mine, dimming the horror of losing my job slightly.

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