Watch Me

Chapter 1

Moving into a new place always sucks. Moving when it's 90 degrees with 100% humidity sucks even worse. Finally getting everything into the new apartment only to find the shower head is clogged with rust is pretty much the icing on the most craptastic cake ever.

It was twilight by the time the maintenance guy replaced the shower head and I finally washed off the layers of grime and sweat. It was tempting to collapse on my bed and go to sleep right away. But my sheets were still in one of the boxes stacked in my new bedroom. Someday I'd be the organized type who labeled each box as she packed. Today was not that day.

I tossed the towel on my mattress and pulled clean clothes out of my suitcase. I pulled on panties and was hooking my bra between my breasts when I froze.

Across a narrow alley, my new neighbor stood in front of his window, pulling off his t-shirt. My brain stalled out, distracted by smooth golden skin and not quite a six-pack, but definitely a four-pack. As the green fabric disappeared, it revealed toned arms, and eventually messy black hair. My skin felt electric, like I'd been plugged into a goose bump machine.

He ran his hands through his hair. Then it was his turn to freeze.

Even across the distance between our windows, I knew the instant his dark eyes saw me. I could almost feel his gaze as a caress over my body.

A hot, dark touch that startled me back into motion. I turned away, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around myself.

I dared a glance over my shoulder. He hadn't moved. He watched me with an almost-smile that said we shared a secret.

I couldn't be sure, but I thought he winked at me before he walked away.

Half an hour later, I cut through the apartment complex courtyard. I had no food and an empty stomach. My two brothers, who'd helped me move, had invited me out with them, but I was too exhausted. Soup and a sandwich from the grocery store sounded like ambrosia. And I really needed a beer.

As I passed the communal grill, my gaze passed over the guy flipping burgers; my stomach splatted to the pavement.

Him.

I actually stopped walking and stared. He looked up and our gazes met. A wide smile split his face, but there was no recognition in his eyes. What was that?

The door to the building across from mine, his building, opened. A woman around my age jogged over. She had black hair with green streaks and a Batgirl t-shirt.

These are the last two napkins. She swatted his butt, then noticed me. Hey, you must be the new person we saw moving in. I'm Becca.

My brain struggled to catch up. I flashed back to the sexy, smoldering look he'd given me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. My very naked skin. It wouldn't gel in my mind with this smiling guy who clearly had a girlfriend.

On autopilot, I said, Nina. Nice to meet you.

Her boyfriend raised his spatula in salute. Tariq. Nice to meet you. He had a gentle accent but I couldn't place it specifically. It sounded vaguely British, while he looked more like he was from the Middle East. Fancy a burger?

Sit with him and his girlfriend and pretend he hadn't seen me naked and looked like he wanted to leap across the alley and on top of me? No thanks.

I need to head to the store. Otherwise I won't have any breakfast. I took a few steps backward.

Hey, I heard you talking to that guy who was helping you move. Something about you can’t get internet for a few weeks, Becca said, grabbing a phone off the picnic table. Give me your number, and Tariq can text you their wifi password. You should be able to get a signal in your place. Use that for a few weeks.

I stared for a second too long. I glanced at Tariq. He nodded his agreement. No problem.

Becca held out the phone.

Hey, what the hell? It was a way to make new friends, and it would make my life much easier to have internet so I didn’t have to spend all my time at the library. I took the proffered phone, typed in my number, and handed it back. Thanks, I really appreciate it."

No problem. Tariq grinned, and my stomach did a flip flop, then a thud.

I should get going. It was nice meeting you.

Yeah, you too. Becca waved as I turned and hurried for the sidewalk. No point thinking about Mr. Tall, Dark and Taken. Too bad. I was majorly stressing about starting my Emergency Department rotation on Monday, and could have used a distraction.

The grocery store was only three blocks away. I grabbed a few staples: a pre-bagged salad, bread and turkey for a sandwich, yogurt for breakfast and a six-pack of Spotted Cow.

This late on a Saturday, only one lane was open. I stood behind an elderly couple and a teen boy buying a lifetime supply of Gatorade. While waiting, I checked my email on my phone. My advisor had sent a message to all his students reminding us that the start of our fourth year meant we would be given more responsibility in our clinic rotations.

As if I could forget. Just the thought made my chest feel tight. I needed to think about something else or the panic would set off an asthma attack and I’d left my inhaler on my dresser.

I closed my eyes and did some deep breathing, listening to the bickering of the couple and the beep of the scanner as the checker rang up their groceries. Beep. Five second pause. Beep. Five second pause. Beep. Five second pause. Five more seconds.

Your total is forty-seven ninety-three.

I knew that voice. Startled, I opened my eyes.

It was him. Tariq. But how? Ten minutes ago, he'd been grilling burgers at our apartment. This made no sense.

I glanced at the name embroidered on his red shirt. Kamil.

Two of them? I studied his face, the smooth tan skin, dark eyes, thick black hair, neatly trimmed facial hair around his mouth, and a hint of stubble along his jaw.

And his mouth. That was a nice mouth. Full lips that looked like they could be quite talented.

Definitely not the same guy I'd just met. Tariq's hair was shorter and he was clean-shaven. This guy, Kamil, kept his hair longer, bordering on shaggy.

They had to be twins. It was the only explanation.

Which meant Becca was Tariq's girlfriend. And my window-guy was potentially still available. Kamil was definitely the one who’d seen me through the window. It hadn’t occurred to me when I met Tariq, but his lack of facial hair should have been a clue.

My stomach flipped over, though I didn't know if it was from excitement or nervousness. I watched Kamil's hands as they moved the nine bottles of Gatorade over the scanner. They were good hands. Strong, long-fingered. Nails kept neat.

Definitely excitement.

He looked up and the instant our gazes met, my stomach flipped again. And again. My chest felt too tight, and my face heated. Recognition flashed in his eyes. One side of his mouth lifted in the faintest of smiles as his gaze traveled over me. Like before, I felt it as a caress on my skin.

I'd never felt this turned on just looking at a guy. It was powerful and appealing.

One last burst of heat from his eyes, then he returned his attention to Gatorade boy.

Two minutes later, the kid was gone. It was just me and Kamil. There was no one else at the front of the store and despite the wide open space, it felt intimate. Maybe it was the way his eyes focused so intensely on me. Like nothing else existed. Like he knew a secret.

Which he did, sort of.

Kamil, I said. Because I was a conversational genius. Not Tariq, who is grilling burgers with Becca.

It's Kam. I take it you met my brother. A smile played with the corners of his mouth, but didn't take hold.

I could listen to that smooth accent forever. Why were accents so sexy? I did. I admit, I was a little confused. Since he clearly has a girlfriend. And the way Kam was looking at me, the way he had looked at me when he saw me topless, implied he did not.

Shit. I'd referenced our little exhibitionist-voyeur episode. My face heated. A moment later his eyes darkened and his lips spread into a full smile.

He does.

The cash register beeped at him. We both looked at it. I.D. flashed on the computer screen in bold red letters. He'd just run my beer through the scanner.

I'll need to see your ID.

Oh, sure, because who wouldn't want to hand over their driver's license – with their embarrassing weight, that wasn’t even their real weight, printed on it – to the guy they were flirting with? I fumbled with my wallet and pulled out the card. I couldn't quite meet his gaze as I handed it over.

Until his fingers slid over mine. A totally unnecessary touch. His fingertips trailed the back of my hand in a deliberate caress. His gaze caught mine and his eyes practically smoldered.

I melted. A big puddle of lusty goo. Clean up at Register Five.

He studied the picture, then my face, then the picture, then my face. Not bad, but doesn't do you justice. He typed my birthdate into his register. But he didn't hand back the license.

Nina Baudin. Turned twenty-four last week. He glanced back at me. Happy birthday. Slowly he extended his hand.

I took the card from him. Thanks. My mom brought over a gluten-free, sugar-free cake that used a veggie puree instead of eggs. I'd wanted to throw up. The next morning, my dad and younger brother brought over a proper chocolate cake and we ate the whole thing. It was the same birthday I'd had since I moved out of my parents' house.

Kam took his time bagging my groceries. If he was this slow with all his customers, I didn't want to know. I'd much rather believe he wanted a few extra moments with me. Even if I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Want me to do a striptease for you when you get home?

Here you go. He handed over the two plastic bags. Nina.

In his accent, it was the sexiest name on the planet. Thanks.

I couldn't look away from him. Our fingers met again as he handed me the beer. We stood like that for a full five seconds, fingers touching, staring at each other. His eyes sparked with heat, leaving me a little breathless.

Finally he drew his hand away. Like all his movements, it was slow and deliberate. Have a good night.

I took two steps backward. You too.

The faintest smile slid over his face before he turned to his new customer.

I left the store, energized for the first time in weeks.

Darling, after lunch I'll take you grocery shopping. You need to stock your kitchen.

I finished setting the microwave timer, hit start and turned to my mom. No thanks. I can take care of it. Grocery shopping with my mom was a terrible idea. You'd think a dietician would be a good companion. But a dietician who dabbled in anorexia and occasional bulimia, and worried if her weight got into triple-digits was a nightmare. She'd never met a carb she was willing to consume. I lived for pasta.

You have beer, my older sister, Darcy, added as she inspected the contents of my refrigerator. She said beer as if she'd found heroin. She wasn't as scrawny as my mom, but she'd inherited Mom's tiny frame and obsession with the scale. At least as a yoga and Pilates instructor, Darcy had some muscle.

The microwave beeped. I pulled out the vegan, gluten-free breakfast lasagna. It looked like a fake-egg scramble with a bunch of veggies and what I assume was vegan cheese. I'd never understand dairy-free cheese.

Yesterday was a long day. I needed a beer. I handed Darcy the lasagna, picked up the grain-free fake oatmeal (made with squash. I didn't ask), and headed for the apartment door. When my mom suggested Sunday lunch as an apartment-warming celebration, I hadn't been able to come up with a good reason to say no. You eat gross food wouldn't cut it. And of course we couldn't go to a restaurant like a normal family. Restaurant food was toxin-laden rubbish.

All I wanted was a waffle and some bacon. And an extra-strong Bloody Mary.

Dad and AJ, my younger brother, had claimed one of the picnic tables outside. When AJ saw the food we were carrying, his face screwed up into an expression that reflected my thoughts. He caught my eye and raised his brows. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

AJ was the top backstroker on the UW-Milwaukee swim team. He ate roughly nine-million calories a day. He'd probably go get a burger with me after lunch.

My hips didn't need it. My belly had more than a gentle slope. But I didn't care. I liked food. And I was built like the women on my dad's side. Once we'd been worshiped for our hourglass figures and birthin' hips. But that was centuries ago.

As we sat at the table, Mom pulled serving spoons from her cooler. Enjoy! The faux-meal looks delicious, Darcy.

In my back pocket, my phone chirped. I pulled it out. Text message from AJ.

AJ: Foe-meal? WTF?

I typed a quick reply.

Me: Fake oatmeal. Made from vegetables.

As I scooped up some of the offending dish, my phone chirped again.

AJ: What did we ever do to Mom and D? Why do they hate us?

I bit down on my lips to keep from laughing. Instead, I kicked AJ under the table.

Since Mom and Darcy were busy in fawning over how delicious the faux-meal tasted, AJ made a dramatic show of taking his