“Oh, I’m just looking at an apartment. The one I got is still not ready for me to move in and even though staying with Nes and Jude has been great, I need my own space.”

“I can’t believe they’re still dicking you around with that.”

After punching the code for the front door I stepped into the vestibule and pressed the up button for the elevator with one hand as I held my phone with the other.

“Yeah, it’s a problem. Listen, I’ll call you back, okay? I’m about to get into the elevator.”

“Let me know how it goes. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided my question about Easton. We’ll get back to that next time we talk.”

I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Awesome.”

Which just got me a wicked laugh from Camilo.

I ended the call just as the elevator doors opened and looked up to see Easton Archer looking fucking edible in jeans and a white T-shirt.

I didn’t know what I was doing with Easton, but I could not deny he was the most beautiful guy I’d ever been with. He was just a bit under six feet tall, so I had to slightly turn my head down to talk to him...to kiss him. I exhaled, trying to tamp down the memories of that lithe body under me last summer, and the way he moaned and moved when we’d been together.

Fuck, I was getting hard.

He extended his hand, and if he was aware of my hard-on, he was not going to make a thing about it. He just smiled and beckoned me into the elevator.

I stepped in feeling a little suspicious. Was he going to show me the place himself?

He must’ve guessed what I’d been thinking because he lifted a shoulder and flashed me those perfect teeth.

“I told my Realtor I could show you the place since I’m already here.”

I was about to ask if he always did that, but decided to let it go. So, I just nodded and stepped in.

He was looking at me like he was trying to read my mind. I kept a neutral expression on my face and tried to roll with it. Keep it casual. I was here to see an apartment. Not to flirt.

He didn’t say whatever he was thinking and instead looked down at my feet and smiled. “Nice, I like your Jordans, are those the new Flyknits? I hadn’t seen them yet.”

I snapped my head up to look at him with what I knew was disbelief on my face. I was wearing the bright red pair of Js I’d bought as a graduation/new job treat to myself. They were the most expensive shoes I’d ever bought by a few hundred dollars and I still checked the weather forecast before wearing them out. I fucking loved them, but of all the people I thought would appreciate how dope these were, Easton Archer, who dressed like a preppy poster boy—all the fucking time—was not one of them.