I followed her up the split staircase. She knocked on the door and waited a full two seconds before unlocking it and opening it. It was odd that there weren’t locks on both sides like connected hotel rooms. As I followed her into a spacious kitchen with high ceilings, I glanced back and noticed there was a lock on his side. He just hadn’t locked it.

“Fisher?” she called and waited a few seconds. “I’ll check the garage. Sometimes he’s working on a project or spit-shining his motorcycle.”

I nodded, feeling nerves tighten in my stomach. Why? I wasn’t sure, but two seconds later I quickly figured it out.

“Hey.”

I turned toward the deep, male voice.

“Oh my gosh!” I made another quick turn, completing a full three-sixty in total. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Did you break in? Or are you Rory’s daughter?”

I cleared my throat. “That … um … yeah … Rory’s daughter.”

“Ah, Reese Capshaw. It’s nice to finally meet you. Rory talks about you nonstop.”

I nodded a half dozen times, refusing to turn back toward him and his nearly naked body. My initial glance caught lots of chest and water dripping down said chest and a loosely tied navy-blue towel hanging low on his waist. Oh … yeah … his hair was messy, wet, and light brown or maybe dark blond.

“Where’s your mom?” He brushed past me. Like … physically brushed past me. His wet arm bumped mine. And he didn’t say “excuse me.” Instead, he turned a few degrees just before reaching for the garage door handle. He eyed me from head to toe, a smirk reshaping his mouth into something I didn’t trust. “You look just like your mom. Lucky girl.”

In that moment, I knew Fisher Mann was bad news.

“There you are!” Mom started to open the door at the same moment Fisher turned the handle and pulled inward.

Was it the right time to tell my mom she couldn’t go to Los Angeles because her landlord looked at me like his next meal? But more than that … I couldn’t believe she had no response to his nearly naked body on full display in front of her daughter.

“Sorry. I was in the shower,” Fisher said while he gave his towel a slight adjustment in the wrong direction! He lowered it an inch.

Heat gathered in my cheeks. I had only seen men like him on television or with my friends when no one’s parents were home. It felt forbidden then, and it didn’t feel any less forbidden with my mom standing between us.

“So you met Reese. Isn’t she beautiful? Even more stunning than her pictures. Don’t you think?”

Dear God, please make this stop. Make HIM stop.

Stop being so … everything.