Desperately Seeking Landlord Read online

  Mama Jo grabs one of the oven mitts and tosses it at Jamie.

  “What was that for?” It bounces off his body, landing useless on the floor. That’d be like attacking a bear with a needle.

  “Take the bags from the young lady. I taught you better than that.”

  “Oh, right. Give them here.”

  He grabs them from me.

  “Jamie,” she scolds again. To me, she adds, “He has manners, I swear. I didn’t raise a complete heathen.”

  Jamie rolls his eyes. “Miranda likes me without my manners,” he mutters, and my jaw drops.

  I give his mom a horrified expression and she looks between the two of us with intrigue.

  Fuck me.

  Jamie looks at me with a smirk and I swear he can read my mind.

  Not that way, I ping back and hope he hears it loud and clear. He frowns, so I think he does.

  Or it could be because you’re staring really hard at him?

  Shoving my hands in the pockets of my work jeans as I’ve dubbed them since they’re speckled with every color of paint imaginable I rock back on my heels awkwardly. “So … uh … where do you want me?”

  Jamie stifles a laugh.

  “I mean,” I glare at him, “where do you want me to work with Toby?”

  He sobers, exhaling a breath. “I set up a table in the basement.”

  He starts walking, which leaves me to assume I’m meant to follow. Toby scampers ahead of me and I follow the two Miller boys into the basement.

  It’s a finished basement and I look around in awe at the TV and living room set up, bar, and pool table.

  I keep following Jamie around to another side where he’s set up a foldable long table on top of plastic sheeting to cover the carpet, with more of the sheeting draping the table.

  He notices me taking in all the plastic. “I don’t like messes.”

  “Are you sure you’re not planning to Dexter me?”

  “Did you just make Dexter a verb?”

  I pause, swaying back and forth. “Maybe,” I drawl.

  He shakes his head and places the bags on the table.

  “Thanks for carrying those.”

  “Mhmm,” he hums.

  Toby starts going through them, vibrating with excitement. “What are we going to paint Miranda? Can I paint a dinosaur? I love those. My whole room is dinosaurs. Can I show you later?”

  “Tobias, one question at a time,” Jamie scolds lightly, ruffling his son’s hair.

  “We’re going to do a couple of different things,” I answer his first question. “You can definitely paint a dinosaur and if we have time, and your dad doesn’t mind, you can show me your room.”

  “Cool.” He grins and again I’m blown away by how much he looks like Jamie. If only I’d see Jamie smile that big, so carefree and happy.

  Jamie stands there and I make a shooing motion. “You can go now. Toby and I have things covered. We don’t need an overseer.”

  His lips turn down. “But—”

  “Dad,” Toby pleads, clasping his hands in front of his chest, “we don’t need a babysitter.”

  Jamie exhales, hands on his hips. “Fine. No messes.”

  I take a dramatic look around the space. “I think with all this plastic, I’ll be fine.”

  Another sigh. “I’ll be in my office. You know where to find me. Be good,” he says to Toby.

  Toby rolls his eyes. “I’m always good.”

  Jamie shakes his head, fighting a smile. “The sad thing is I know you believe that.”

  I watch him leave and then begin pulling out canvases—I got a bunch of small ones—paint, brushes, and other supplies.

  “Why do you like to paint?” Toby picks up a canvas, holding it between his hands and turning it like he’s steering a ship.

  I place a cup on the table that I’ll need to fill with water. “Because there’s something pretty cool about taking that white, blank canvas, and creating something from my mind. It can become anything I have the ability to think up.”

  “Like a rocketship?”

  “Yep.” I spread the brushes out. “Or a dinosaur. You can paint people, pets, places, objects. But you can also take the paint and just have fun with it, see what happens when you mix different colors, make a complete mess. When it comes to art, you don’t have to grow up.”

  After everything is set up on the table I fill the two cups I brought with water from the basement bar.

  Toby pulls out one of the chairs Jamie had set out with the table. Like me he’s wearing clothes that won’t matter if they’re dirtied. This is only the third time I’ve seen the kid, but it’s the first time he hasn’t been dressed up.

  I grab one of the paper plates I brought and squirt different colors of paint on it, then place it in front of Toby before doing the same for myself.

  “If you want to lighten a color you’re going to mix white and the color together. Always do a little at a time. If you want to darken a color, add black to it, again only a little to start.”

  “Won’t it look muddy if I add black?” His brow crinkles in confusion.

  “Only if you add too much. That’s why you do it like this.” I demonstrate and his mouth becomes a tiny O shape.

  “Wow! I never thought of that!”

  I laugh and sit down in my own chair. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

  “Right,” he agrees, nodding. “What first?”

  “How about that dinosaur?” I grin at him.

  He beams up at me and my heart squeezes. I don’t know how any mother could walk away from this brilliant boy.

  * * *

  Several hours later I’ve cleaned everything up, eaten more cookies than I should have thanks to Mama Jo, and my body is speckled with paint. But I have to admit, it was fun working with Toby. He’s a funny kid and it was good practice for when I’m an art teacher.

  “Toby, I need to run to the store, why don’t you come with me?” Mama Jo says to him as he runs past.

  I set the bags down by the door, digging through my purse for my keys.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to.”

  Jamie comes from somewhere in the back of the house. “Are you leaving?”

  I start to speak but Mama Jo cuts me off. “Toby and I are going to run to the store. We’ll be back in a little while.”

  Jamie’s brows draw together and he watches his mom urge his son down a hall. A minute passes as the two of them leave, and then Jamie’s staring at me like some fascinating specimen under a microscope.

  “I cleaned things up and left the canvases drying, mine included since I can’t exactly have wet paint in my car. I can pick them up later in the week.”

  Jamie watches out the window over my shoulder as the car pulls away.

  “She thinks she’s so sneaky.”

  “W-What?” I stutter.

  He fights a smile, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

  “She’s giving us time alone.”

  “Oh. But why? She doesn’t know about me. Or us. Or any of the totally indecent things we’ve done.”

  He fights another smile.

  “You’re an attractive woman, Miranda. I haven’t been in a relationship in eight years. My mother wants to see me find someone, fall in love, and preferably give her more grandchildren.”

  My mouth parts and my cheeks color at the image he’s conjured in my mind. One of a blissfully happy married Jamie and me with a butt load of kids running around.

  Clearing my throat, and wishing I could Etch-A-Sketch that picture right on out of my brain, I point over my shoulder. “I should be going.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets, raising his shoulders up. “You should be.”

  I let out a breathy, “But?”

  “Stay.”

  One word.

  I never knew one word could have so much meaning. That it could impact me in a way I don’t expect.

  Looking up at him, I try to hide the shaking in my hands, because
I’m afraid.

  Absolutely petrified of my feelings for him. I’ve tried to keep them locked away, but the fact is, they’re there. I like him, and if he keeps showing me bits of the real him, I’m afraid that like might grow into something even stronger.

  “Why?” Why should I stay?

  “Because I want you to.”

  He extends his hand to me and I stare at it like it’s a poisonous snake, ready to strike. He quirks his fingers and I place my hand in his.

  Once my hand is in his grasp he pulls me to his body. I’m surprised he’s not pushing me away, hauling me out of his house like yesterday’s trash. He’s so hot and cold I never know where I stand with him.

  My heart is beating out of control, my mind spinning.

  I want to say something silly or stupid, anything to break the intense stare he has going with me, but I can’t. All words have fled my brain, tunneling out like annoying little … well, whatever animal tunnels. I can’t think straight when I’m in Jamie’s arms like this.

  “I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” I say instead.

  “Why?” His eyes are on my lips.

  “Because you’re you and I’m me and we don’t make any sense.”

  “Do we have to make sense?”

  I close my eyes. “It’d be easier if we did.”

  He lowers his lips to my ear and my eyes drift closed. “It’s taken me my whole life to learn nothing ever makes sense,” he whispers lowly. “I want to show you something.”

  My eyes fly open and I take a step away from him. “If you whip out your dick I’ll punch you again.”

  A small laugh bubbles out of his throat and dammit if I don’t feel some kind of satisfaction about that.

  Sobering, he says, “You’ve already seen it and you haven’t punched me yet, so I think I’m safe. Admit it, you love my cock.”

  My mouth drops and he wears a satisfied grin.

  He reaches out, curling his index finger underneath my chin and pushing it up so my mouth closes.

  “That’s not what I want to show you.”

  He tugs my hand and pulls me down the hallway and around the corner into a tucked away office space.

  If you told me to close my eyes and imagine Jamie’s home office, honestly, I’d probably picture a sex dungeon. Not … this.

  The walls are filled with bookcases crowded with books and knick-knacks. His desk is huge with an iMac on one end, one of those desk calendars, a cup for pens, and a holder for papers and envelopes. It’s all surprisingly neat and tidy. There’s a sturdy desk chair, a built-in bench beneath a window, and two leather club chairs that make me want to dive bomb into them and stay for hours with a soft blanket, cup of coffee, and a good book.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I find myself asking, walking away from him to study some of the book spines.

  I feel him move behind me, his presence warm and heady.

  “Because I want to show you more of me.”

  I turn around and he’s so close I have to crane my neck back to look at him. Poking my index finger into his chest I say softly, “Why don’t you show me more of what’s in here?”

  He swallows thickly and grabs my hand before I can pull it away, flattening it over his heart. “I’m trying.” He looks pained, whether by his words or the idea of truly letting me in, I don’t know.

  It’s all so confusing, him and I.

  He lowers his forehead, pressing it to mine. His eyes close. Then mine.

  “Stop making me feel, Miranda.”

  “Stop making me want you.”

  He pulls away from me and I instantly miss his warmth.

  I quickly turn around and return to perusing the shelves, pulling some books off to read the backs.

  I pull off Pride and Prejudice, my lips quirking with a smile.

  “What?” Jamie asks from the corner, having spotted the movement with his laser focus.

  I hold the book up for him. “Another reason I’m single—books have given me an unrealistic expectation of men.” I return it to the shelf, ignoring his frown. “You and Darcy are kind of alike, you know?” I muse and out of the corner of my eye I see him cross his arms.

  “How so?” he prompts, his voice suddenly deeper.

  I give him a coy smirk. “Always judging everything.”

  He shakes his head but lets me look through his office, even keeping quiet when I snoop through the drawers where the most interesting thing I find is a Matchbox car, most likely hidden by Toby. Everything is normal, if not ridiculously orderly. He’s a definite neat freak, which surprises me.

  “I should be going,” I finally say. I’ve been here longer than I planned, and even though I’m only going home to an empty apartment, I feel jittery with the need to get away.

  He nods and turns off the light, following me to the front door.

  “There’s something else I want to show you.”

  “Now?” I raise a brow.

  He shakes his head. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Nothing.”

  I already turned down Lou’s offer to go to the American History museum in D.C. with her and Abel.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “At night?” I blurt.

  “In the morning.”

  “Um … yeah … nah … it’s Sunday and that’s too early.”

  “Eight, Miranda.” His tone turns bossy.

  I stick my tongue out. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “Eight. In. The. Morning. Be ready.”

  “Ugh.” I grab my stuff and he opens the door. “Have I ever told you that you’re super annoying?”

  “I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice.” He smiles, a small one but a smile nonetheless. That smile, it’s mine. I grab it, cradling it close before tucking it away into the recesses of my memory.

  “I guess I’ll see you at nine,” I grumble.

  “Eight.”

  “Nine.”

  He chuckles. “We’ll see who wins.”

  “Me, I always do,” I call behind me, already halfway down the walkway.

  After my car is loaded and I’m in the driver’s seat, I look, and he’s still standing in the open front door.

  He lifts his hand in a wave.

  I give him the finger.

  And he laughs, a big belly laugh. I wish I could hear it, but it doesn’t really matter because no matter what happens come morning I know I’m the real winner.

  14

  Jamie

  I knock on her door at 8:01 in the morning.

  The door blasts open—she can’t open a door in a normal manner—and she huffs, “You didn’t think I’d be awake, did you? Ha! Fooled you. I’m up. Dressed. Even brushed my teeth, but you better have coffee.”

  I hold up the drink carrier and her eyes light up.

  “My savior.” She takes one of the iced coffees and gulps a quarter of it down.

  “All right, let’s go.” She steps out and closes the door behind her, making sure it’s locked. “This better be worth it.” She catches me staring at her clothes and punches me in the shoulder. “You better not be judging me for what I’m wearing. You didn’t tell me what this was for, and considering the early time, I wasn’t getting fancy.”

  “I just thought your ass looked nice in those cotton shorts.”

  Instead of snapping back at me, she has a pleased smile instead.

  The pair of gray shorts hug her curves and the cropped white shirt she has on leaves little to the imagination. Despite her bra, her nipples are pebbled against the fabric. She wears a pair of tennis shoes and her hair is thrown back in a messy ponytail. There’s not a stitch of makeup on her face. She looks fucking sexy, and if I didn’t have something planned I would haul her ass inside so I could take time exploring her body.

  “We better go,” I say, ushering her down the stairs.

  We reach the bottom level and a door opens.

  “Going somewhere this early, girly?”

  Mirand
a whirls around and I find some creepy looking guy with yellowed teeth looking her up and down.

  “It’s not that early Stinky Stan. Mind your own business.”

  He gives her a nasty smile but when he notices me glaring at him he quickly scurries back into his apartment.

  “That guy give you problems?” My voice is deep, fighting the edge of anger I feel. I place a possessive hand on the small of her back and guide her to my car.

  She shrugs, reaching for the passenger door but I grab it before she can.

  “He’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “You shouldn’t have to handle him.”

  She rolls her eyes as she slides in. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend. I don’t need you to protect me.”

  I’m sure Miranda is more than capable of taking care of herself, but that doesn’t mean she should have to.

  Putting a lid on my temper so I don’t walk back and beat down Stan’s door, I walk around the front of the car and get in the driver’s seat.

  “This car is nice,” she whistles, rubbing her hands on the leather seat. “This feels like butter.”

  “It should with what it costs.”

  I hate the frown that suddenly appears on her face. “Yeah, I’ll never be able to afford something as nice as this.”

  “One day.”

  She shakes her head, giving me a small smile. “On an art teacher’s salary I’ll be lucky if I can afford to eat anything other than ramen noodles. Let’s face it, I’ll probably have to resort to one of those awful, so called, life hacks where I cook them in a coffee maker.”

  “You’ll do better than you think.”

  She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Jamie, I want to be an art teacher because it’ll make me happy, not because it’ll make me rich. I’d rather be poor with a rich heart, than have all the money in the world and a cold heart.”

  Well, fuck.

  Clearing my throat, I back out of the parking space. Turning right out of her apartment complex I don’t drive more than a mile before I pull into the small local airport terminal.

  “Why are we here?” Her brows are scrunched together like the two furry caterpillars Tobias dumped in my hand this morning for shits and giggles. He has no idea I ate a worm once on a dare. The disgusting fact still haunts me to this day. But it’s probably no worse than the mescal I drank in my college days. “This is an airport, Jamie.” Her tone implies I’m too dumb to know where we are, and I have to suppress a laugh.