Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) by Jodi Watters Page A

gaze. “And the dealer calls that color spicy tomato.” Because she felt like that needed to be said.
    “How exactly does someone find themselves,” he rubbed the stubble on his cheek, his tone indicative of his snooty name, “in between apartments?”
    “When one gets fired from their job, that’s how. Now if you’re done with the third degree on something that’s not your business, I’ve gotta run.” Tapping her bare wrist like the face of a watch, she set the mug down, close to tears for no good reason. Hitching up her chin, the manners Rosa instilled in her kicked in. “Thank you for the coffee. It was delicious.”
    Jesus, she thought, with a barely suppressed sob. Now who sounded snooty?
    “Hope, wait.” He reached for her before she made it to the edge of the porch.
    She stopped, but pulled her arm away before he grabbed hold. Not because she didn’t want his touch, but because she so badly did. A girl didn’t easily forget how safe it felt to be held by a man like this one, surrounded by his strength. And seeing him again, having to disclose the sorry state of her life, scratched below her tough surface. No longer able to deny her grim reality now that she’d spoken it out loud to someone other than Val, Hope felt the crushing weight of despair bear down on her.
    “Just wait,” he said again, firmly. Jade eyes drilled into her and she nodded, biting her lip to keep the maddening tears at bay. “Stay put. Okay?”
    He backed away slowly, like she’d bolt the second she had the chance, and headed into the house, leaving the door wide open again. Hope faced the street and didn’t dare turn around. What lay beyond that threshold wasn’t something she needed to see. It would only make the ache in her chest worse. But she did as he asked and stayed put, rays of vapory blue light peeking through the clouds as the sun tried valiantly to rise, chasing the damp gray dawn away. The rapid beat of feet sounded in the distance and Hope squinted, watching as Miss America made her way back down the sidewalk, toward the massive two-story on the opposite side of Lark Street. Her fake boobs barely moved even though her pace was steady and Hope waggled her fingers in a spunky wave, hoping to convey the fact that she had firsthand knowledge of Mr. Smith naked and aroused.
    She grinned when the woman’s steps faltered, wishing she had the guts to shout, yeah, that’s right, bitch. Naked and aroused. Now move along.
    “I have a room.” From behind her, the man in the middle of her silent cat fight spoke with a resigned voice. He walked to her side, but kept his distance. “You can rent it if you want.”
    She looked at him, then at the door. Then him again. And nearly peed her pants. Did he just say what she thought he said? “You mean... in there?”
    His smile was wry. “I know it’s not the Four Seasons or the front seat of an orange Toyota, but it has a bathroom and a bed.” Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her, sarcastically adding, “Not mine.”
    As if she’d say no to sharing his bed. She had the staunch willpower to refuse chocolate mixed with peanut butter if it meant she looked better in a bikini, but refuse a spot in Beck’s bed? Not a damn chance. Not even a saint could say no to that.
    He held out a piece of paper and she took it automatically. Looking down, she scanned the generic single page lease agreement and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Is this really necessary? Can’t I just tell you a little bit about myself?”
    “That’s what the application’s for.”
    Taking the pen he held out, because apparently the guy thought of everything, she hesitated. “I don’t really have references.” Or a current address.
    “Complete it to the best of your ability,” he said, a touch of formality in his tone, before taking up his spot against the railing again.
    Alrighty, then. Knowing this was a bad idea, she wrote her name and cell number down,