He holds her gaze, warmth lingering behind his blue eyes. “You’re welcome.” With a shrug, he strides to the living room. “I was tryin’ to make it quick, but I made a few stops too. Figured I needed more than one pair of clothes.”
Lacey perks up, her eyes zeroing in on the bags. “You went shopping?” She’s impressed.
He laughs. “Next time, princess.” Seth stops and stares at the made-up couch. Blankets folded. Pillows gone. No duffel bag to be seen. He turns and glances at her over his shoulder, confusion washing over his features. “Where’s my stuff?”
“In the bedroom.” She tosses her hair, trying for casual, but feeling the tips of her ears go pink. “It’s silly sleeping on the couch. Especially if you’re here for ...”
He gives her a strange look. “Three days.”
“Three days,” she echoes. Then she shrugs. “Or don’t. It doesn’t matter.”
She pushes herself off the counter and stalks into the bedroom. Seth follows at a slow lope. Perching on the edge of the bed, Lacey slips on her slippers while Seth transfers the clothes he’s purchased—two T-shirts and a black Henley—to his duffel bag. When he steps into the bathroom, toiletry bag in his hands, he clears his throat and gives Lacey a pointed glance.
She stiffens. “I made room.”
The bathroom counter is clean and clear. Lacey’s makeup and hair supplies crammed beneath the sink. A barely acceptable solution, but she’ll make it work.
A laugh escapes Seth. Baritone deep, happy as hell. Angry at the way her stomach flips, Lacey stands and jams a manicured nail in his chest. “This was hard, Seth. To make room. So use it, or don’t.”
Eyes widening, he holds his hands up in a don’t shoot motion. “Hell, Lace, I’m touched.”
As he turns away to set out his meager man-toiletries, Lacey digs her nails into her palm.
A warmth, familiar, unwelcome, floods her veins. Lacey eyes Seth, standing in her bathroom, and wishes he looked out of place. But he doesn’t. In fact, he looks perfectly placed.
Finished, Seth looks up, bracing himself against the counter to face her. The lean muscles in his tan arms flex. “What now?” he asks.
What now, indeed?
Lacey crosses her arms and shifts her tense stance.
An awkward silence settles around them. If she can feel it, he can. It’s strange to be stuck in LA, in her apartment with Seth Kincaid.
But they’re not strangers. Not anymore.
In fact, the awkwardness comes from them not feeling like strangers. How she wishes for that return. Seth barely paying attention to her. Civilized, familial actions she can work with. But then she realizes that was over ten years ago, when they were both young and dumb. The last five years, they’ve been friends. Singing bad karaoke down on Broadway. Seth sneaking her backstage passes to a show. The two of them helping Sal when she came back to Nashville, scheming like villains to take down Mort, the Brothers Kincaid’s slimy ex-manager, who set up Luke as a cheater and caused Sal’s car accident. Sleeping together. Again and again and again.
Seth slaps his hands on his jeans. The sharp sound jolts her from her daze and she blinks.
He grins at her. “You still like those shitty movies?”
She glares at him. Hard.
He laughs. “C’mon, princess,” he says, moving too close to her. He curls a hand around her shoulder and Lacey has to fight the urge to lean into him, to press herself into the warm solid comfort of his body, to never leave the orbit of adorable annoyance that is Seth Kincaid.
A squeeze of her shoulder. Then he’s letting go. “You put a movie on, I’ll order a pizza. Mushroom and sausage okay with you?”
She stares up at him. “Yeah.”
Before she can say another word, he’s exiting the bedroom, leaving Lacey frowning after him.
Pizza, yeah. That’s what she wants.
Lacey buys a movie about a tribe of zombies living on a beach who need to collect enough bones as fuel so they can escape the island and come to America in search of more brains. She’s a sucker for cheesy B horror movies. Old-school monsters that creep and chase and chill.
She curls up on the couch, waiting, while Seth bullshits with the pizza delivery guy, who’s recognized him and asked for an autograph.
Ping.