The key card they issued at the front desk seems to have migrated to the bottom of my bag. I shift around the contents searching for it, but it’s like it belongs to Mary Poppins with how much crap I have in there. I use my suitcase as a chair, the flimsy plastic exterior cracking loudly as my ass hits it. Oh well; it was destined for the garbage anyway with how mangled it is. A jagged piece pokes me in the butt, but I’m too tired to move.

The key card and my phone have both magically disappeared into a quarter-size hole in the lining of my purse. It takes me forever to fish them back out. I pull up the instructions on how to open the door, since apparently this building’s key system requires a step-by-step explanation. After dragging myself to my feet, I key in the six-digit code, swipe the card, and turn the handle, but all it does is beep at me.

“I just want to lie down,” I mutter to the door. I give the code a second shot, but I get another longer, louder beep. “What the hell? Why won’t you open?” I whisper-yell. Each time I make an attempt to get in, the beep grows louder and longer while my patience wears thinner.

I yank on the handle, frustrated. I don’t want to call RJ again because I should be able to open a damn door on my own. I’m probably missing something small. Also, it’s late, and he has a toddler who doesn’t always sleep through the night and loves to get up at ass o’clock in the morning. Kody is super adorable, though, so his rooster-level early rising is mostly tolerable.

The door directly across the hall swings open. Awesome. Now I’ve woken my temporary neighbor. Talk about bad first impressions. I turn with the intention of issuing an apology, but my mouth is suddenly desert dry.

A man stands in the open doorway. A very, very large man. My brother is a big guy; he towers over everyone with his six feet two inches. But this annoyed-looking man’s head barely clears the doorframe. He’s also broad. Excessively broad. He’s an excessive amount of man in general.

Beyond being ridiculously tall and broad, and irritated based on his scowl, all he’s wearing is a pair of boxer briefs. I might be able to get over his overwhelming size and his insanely gorgeous dark-brown, sleep-tousled hair complemented by fiery hazel eyes, a rugged square jaw, and full lips. I can also deal with all that toned muscle and his rippling abs and bulging biceps, finished off with a nice dusting of hair that leads my eye from his navel—it’s an innie—down to his boxer briefs. But that’s where I get stuck, because his crotch has the phrase BEWARE OF FALLING ROCKS with a rockslide right where his peen should be. So now it looks as if I’m checking out his package. I kind of am.

“What the hell is going on? It’s almost fucking midnight, and you’re out here making a goddamn racket. Some of us are trying to sleep.” His voice is deep, gritty, and loud. He crosses his bulky arms over his cut chest, which should help cover up some of the nakedness but only seems to draw attention to how thick his arms are.

Also. Wow. Talk about hostile.

“Sorry. I’m having some problems with my key card and my suitcase.” I flash the key card and motion to my destroyed bag. I’m suddenly super sweaty. Likely from embarrassment over getting chewed out by a hot guy in his underwear.

Hot-underwear man scoffs. He doesn’t acknowledge my apology. Nor does he offer his assistance or tone down the dickbagness. “Where the fuck you get that key from?”

“How is that any of your business?” I scroll through my messages, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong with the key card and the code so I can get into the apartment and away from this grade A asshole extraordinaire.

“It’s my business because you’re up here on my floor making an unnecessary amount of noise, and I’d put money on it that you paid someone off for that key card.”

I pause my message scroll so I can glare at him more effectively. “Excuse me?” This guy takes the jerk cake with his asinine accusations. Such an epic waste of hotness.

He tips his chiseled chin up, glares down at me, and jabs a finger in my direction. He really is intimidating. “Which one of the security guys did you pay off? Or were there other favors involved?”

“Favors? What are you even talking about?” I’m super confused right now.

Underpants a-hole leans against the doorjamb, smirking as his eyes move over me. I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon birthday cake on it. My hair is tucked into a beanie since I’ve been traveling all day and the humidity has not been kind to it. “You think I haven’t seen this a million times? Chicks are always bribing security for keys to get up here.”

“I did not—”

He cuts me off before I can put him in his place. “Look, sweet cheeks, I don’t know what you’ve been snorting or mainlining or whatever, but there’s no way you’re getting in there without a code. And even if you do, I’m gonna go ahead and say that this whole shitshow”—he points to his face and motions toward me—“is one hell of a boner-killer, so stop embarrassing yourself and take your broke-down ass back the way you came.”

Did he just say my face is a boner-killer? I have so had it with assholes tonight.

CHAPTER 2

WHAT’S YOUR DAMAGE?

Bishop

Okay, so the boner-killer comment may have been unnecessary, but it’s midnight and I’m tired. I came out here thinking I would be confronting the dude who lives in 4001. Every time he’s in town he throws a party that lasts for days. And then it’s silence for at least a week, if not longer. Thankfully, he’s gone more than he’s here. Regardless, whenever he’s around, there are also numerous scantily clad, potentially venereal disease–carrying women hanging out in the elevator.