Ridge lost his keys and found his new daddy. I dash down the hall to toss the trash out so the apartment I’m cat sitting won’t smell like my dinner.
Now, I’m barefoot in the hallway wearing my dinosaur pajamas, my keys somewhere at the bottom of the trash chute, and my phone locked inside. The cats have food, water, and litter. I have nothing.
When the door across the hall opens and the hottest daddy-type I’ve ever seen comes walking out, my cheeks burn. I want to blend into the wall and disappear.
Why couldn’t I at least be wearing my good-ass jeans. Five minutes later, I’m curled up under a blanket in his apartment while he calmly calls building maintenance and promises we’ll get my keys back.
And when he looks at me like I’m something precious instead of ridiculous, I start to wonder if losing my keys might be the luckiest mistake I’ve ever made.
