The Good Girl Trap

Atlanta Gliders #1

Chapter 1: Knox

I’ve always been an ass man, and the one in front of me is absolute perfection. Two firm, round globes, with just the right amount of bounce. Perfect for licking. And biting. Which is probably not a thought I should be having, but it’s impossible to ignore when the woman scaling my back deck is wearing the smallest pair of spandex shorts in history and her butt is. Right. There.

I’ve only ever seen one ass like that in my life, and it’s been forever seared into my memory.

It’s been five years since Tink and I spent a night together in Cancún, but I’d know that backside anywhere. God knows I’ve dreamed about it enough.

Hell, maybe I’m dreaming now.

I scrub a hand over my sweat-slick face and stop just short of pinching myself. This is no dream, but even if it were, the last thing I’d want to do is spoil it by waking up.

Maybe it’s fate.

Yeah-fucking-right.

A post-run hallucination is far more likely. I never should have pushed myself to jog that extra mile. It’s barely nine o’clock, and the day is already shaping up to be a scorcher.

There have been heatstroke warnings all week.

Clearly, I should’ve listened, because while the odds of finding Tink at my door are slim, the odds of recognizing her glorious ass five years later are astronomical.

There’s always a chance….

Yeah, a chance I’m obsessing over a woman I’m never going to see again, when I should be more concerned about the fact that there’s a stranger—albeit one with a very nice figure—attempting to sneak into my townhouse.

Oblivious to my presence, she levers herself a few inches higher. Whoever she is, she’s strong as hell. The wooden support beams don’t have a single handhold, yet she’s nearly reached the top of the twelve-foot pole, a fact that shouldn’t impress me as much as it does, given she’s trespassing.

Fucking McGinnis and his magnetic dick.

The kid attracts every puck bunny within a fifty-mile radius.

This isn’t the first time one of them has attempted B&E, but it’s the first time one has risked a broken neck to slip into his bed. I never should have let the rookie move in with me. He’s been a pain in the ass since day one. Wet towels on the floor, takeout containers everywhere, and not a lick of common sense.

He’s constantly bringing home random women. I’ve warned him, but does he listen? No, the asshole does not. Our place has become ground zero for Stalkerpalooza, and I’ve been propositioned on my own couch more times than I can count. It was just a matter of time until one of them went all Ninja Warrior and tried to—

A piercing yelp shatters the early-morning quiet as the woman slips, her left arm flailing.

Adrenaline floods my system, and I spring forward, prepared to catch her.

Or, at the very least, break her fall.

Fortunately, it doesn’t come to that. She regains her grip, her right arm and powerful thighs wrapped tight around the pole.

Thank Christ.

“Should I call 9-1-1 now, or do you want to wait until you’ve actually broken a leg?”

She stiffens, every muscle in her body standing rigid. “I’m fine.”

Yeah, right. I’ve heard that line before.

“You do understand that breaking and entering is a crime punishable with jail time?” I shield my eyes as I peer up at her. “Trust me when I say McGinnis isn’t worth it.”

“I don’t know what a McGinnis is, but I’m not breaking anything.” She huffs and repositions her hands. “I’m locked out of my townhouse, and I’m trying to get back in.”

Her townhouse?

I count the second-floor decks, starting at the end of the building, and confirm what I already know: she’s scaling the wrong one. In her defense, they all look the same. Most—like mine—are barren. As is the one next door. The place has been vacant for ages.

But if she’s the new tenant, then I guess we’re neighbors.

Way to roll out the welcome wagon, St. James.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve got the wrong unit.”

“No, this one is definitely mine. I counted to be sure.” She glances down at me, the movement so swift I barely have time to register her dark eyes before I’m staring at the back of her head again. “I’ve got it all under control.”

Only if under control is code for imminent disaster.

“Look at the porch light. My roommate smacked it with a broom and cracked the glass.”

She tilts her head back, presumably studying the broken fixture, and when she finally speaks, there’s a hint of doubt in her voice. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” McGinnis left the back door open, and a bat flew in. He broke the shade attempting to chase it back outside. I should’ve replaced the broken pane months ago, but compared to all the other items on my to-do list, it’s low priority. “Why don’t you come down from there, and we can find a way to get you inside that doesn’t risk bodily injury?”

“I don’t suppose you have a ladder?” she asks hopefully.

“Unfortunately, no.” My only ladder is at my parent’s house, which is exactly as helpful as it sounds. “Can you climb down?”

“Of course.” She shimmies down, but when her left palm makes contact with the beam, she hisses in pain. I instinctively reach for her, circling her waist as she drops to the ground. The pads of my fingers glide over the smooth, silky skin of her abdomen, and a thrill races up my spine.

Don’t even think about it.

Right. This woman is the last person I should be lusting after. We share a wall, for God’s sake. It would be a terrible idea.

And unlike McGinnis, I know better than to follow my cock every which way it twitches.

The new neighbor turns to face me, and a light, floral scent teases my senses. It’s both new and familiar, but there’s no time to dwell on the unsettling sensation because when she looks up at me, her mahogany eyes shining, recognition slams into me like a pissed-off D-man.

Tink.

Her hair is longer than the day we met, but her eyes…. And her mouth. I spent hours worshiping that sloping Cupid’s bow. Hell, I still remember the taste of her strawberry lip balm. Still remember every smile and the rich, smoky laugh that called to me like a siren song.

Desire stirs low in my gut, as if I need further confirmation, but when I open my mouth to speak, I come up short.

I can hardly ask this gorgeous woman if we fucked our brains out five years ago. Not when she’s studying me with the kind of blank expression reserved for door-to-door salesmen. There isn’t a hint of recognition in her eyes or in the set of her full lips.

Talk about an ego check.

Sure, my hair is longer now, and it’s been weeks since I last shaved, but I’m still me.

Five years isn’t that long.

Is it possible I’ve got it wrong? Maybe she’s not actually Tink, but a Tink doppelganger. That’s a thing, isn’t it? I’ve heard stories about—

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” I echo, scrambling to sort my racing thoughts.

She jerks her chin toward the building. “To get inside.”

Right. That was the whole point of this exchange.

Focus, St. James.

“It’s only a few feet from my deck to yours.” I pause and rub the back of my neck, praying I won’t regret this later. “You can come up to my place, and I’ll help you climb over.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she casts around for an alternative.

“I don’t suppose I have much choice. The leasing office doesn’t open for another few hours, and it’ll probably take a locksmith at least that long to get here.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re not one of those unhinged creeps who kidnap women and lock them in a box under the bed, are you?”

I snort. “You think I’d tell you if I was?”

“Fair point.” She sighs and gestures for me to lead the way.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not a creep.” I grin, and it’s impossible to suppress a teasing lilt when I add, “But if I were, I’d be smart enough not to kidnap my next-door neighbor.”

She laughs, and it’s music to my ears. “Consider me reassured.”

We make our way around front in silence, but it’s just as well because who is this woman? Is she really Tink, or is she just a damn good lookalike? And how the hell do I ask without sounding like a complete asshole and alienating my new neighbor?

You could get McGinnis to feel her out.

Fuck that. I’m not letting McGinnis within a hundred feet of her. And I’m sure as shit not telling him about my night with Tink. I’d never hear the end of it.

I unlock the front door and push it open, allowing Maybe-Tink to pass me by. I follow her up the stairs to the main level, keeping my eyes glued to the heels of her sneakers.

She makes a beeline for the back door, and it’s a relief to see she’s not the least bit interested in scoping out the place.

That’s because she doesn’t have a clue who you are.

Whatever. A win is a win.

We step outside and she plants her hands on the wooden railing, as if she plans to launch herself across the narrow gap.

“Woah!” I gently grab her waist and pull her back. “I like the enthusiasm, but why don’t I go first, and then I can help you across?”

Maybe-Tink grins. “Still worried I’m going to break a leg?”

“Hell, yes.” I hook a thumb toward the backyard. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“And yet,”—she gestures down the length of her body—“I’m perfectly fine.” Her brows knit together, and she turns her left palm face up. “Mostly.”

My stomach drops.

There’s a gnarly splinter buried in the heel of her hand. A smear of blood marks the entry point, and the surrounding skin is red and puffy. It’s completely inflamed, though it’s only been a few minutes.

If you hadn’t been so distracted by puck bunnies and perfect asses, this wouldn’t have happened.

Guilt floods my chest, and I silently curse myself for behaving like a jackass. I have to make this right. “Wait here.”

Before she can protest, I dart inside and grab the first-aid kit from the hall closet.

When I return, Maybe-Tink is leaning against the railing, her eyes closed and her head tipped back. She looks entirely at peace, despite the blistering heat.

I hate to disturb her, but that splinter has to come out. I shake the first-aid kit, and her eyes pop open when it rattles. “You mind if I take a look at that hand?”

Surprise washes over her features, but she nods.

I open the kit and pull out two alcohol swabs and a pair of tweezers.

“You really don’t have to do this.” She watches as I tear open a wipe and sterilize the tweezers. “Helping me get back into my apartment has pretty much solidified your position as neighbor of the year.”

“Pretty much?” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I take her hand. It’s small and delicate, and unlike my calloused mitt, it’s smooth and unmarred. Maybe she’s thinking the same thing because her stare burns through me as I use a fresh wipe to clean the area around the splinter. “What would it take to guarantee the title?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her gaze drifts skyward, and I make my move. “You’d probably have to— Sweet baby Jesus!”

She jerks backward, but it’s all good because my work here is done. I hold up the jagged splinter, which is now pinched between the sharp tips of the tweezers. “Sorry, darlin’. That was a nasty little bugger.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shudders. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t give me a warning. It would’ve given me time to freak out.”

“The element of surprise does have its benefits.” I apply antiseptic cream and bandage her hand. “The next time you lock yourself out, maybe knock on a few doors before you scale the building, yeah?”

“I make no such promise.” She plants her hands on her hips and side-eyes the empty space between our decks. “Ready to do this?”

I climb up on the railing, bracing one hand against the townhouse. It’s only a few feet to the next deck, and with my 6’3 frame, it’s basically just a big step. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Maybe-Tink, which is why I cross over and turn to face her, offering my hand.

She scrapes her hair into a messy ponytail, securing it with a hairband from her wrist, and before I can so much as blink, she’s standing on the railing across from me.

“Piece of cake,” she says, taking my hand. A spark passes between us, electrifying my nervous system, but I’m not sure if she feels it because the little daredevil is checking out the drop.

I shake my head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you’re not supposed to look down?”

“That only applies if you’re afraid of heights.” She leaps across the gap, landing easily on the four-inch strip of wood at our feet. “Which I’m not.”

I probably should’ve guessed as much, but I’m not exactly on top of my game.

She hops down, and I get a bird’s-eye view of the nape of her neck. Of the ink just below her hairline.

Holy shit. My vision narrows, blocking out everything but the beautiful woman before me. “Tink?”