Manipulative Attraction

2. ⚛️ Chance Meetings

The gates of Valhalla must have opened up and spit him out, thought Jeannie as Viking warriors of old swirled in her head.

Jeannie, an avid reader of historical romances, liked brawny, tawny men, such as the one down on a knee, tying his shoelace.

Wavy blond hair, streaked with natural highlights, dusted the collar of his T-shirt. A sun-given tan kissed every visible surface of his skin.

Jeannie whistled an appreciative tune when he fluidly jumped up and landed next to Tall Guy, placing him in a neat chokehold while knuckling his head. Tall Guy's arms and legs ran out in all directions.

Despite her pique at being woken up, Jeannie let out a string of giggles at the amusing sight. Her laughter carried outside through her partially opened window, and all noise from the pavement stopped. The three males turned in her direction with their gazes zeroed in on her exact location.

Tall Guy and Mr. Stocky exchanged appreciative glances at the picture Jeannie made, while Mr. Southern Accent stood immobile with an expressionless face.

They'll brand me a stalker, Jeannie thought.

With one foot behind the other, she backed away from the window only to stumble over her tangled bed covers.

The world tilted.

Jeannie's long legs kicked up and her slim arches danced in front of the glass before sliding from the sill and onto the floor. Pain radiated in a slow swirl from her left butt cheek to her nerve center. Jeannie rolled from side to side in discomfort, puffs of air escaping from her mouth.

Are they hammering now?

Jeannie stopped moaning long enough to listen. The sound repeated. A few seconds passed before she grasped someone was banging on her door.

From a crawl to a standing position, she moved to the living room. Jeannie massaged her bruised cheek, unsuccessfully trying to take the pain away.

Squinting through the peephole, she fully expected to see only one of the men. Shock stole her breath as she took in all three.

Tall Guy hung back, running a hand through his long hair before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his skinny black jeans. Mr. Stocky leaned against the opposite doorjamb, partially in view. Her Viking romance hero, straight from the book on her nightstand, knocked in a steady rhythm.

So much ruckus and all before 8 AM.

Yanking back the glittering-gold security chain, Jeannie opened the door on a crack, shielding her body behind it.

"Yes?" she inquired, lifting a fuzzy eyebrow.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" said the big blond.

Under normal circumstances, Jeannie rankled at anyone who called her ma'am, but his sculptured mouth took the fight right out of her. His blush-pink colored lips, unusually disproportionate, screamed kissable. The top one, a cupid's bow, sat on its plump brother with a thin space in between.

Jeannie frowned. Who was this gorgeous man?

"Ma'am?" The Viking inquired again. His eyes, forest glades in the shadow, twinkled under heavy lids and long, thick man lashes. His accompanying smirk at her undeniable attraction to his person increased the downturn of her mouth.

You're staring, and he is waiting ...

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Jeannie coughed to hide her reaction, averting her eyes to his damp gray T-shirt. The cotton material glommed on his hard chest, outlining a large tattoo.