Elenore hadn’t flipped out on me for invading her privacy. Nor had she asked me to leave. If she dropped her towel and started dressing right there in front of me, I’d likely cream the inside of my jeans. She was perfect. And not just because she was brainy, beautiful, and had her shit together, but because she was fucking weird. I’d been through her entire apartment, and nothing was out of place. Her closet was arranged by color with pictures of her goddamn outfits to keep them straight. Nobody was naturally this clean, organized, and meticulous.
Elenore had a screw loose.
Which meant I might actually have a chance with her.
“You left the door open,” I blurted out, sounding like a fucking idiot.
“To my apartment. Not my bedroom.”
“It wasn’t locked.”
She added pants to the pile of clothes in her arms and turned to face me. “I need to get dressed.”
I wanted to tell her to go right ahead but decided not to push my luck. Still clutching the sexy photos I’d filched, I said, “These are mine.”