13. Savannah
thirteen
Savannah
As I push open the entrance door, the plastic bag in my hand shifts, and the savory scent of chicken tacos fills my nostrils. My stomach grumbles. I had another long shift and forgot to eat lunch, so I’m starving.
Instead of ordering delivery, I picked up my food myself and took a little stroll around my new neighborhood. Our little village within Los Angeles is gorgeous. It’s rifled with locally run restaurants and artisanal shops, which I plan to visit on my next day off.
“Holy crap, did you see that?” Will, the doorman who covers the night shift, jumps up and down as he hugs Roberto. Both of their attention is on the small cell phone screen in front of them.
Roberto is practically giddy as he watches the game. “You missed a gorgeous ground-rule double in the first inning. I’m telling you; Nico is going to hit a home run tonight. I can feel it in my bones. I put that on my life.”
My ears prick at the mention of my neighbor’s name. I loathe to admit it, but I haven’t been able to get him and his cocky smile out of my head.
“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” I ask as I approach the front desk.
My Santa-esque doorman flashes me a jolly grin. “Just watching our boy destroy the Grizzlies.”
Roberto’s comment sparks a fire behind my ribcage, making the organ in my chest beat wildly. I shut that thought down and shove it away as quickly as possible.
“He is not my boy,” I complain.
“Sure he’s not.” Roberto winks.
“He’s not,” I repeat, not sure if it’s for Roberto’s sake or mine.
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Will teases, making Roberto chuckle.
“Goodnight, you two,” I grouse. With a wave, I make a hasty escape to the elevator up to my apartment.
After dinner, I take a hot shower and pull on a pair of night shorts, my sleep bralette—because when you’re blessed in the chest area, sleeping without one means getting a nipple caught under your arm when you roll over—and my San Francisco Bay University T-shirt.
I wrap my wet hair into a bun and return to the kitchen to pour a glass of white wine, then make myself comfortable on the couch.
I turn on the TV and scroll to my favorite streaming app, but the banner promoting tonight’s Evaders game makes me pause. I know I shouldn’t, but my fingers have a mind of their own and click on the baseball game.
Of course, the first thing I see is Nico’s face filling the screen. Even through the TV, his steely-gray eyes draw me in and put me under their spell.
I listen to the commentators discuss how Nico led the league in home runs last season and is leading this season.
The picture of his face switches to a display of his batting average and stats, which are all impressively high.
Two of the sportscasters believe he’s on the road to being in the baseball hall of fame, and I agree.
Nico isn’t just good; he’s phenomenal.
The view switches again to a live feed of Nico on deck. He takes a couple of practice swings before he steps into the batter’s box.
Gone is the cocky smirk I’m so used to seeing on his face.
It’s been replaced with an intimidating sense of assuredness and strength.
Don’t get me wrong, he still has an arrogant aura about him, but this look is…
different. It’s more confident, serious, like his sole focus is the ball in the pitcher’s hand. Nothing else.
Nico takes his stance, and I lean towards the TV, taking it all in. Him all in.
The effect of his tanned skin and tattoos makes him appear as if he’s a dark, foreboding villain in someone’s story. He might be, but that doesn’t make him any less hot.
I can’t help picturing the rippling muscles that lie beneath that blue and white jersey, and I bite back a moan. My eyes dip to Nico’s rear end and, dammit, he makes those tight-as-heck baseball pants look good. They mold perfectly to his thick thighs and firm, round butt.
The pitcher winds up, and blood pounds in my ears. The ball is imperceptible as it flies towards Nico. He swings, and the ball sails into the bleachers with ease.
“Whoa.” It comes out of me in a whoosh, not having realized I was holding my breath as I watched.
The camera shows a replay of Nico, and my jaw drops. His swing was smooth and powerful. He made hitting a home run look easy. When the camera zooms in on his face, you can tell that he knew the ball was gone before it hit the bleachers.
I’m gobsmacked at his athletic prowess, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him when he returns to the field, wearing his gear. There’s something about the way his gray eyes glimmer from behind the shadows of his mask.
I stay glued to the TV for the rest of the game—with the Evaders winning 16-1—and for the post-game interviews, where Nico answers questions from the reporters.
He answers everyone with polite confidence.
While I’ve never directly watched him before, I heard rumors he was an arrogant asshole, but from watching this, that’s not how I perceive him now.
I push those notions away and turn off the TV. Guilt swirls in my stomach. How could I even think he’s a decent person when he hurt Charlotte?
I grab my glass of wine and the blanket off the back of my couch, then head outside to the chaise lounge on my balcony.
Minutes pass, and condensation begins to coat my wine glass as I swirl the stem between my fingers.
My eyes bounce to the darkened apartment next door, and I take another sip of my wine.
Our balconies butt up against each other, both facing west for optimal sunset views.
The closeness only enhances the difficulty of ignoring the cocky man next door.
His lights are off, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s currently out with his team.
Knowing him and his playboy lifestyle, he’s most likely at some fancy club, surrounded by women.
My lip curls in disgust at the thought.
Do not think about Nico Romero with other women. In fact, do not think of Nico Romero at all. Full stop.
The unwanted memory of him huskily expressing how he would be happy to help me with my needs comes to mind. Shivers race down my spine at the thought. I wrap the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders. Because it’s cold. Not because of anything else.
And definitely not because of my sexy-as-sin neighbor.
My traitorous body calls bullshit as the apex of my thighs grows heavy and pulses. I lean back on the chaise and close my eyes. Every thought in my head flutters around in a jumbled mess.
He’s a jerk, a womanizer, and a heartbreaker, I repeat in my head.
I try to ignore the new facts I’ve learned about Nico and force them back into the neat little box I had them in. It’s better that way. Safer.
Do not think about Nico Romero, I scold myself.
I’m concentrating so hard I don’t hear him step out onto the balcony beside me.
But I feel him.
The atmosphere shifts, turning electric, and the hair on my neck stands on end. He’s here. My eyes aren’t even open, and I can sense him, like every cell in my body just got shocked awake with a hundred volts of electricity.
I know I’m going to have to face him at some point. It’s too chilly outside to pretend I’m asleep. For some inexplicable reason, I don’t think Nico would let me get away with avoiding him.
“I can feel you staring at me,” I murmur.
“Just making sure you were still breathing.”
I fight a smile at the idea of him being concerned for my well-being. “So, you’re admitting to staring at my chest again?”
Nico chuckles darkly and gruffly mumbles, “If you only knew.”
His admission lights my skin on fire. He thinks about me.
I don’t dare look at him and instead focus on the night sky above me. Hardly any stars are visible now that the late-night marine layer has enveloped the sky in the sun’s absence.
I hear a chair skid across the concrete floor. My hands shake as nervous energy zips through me. I hate how he affects me. How my body reacts to him.
“You can go away now. As you can see, I’m fine,” I grouse.
I’m greeted by silence, and I start to wonder if he went back inside. My curiosity gets the best of me and I turn in his direction.
Gray eyes that look more glacial in the dark meet mine, knocking me off balance.
I summon all the frustration within me and practically snarl at him. “You’re still here.”
Nico flashes me a cocky grin. “I am.”
“Why?”
“I’m enjoying the view.” His eyes slowly rake down the length of my body.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, making them burn. It’s ridiculous. There isn’t an inch of skin visible beneath the blanket wrapped around me.
“Congratulations on your win tonight,” I blurt.
Why on earth did I say that? Now he’ll know I was watching him. Based on the wide grin on his face, that’s exactly what he thinks.
“I didn’t know you were a fan, Doc,” he practically purrs.
“Totally. Heath Erikson is my favorite. He’s so hot.” I fan my face and watch the smile on his face disappear.
Take that, you cocky jerk.
Nico bristles at my comment. “Yeah, well, he’s married.”
“That’s a shame. I’d ask you to give him my number if he weren’t.”
Gone is the suave baseball star. He stands abruptly, with a scowl on his face. He digs his fingers into his jet-black hair and tugs as he paces back and forth. I’m giddy at the prospect of getting under this man’s skin.
I use the moment of distraction to check him out. He’s wearing a pair of joggers and a long-sleeved Evaders T-shirt. Even dressed in athletic clothes, his body looks like a well-honed machine. His butt is damn near perfect from spending all that time squatting.
He stops pacing, and I stop staring at his ass. When I look him in the eyes, that smug smirk is back.
Busted.
“Guess I’m not the only one who enjoys the views out here.”
“No one said I didn’t like the view. I just don’t plan on ever visiting, Nicky.”
“Oh, you’ll visit, gattina. And I’ll make damn sure the visit is so good you’ll never want to leave. So get ready to pack your bags, baby.” He licks his lips and shoots me a wink. “Goodnight, Vicious.”
All swagger, Nico slips into his apartment, and once again, he leaves me speechless.
My breaths come on faster as naughty images of me visiting him and exploring every inch of his dark-inked skin fill me with desire.