11. Savannah
eleven
Savannah
“Good morning, Savannah.” My doorman, Roberto, greets me as I exit the elevator.
I’m beat after pulling the night shift at the hospital, but Roberto’s sweet personality and enthusiasm give me a positive energy jump.
He is the friendliest employee who works here in the building.
He gives off Santa vibes with his kind nature, jolly middle, and bushy white beard and hair. I adore him.
“Hi, Roberto. How are you today?”
“I’m doing wonderful now that I’ve seen your lovely face.” Roberto winks at me, making me giggle.
I stop at the front desk. “You are too much. How’s Amaya?”
“She is doing great. Thank you for asking, sweetheart.” Roberto’s wife took a nasty fall in the shower and broke her hip a couple of weeks back.
“Of course. Please let me know if she needs anything. I have lots of contacts at the hospital.”
“I will—” Roberto doesn’t finish his thought as the door to the building’s main entrance opens.
My mouth goes dry as a shirtless Nico comes striding into the building, wearing a pair of low-slung black gym shorts and jogging shoes.
He’s the perfect male specimen. Six feet, three inches of pure muscle.
His muscles have muscles. Each one is hard and defined.
They look as if they were carved from marble.
I haven’t seen him since I saw him in the hallway with his mom. Cat Romero was so sweet introducing herself. I can tell she’s spunky as hell and definitely knows how to handle her son. It was funny to hear her ordering him to help. I did not see Nico being a mama’s boy on my bingo card.
It somehow makes him hotter.
Nico pulls the shirt hanging from the back of his shorts and wipes his forehead with it.
My eyes have a mind of their own as they focus on the way his heaving chest shimmers in the sunlight as he catches his breath. My gaze ghosts over the intricate black ink that covers every inch of Nico’s upper body—his chest, back, stomach, neck, arms.
Holy crap on a cracker, who knew tattoos were so dang hot?
“Nico!” Roberto shouts, startling me out of my trance.
Of course, Nico’s steel-gray eyes immediately find mine, sending a bolt of energy through me. My cheeks heat, and my heart beats wildly in my chest. We maintain eye contact the entire length of the lobby until he stands beside me at the concierge desk.
The scent of leather, and something masculine and uniquely Nico, makes me dizzy. My knees wobble, and heat curls like smoke between my legs, and my core clenches air.
Geez, even his sweat smells delicious.
Anger bubbles in my belly at my traitorous thoughts and my body’s reaction to this man.
He’s a playboy who broke your sister’s heart, I remind myself.
“Hey, Roberto,” Nico drawls, his focus never leaving my face. I fight the urge to squirm under his penetrating gaze. “Hey, vicious”
I narrow my eyes at him for the use of that annoying nickname.
“Nickelodeon,” I ground out.
Nico barks a laugh, and the sound washes over me like deliciously sweet sprinkles on ice cream.
“Original.” He chuckles.
Fighting a shiver, I cross my arms over my body like a shield, but all it does is squish my boobs together and draw Nico’s attention. My nipples stiffen beneath the fabric of my sports bra as he licks his lips appreciatively.
“Eyes up here, buddy.” I snap my fingers in his face, drawing his attention away from the girls. I know they look good, but they are not for his eyes.
His gaze returns to my face. Without an ounce of shame for blatantly ogling my chest, he grins widely at me. “Just appreciating the view,” Nico practically purrs as Roberto smothers a laugh.
“Well, don’t.” I turn on my heels and stomp towards my mailbox. I will not give in to that smug jerk’s charm.
“Damn, vicious. I think the rearview is even better.” Nico releases a low, complimentary whistle.
Heat burns my cheeks as I put my best acting skills forward and ignore him. I open my mailbox and pull out the stack of letters. When I close the box, Nico is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and that cocky smirk of his.
“Don’t you have a game to play or something?”
“Nah, day off,” he says casually.
Continuing to ignore him, I head for the elevator and wave goodbye to Roberto. Our portly doorman smirks as he watches us like his new favorite soap opera.
“What about you, Doc? Are you on shift today?” Nico swipes his black card, and the elevator appears as if by magic.
“No. I worked all night.” I roll my eyes at myself for answering his question and step into the elevator. He follows me inside, swipes his card again, and presses the silver PH.
The doors close, and the air in the elevator grows thick with tension.
I take a deep breath, but that’s a mistake.
His manly scent hits me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I stare at the intricate details of the ink on his stomach.
A Roman warrior with a spear in hand, wearing a gladiator helmet, riding on the back of a Pegasus, covers his entire abdomen.
The tattoo looks like it was carved from marble and glued onto his skin.
It’s a gorgeous piece of art.
“Want to hang out?” he asks, breaking me free from the trance his body has on me.
“Definitely not.”
He chuckles at the hostility in my tone. “Come on, I know you want to. I saw the way you were drooling over my naked chest.”
“I was not.” I so was.
But screw him. He doesn’t need to know that. His head is big enough. Besides, I’m not the kind of woman to just fall to my knees because he’s a sexy-as-sin, super famous baseball star. Please. I’m stronger than that.
His breath takes me by surprise as he whispers into my ear, “No need to lie, kitten. I was drooling at the sight of your tits in those scrubs.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Without another word, Nico exits and disappears into his apartment, leaving me out of breath and alone with this crazy haze of lust.
The heat between my legs comes back hotter and wetter. I bite my lower lip and trap the moan tickling the back of my throat.
That bastard.