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n surprise as she studies my face. “You have a scar? Where?”
“You go first,” I insist. “What happened to your knee, Dexie?”
She rubs her fingers over the jagged edge of the scar. “This was my last attempt to learn how to ride a bike. When I fell, my knee landed on a rock. The scar is a constant reminder that some people aren’t meant for two-wheeled transportation.”
“You don’t know how to ride a bike?”
“Do you?” She shoots back with a grin, her hand flying in the air between us. “No, wait. Of course you do. You’re one of those men who is amazing at everything, aren’t you?”
Her eyes widen when her gaze drops from my face to my chest and then my lap. I’ve been semi-hard since I sat down next to her. It’s her beautiful smile, those legs and the scent of her skin that has me all wound up.
“I’m amazing at the things that matter the most,” I say in a low tone.
She brings the mug to her lips, but she doesn’t take a sip. She holds it there in her shaking hands while her breathing evens.
I lean back in the chair and shift my focus from her face to her apartment.
I wanted her here. I’ve fantasized about her in my bed since the first night I saw her getting into hers.
I can’t push. I won’t, but being this close to a woman who isn’t ready for me to touch her, is a sweet type of torture I’ve never experienced before.
Chapter 29
Dexie
I try to keep my eyes off the growing bulge in his lap.
My experience with penis size isn’t extensive. I’ve had fun with a few men, but I doubt that any of them could compare with what’s inside Rocco’s sweatpants.
I shake that thought from my mind and take another sip of the coffee he made me.
I didn’t expect it or the details about his family.
I half-expected him to try and use his masculine charm to persuade me to sleep with him.
He’s more of a gentleman than I thought.
“How long have you lived in this apartment?” I glance at his profile.
We’ve sat in silence for the past fifteen minutes. A brief thunderstorm passed overhead, but only a sprinkle of rain fell before it rolled on.
“It feels like forever.”
I expect a smile to follow those words, but the corners of his lips dip into a frown.
“I moved in when I was in college.” He taps his bare foot against the edge of the windowsill. “I rented first and then when my landlord decided to sell, I bought it.”
“You really like the neighborhood,” I say jokingly.
When I first moved to Manhattan, it only took me a month to realize that avoiding midtown was a brilliant move.
The fact that I’m now living steps away from the busiest part of the city is ironic. The rent on my place was too reasonable to pass up though, so I deal with the cons to enjoy the pros.
“You get used to it.” He exhales harshly. “I’ve lost count of how many people have lived in your apartment over the years.”
His words lure my gaze back to my building. “You must have spent hours here watching your neighbors.”
“No.” His response is curt and quick. “You’re the only person who has lived there that I’ve found interesting.”
