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“Sorry ‘bout that,” Linkin says, towering over me. “They were supposed to listen for the pizza delivery guy while I took a quick shower,” he adds, extending his hand down to me.
“It’s okay. I haven’t taken a sword to the gut in a while. It was nice to brush up on my dying skills,” I reply, shaking the nastiness off my pants. Glancing around I find my flats and purse that I dropped on the floor right before the tickling commenced.
As I turn around to face him, my personal belongings clutched in my hands, I finally get a good look at the man before me. His hair is still wet from his shower and his beard is trimmed neatly. His jeans are well worn and faded, and hang dangerously low on his hips. His blue shirt is tight and wet around his neck–probably from not being fully dried before throwing on the garment–and his feet are bare.
He’s positively edible.
And I want him.
No, no I don’t.
But I do. I really do.
“Yeah, they’re going through a gladiator phase. Ever since we watched that movie, they’ve been obsessed with fighting to the death.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say with a smile.
“I go through so much aluminum foil,” he responds with a matching grin.
I’m about to excuse myself to my apartment when the elevator opens. The delivery kid from the local pizzeria steps out, two large boxes in hand. “Uh, I’m looking for Stone?”
“That’s me,” Linkin says, digging his wallet out of his pocket.
“Twenty-seven fifty.”
Linkin hands him a handful of bills and takes the boxes. “Thanks,” he tells the kid just before he slips into the elevator and disappears.
“I should get going. I’d hate for your boys to behead you. It would make an awful mess on the carpet,” I say, stepping towards my place.
“Wait.” Unable to resist the pull I feel, I slowly turn to face him. “They’re not mine.”
“What?”
“Jack and Jeff. They’re my brothers.”
“Oh.” That’s all I’ve got; I have no idea what to say. Instead of speaking, I grab my keys and take another step towards my door.
“Lexi?” Again, I turn. My breath catches in my throat at how truly gorgeous this man really is.
“Yeah?” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. It’s breathy, husky, and just plain embarrassing.
“Want some pizza?”
“Oh, no, I shouldn’t.”
“You should,” he insists, taking a step towards me. “Well, if you don’t mind watching The Gladiator while two eight-year-olds jump on the couch and pretend to duel it out to the death.” The left corner of his lip curls upward and my heart skips a beat.
I just start to open my mouth, ready to politely decline, when he interrupts. “Please. I’ve got plenty, and this way you don’t have to cook anything. Plus, you’d be doing me a favor, actually, because your dying skills are far superior to my own and it would make their evening to be able to slice and dice you, piece by piece.”
My eyebrow shoots into my hairline. “That might be the worst dinner invitation I’ve ever received,” I quip.
“I aim to please, Lexi. Come on,” he says, nodding towards his open doorway.
As if my legs had minds of their own, I follow behind him as he steps through the opening, holding the door until I pass, and securing it tightly behind me. Stepping into his place, I notice that the layout is identical to mine. The furniture is older, worn, and mismatched and the floor littered with toys and Nerf bullets.
“Knuckleheads, the pizza’s here,” Linkin says, setting the pizza boxes down on the counter. Two heads fly by me at Mach 10 and dive in to the two pizzas as if they haven’t seen food in days.
“Hungry?” I say aloud to no one in particular.
