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To add to that dazzling image, he decides now is the ideal time to rake his hand through his hair. That only accentuates how large his bicep is, so naturally, I check out his tattoo again.
“Did you forget what it looked like, Gina?”
I’ve been busted staring at him.Dammit.
“No,” I say and leave it at that. “Move, Daniel.”
His hands jump up to the doorjamb, blocking my entrance to my own apartment. “What’s the password?”
I drop my free hand to my hip. “Move your ass.”
His head falls back in laughter. “Funny, Lawton. You’re fucking hilarious.”
“Calvetti,” I correct him. “Let me in.”
His head shakes. “Still not the correct answer.”
“What are you…twelve?” I narrow my eyes. “I want to come in.”
He makes the sound of a buzzer. “Nope.”
Frustration is seeping in, so I stomp one of my boots on the floor. “You’re a bastard.”
“True, but not the password. You’re not even close.” His gaze slides down my body. “Nice boots.”
“Don’t do that.”
His gaze meets mine. “Do what?”
“Change the subject.” I shake the bag in my hand. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll knock on my neighbor’s door and share this with him.”
He glances down the corridor to the left and then to the right. “Him?”
With the tables of this ridiculous exchange finally turning, I nod. “Yes. Him.”
He scowls. “How old is this guy?”
I study the image before me, wondering if I could slide past him if I tried, but his shoulders are so broad that it’s doubtful.
“How old, Gina?” he presses. “Are we talking thirty, forty, older?”
“Around that.” I keep it vague and toss out a notable fact about my next-door neighbor. “He won the mayor’s award for courage when he lived in Philadelphia a few years ago.”
Fifty years ago, but who is counting?
“He what?” Daniel shakes his head. “An award for courage?”
I nod. “Yes, and he’s a trained ballroom dancer, so there’s that.”
I happen to know from experience that Daniel can’t dance. I saw him in action years ago at a surprise birthday party for my mom. It might have been painful to watch if it wasn’t completely captivating. He was a little drunk, and if there were a Calvetti award for courage, Daniel would have been the sole recipient that night because he left it all on the dance floor, including his tie and left shoe.
“Wow,” he says, and I can’t tell if sarcasm is lacing it or not.
“Did I mention that he adores my grandma’s food?” I shake the bag to remind Daniel that our meal is getting cold. “Unless you let me in, I’ll knock on his door and spend the afternoon with him.”
He contemplates that while my gaze drifts from the stubble covering his jawline down to his gray T-shirt and beyond to the waistband of his jeans.
“One last try, Gina,” he says in a low tone. “You know our password.”
