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Was he about to offer to help? Why am I disappointed he didn't? And how exactly was he planning to help me warm up?
I point to a dark smudge on the side of his neck. "You got a little something there." He swipes at his neck, then stares at his hand. "No, there, on the...never mind." I reach up and run my thumb along the tanned skin of his neck, wiping away the smudge. I pretend that the way Nick freezes, and my breath catches in my throat means nothing. "There," I say, showing him my thumb.
I'm not prepared for his hand wrapping around mine, or him raising the bottom of his t-shirt exposing some seriously mouthwatering abs as he wipes at my fingers.
"I was working at the garage tonight with Micah," he murmurs. "Holly chased him out of the house and he needed a distraction."
"Oh..um," I mumble, brain slightly offline because he's still rubbing my finger. I gently tug my hand free and wipe it on the side of my jeans. "Why did she chase him away?"
"He's been hovering. A lot, apparently. Won't leave her side. I think she lost it when he followed her into the bathroom tonight."
Laughing, I imagine little Holly, belly stretched way in front of her, chasing giant Micah out of their apartment. "I get it. I'm surprised he went as far as the garage, though."
Nick grins and grabs a bag from the backseat of the truck. "He put everyone on alert so they all took turns checking on her. Last I heard, she's even madder than before."
"Oh, my god. You guys are a little over the top, you know that."
He laughs, but doesn't respond. It's obvious they're crazy overprotective. And Wonderful. There's no doubt in anyone's mind about either of those things. We fall into step, heading for the elevator. He yawns again, jaw cracking, and leans against the back wall, watching me with hooded eyes. "What were you up to tonight?"
"Volleyball."
He frowns. "Like...on the beach?"
I snort. "Not on the beach. It's fucking freezing. Indoors."
He looks intrigued. "I didn't know that's a thing. Sounds fun."
"It is fun. It's also serious business."
"Of course you're competitive. I should have guessed that about you."
"Like you're not?"
He shrugs. "Big picture, wanting the best for my family, yeah, I'm competitive. But day to day, I'm not."
"Really? How does that work? I thought you were the fixer guy who goes in and gets the deal done. Aren't you going in there to win?"
"I am, but if I'm being called in, it's not really a competition. It's about understanding what someone needs and giving it to them. Or making them realize they didn't want it in the first place."
"I don't understand." The doors open on my floor and I step off, grateful he does too. I'm not ready for this conversation to end. Not yet. We stop next to my door, and he leans on the wall, seemingly too tired to hold himself up.
"There was a guy I talked to last week, he'd run his business into the ground. All his employees had left, most of his customers were gone too. But he decided we were the enemy, and out to feast on the carcass of his business."
"What happened? Why was he failing?"
"Booze, mostly. I don't know why he fell into the bottle. Not my business, really."
"So, how did you convince him to sell?"
"You're sure he sold?" I give him a look and he grins. "You're right. He did sell. But not because he lost and I won. He sold because he realized he was at the bottom of a deep hole, and I was offering him a way out."
"Was he grateful then, in the end?"
"No. He'll probably tell everyone that we came in and stole the place from him. Whatever he needs to do to save face."
"Doesn't that bother you? That he's out there spreading lies about you?"
"Honestly? No. I don't give a fuck about his opinion of me. The only opinions I care about? All of them live in this building."
