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She squeaks again, loudly, forcing me to look down at her and check if the chain gave out on me again. “Please don’t give up on me now.” Cycling to Brooklyn in this downpour is still a whole lot better than walking in it.
I’m so focused on Betty that I don’t see the giant mountain of man muscle rounding the corner, and I wheel right into him, then bounce off like he’s made of stone. Betty clatters to the floor, and I fall unceremoniously onto my ass. Ouch!
“Do you always talk to your bike instead of looking where you’re going?” a gruff voice growls at me from above.
“Sorry, I was just—” I finish rubbing my bruised ass cheek and look up at the face of the man I just collided with. Holy mother of all that is divine and holy. Does every man who works in this building look like they fell from heaven, or have I just had the pleasure of meeting the three finest looking men on the face of this earth in the past ten minutes? Is the universe really so cruel that she would do this to me on today of all days, when I resemble a drowned rat and I’m acting like a lunatic who talks to bicycles?
His expression is fierce as he holds my gaze. I can’t look away. I’ve never seen such dark eyes before. They’re not even brown; they’re black. And they smolder like charcoal. Or the darkest pits of hell. A shudder skitters along my spine. Irrational terror grips me, and I’m tempted to call for help, but I can’t tear my gaze from his.
He holds out a hand. I can see it in my peripheral vision, but I don’t take it. My cheeks flame with heat and I’m not sure if it’s entirely because I just fell flat on my ass.
Maybe he sees my fear because his eyes soften just a little. “Are you okay?” His voice is deep and dangerous, but it serves to break the spell he seems to have me under. I blink rapidly and drop my gaze to his outstretched hand, which is almost the size of my head. Black ink snakes from beneath the sleeve of his crisp white shirt and wraps around his knuckles. My heart rate spikes. I catch a glimpse of his Rolex, and the cruel memory of another man who had a fondness for expensive jewelry is more than enough to snap me from my daze.
“Let me help you.” He reaches for my elbow when I don’t take his hand and hauls me up as though I weigh nothing. Heat from his fingertips penetrates through my coat and my sweater. His grip is tight, too tight, but I find myself wishing he’d squeeze harder. I want him to bruise me so I can look at it later and remember those dark eyes and tattooed hands while I…
I shake my head.Bad Lily!“Th-thanks.” I brush the back of my jeans and coat before I risk looking at his face again. He’s still glaring at me. So fucking intense. What the hell, dude? I mean I know I bumped into him, but I figure he barely even felt it. He must be at least six-four, and his shoulders are wider than a linebacker’s. “I’m sorry I crashed into you.”
“You should be more careful.” He lets go of my arm, and I swear I nearly whimper at the loss of his bruising grip. He lifts Betty from the floor and straightens her up, and she doesn’t squeak when he moves her. Traitor!
“I will,” I whisper, my cheeks burning hotter with each passing second.
He moves Betty closer, holding her handlebars and indicating I should take them from him. His tattooed fingers brush mine, and my legs almost buckle as hot sparks of electricity shoot up my hands and skitter through my entire body. I hold onto my bike for dear life, knuckles turning white as I struggle to remain upright. Our eyes meet again, and the intensity of his stare makes it even harder to stay on my feet. “And you really shouldn’t go around talking to your bike.” One corner of his deliciously full lips lifts, hinting at a smirk.
Wow. I wonder what it would take to get a full-on smile from him. Not that I plan to find out. It would probably render me immobile.
He leans closer, and I forget how to breathe. “People will think you’re crazy.” His breath dusts across my forehead and goosebumps break out all over my body. Then he walks away, leaving me wanting. I spin around and watch him head for the stairwell. Even the way he walks is hot. Shoulders rolled back and huge arms swinging at his sides. So sure of where he’s headed. Like our little interaction didn’t affect him at all. Not one iota.
I wheel Betty toward the exit. The sooner I get out of this building, the better.
* * *
Wrappingmy wet hair in a towel, I wander into the kitchen and rifle through the stack of takeout menus clipped to the fridge. Dim sum sounds amazing. It will eat into my budget for the weekend, but… my imagination conjures the taste of steamed pork dumplings, pan fried noodles, and deep-fried eggplant, and my stomach rumbles loudly, voicing its opinion. Dim sum it is then.
The front door slams closed. “Lily!” Jen calls.
“Right here,” I say.
She rushes toward me, breathless like she sprinted up the stairs, her cornflower-blue eyes wide with excitement. “You are going to freaking love me,” she squeals.
“I already do,” I remind her.
She tilts her head and runs her tongue over her perfect white teeth. “True. But you’re going to love me even more when I tell you what I managed to score for tonight.”
“No.” I hold out my hands and shake my head. “No more edibles. Last time I thought I was the king of the fairy underworld. Kevin from down the hall still looks at me funny whenever he sees me.”
My beautiful best friend howls with laughter at the memory and wraps me in a hug. It takes her at least two minutes to regain the ability to speak. “No more edibles. This is even better.” Reaching into her back pocket, she brandishes what looks like two tickets and squeals. “I got us passes for Marché de Viande!”
My shoulders slump, and I let out a loud groan.
“Lily!” she admonishes. “It’s literallythehottest club in New York.”
“It’s also the most expensive,” I remind her with a dead-eyed stare.
“These tickets arefree.” She waves them in my face for emphasis.
“The drinks inside aren’t though.” Despite my argument, I know I’m going to give in, and I mentally kiss my dream of eating dim sum in my pajamas goodbye. Whatever Jen wants, she gets. She’s the only person I know who can talk just about anyone into anything, even me. Plus, I do kind of owe her. I’d be homeless if it wasn’t for her willingness to share her one-bedroom apartment. Unfortunately for me, delivering documents and packages doesn’t pay enough to afford a place to live in New York City.
She gives me her best puppy dog eyes. “We’ll just have a few sodas.”
