Curious, I follow him outside, stopping in shock as the “art” in question is practically airlifted out of the truck. The two guys carrying it aren’t lightweights, either.
“What the hell?” Manny asks, and we look at each other in confusion. “He doesn’t do anything by halves, does he?”
I’m getting that impression.
“Look, I have to stay here to mind the bar. If I key the code into the goods lift, can you take these guys up to the penthouse? Lincoln should be home, and you can have your chat.”
“Yeah, yes, of course.” I wave them through, eager to move before he changes his mind.
As they squeeze into the elevator behind me, I feel as though I’ve stepped into a heist film. Ever since Lincoln came into my life, it’s been one wild ride after another.
Manny tries to shield the keypad, but he’s distracted and doesn’t seem to realize that being short gives me a perfectly good vantage point, so I hold my breath and memorize as he types1-1-0-5-2-0.
I’d feel bad, but I have about 200 reasons not to, all wafting their scent into my flannel sheets.
It’s kind of nice being sneaky. Maybe this is why Lincoln does it.
The elevator opens right into the apartment, which explains the key code, and I’m too busy being blown away by the size of it to do anything but stand and stare.
I knew it’d be big, but damn, he could stage aNewsiesrevival in here.
One of the delivery guys clears his throat, and I step out of the way, standing awkwardly by as they shuffle the crate they’re holding out of the elevator.
“Hello?”
I’m pointing my finger at Lincoln as soon as he steps into the hallway. “You.”
He stops short. “Ivy? What are you—oh, hey.” He nods to the guys behind me and waves us all in. “Thanks, lads. You can leave that over here.”
They lower it to the ground with matching groans, then the shorter of the two walks over. “If you could sign this,” he says, handing over a clipboard. “We’ll unpack it quick and be out of your hair.”
“Thanks.” Lincoln signs and turns back to me.
I know I came up here for a reason, but all of a sudden, it’s escaping me. Because Lincoln isn’t wearing a shirt.
His body is unfair. Who even has a six-pack in real life? And those tattoos… How dare they live permanently on his skin, touching him all the time when I can’t?
Jesus, the valley between this man’s pecs could be classified as low ground. Small armies have been conquered there. My fabulous ass certainly has no chance of survival.
Body building? More like world building.
Light-wash jeans hang low on his hips like a tease. Fuck, one little tug would probably have them on the floor. Then there’d be nothing left between me and those thighs…
Side note: who would I have to petition to get shirts permanently banned?
“We have company,” he reminds me, my gaze jumping up to meet his, where he’s smiling with a mix of hunger and amusement.
“Put some clothes on so I can yell at you,” I say, because I can’t think while his muscles are out.
He chuckles, but leaves without a word.
I stride over to the windows, taking in the open plan room. Stained wood flooring with coordinated dark wood furniture, a patterned red rug that could cover my apartment spread out from a tan leather sofa. It’s warm and inviting, with the same careful curation of colors as the bar, the same commanding presence that says, “Stay, I’ll look after you.”
There are touches of him everywhere, a book opened face down on the counter, a few cushions pushed to the floor by the sofa, an enormous water bottle drying by the sink next to a pot that’s starting to rattle. There’s a faded palm print in the handle where time and use have left a mark. This isn’t a new item. He must have traveled here with it. It makes me indescribably fond. This is where he spends his time, a little piece of who he is, the man he couldn’t leave behind.
The delivery guys really do work quick, and they even take the crate back with them, leaving the canvas propped up against the wall. I don’t even hear them leave, struck silent for a second time as I finally see what Lincoln bought.
A familiar clash of blue and yellow stares back. Holy shit. This is…
