For the first time, I truly feel like these guys are my friends, not just teammates.
seven
Savannah
Ipullintomyspace in the underground parking garage and cut the engine. It has been one heck of a day. My feet and lower back are killing me.
I have been up for the last forty-eight hours, and I can’t wait to crawl into bed for the next two days.
Right before the end of my shift, we received a call about a pileup on the freeway that included a bus full of fifth graders. Thankfully, most of the children are fine. Some cuts and bruises, a couple of concussions, and one broken arm were the worst of it.
I rest my cheek on the steering wheel, too exhausted to move, and stare at the row of sports cars to my right. According to the sign on the cement wall, they belong to Penthouse One.
My neighbor.
It’s been over a month since I moved into the building, and I have yet to see, let alone meet, the person who lives in the apartment next door.
I know it’s wrong to assume, but only a man would own cars like these. Flashy and expensive.
Overcompensating much?Yeah, the size of his penis.
I shake my head and chuckle at the snarky thoughts running through my brain. I blame Bradley for my pessimism. I swear he loves his ugly-ass green Ferrari more than he ever loved me.
Grabbing the small duffle bag from the passenger seat, I sling it over my shoulder and climb out of the car. My feet drag as I yawn, hit the locks on my car, and head for the elevator. It must be my lucky day because the doors are open and waiting for me as I slip in and hit the PH button.
I still can’t believe I scored a penthouse apartment for the same price I was paying at my last place.
Talia was right. As soon as I walked into the clean, modern space, I was in love. The open-floor plan and the nearly 180° glass window view of the city stole my heart. I pictured myself on a large fluffy chaise out on the balcony.
Just me, a glass of wine, and the view.
The roar of an engine pulls me from my daydreams of said balcony, and I press the door-close button. The last thing I want to do is make small talk with one of the other tenants.
The elevator doors stay open, forcing me to swipe my building access card on the pad and press the PH button again. Nothing happens.
“What the hell?” I stab the button repeatedly, cursing it to hell, as a shadow falls over me.
“You can push that button all you want, but it won’t work.”
Shivers race down my spine, and butterflies I didn’t know existed soar in my belly. Their wings dip and float to the deep timbre of the man’s voice as if it were the wind pushing them to fly.
My heart gallops at full speed, like I just sprinted the one-hundred-yard dash in five seconds flat, and I suddenly feel out of breath as I ask, “Excuse me?”
As my eyes lift to the larger-than-life figure standing at the elevator doors, a familiar pair of gray eyes collide with mine in an earth-shattering quake, shaking the ground beneath me—and possibly my life.
The saliva in my mouth evaporates, and I almost choke at the sight of Nico Romero.
Ah, hell. The pictures on the internet don’t do his good looks justice. At all.
Seconds slow as we stare at one another. Each of us assesses the other. The icy-gray hue in his irises gleams as they slowly scan me from head to toe. My eyes do the same and track every detail of this Adonis of a man.
Nico towers over my five-foot-six stature. He’s built like a beast, with broad shoulders, a slight tapered waist, and thick thighs.
He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
He has thick, almost black hair, clipped short on the sides and long on top, golden tan skin, and icy-gray eyes that draw you in like a moth to a flame. The thick, black stubble covering his jaw and the tattoos that peek out from behind the collar of his dress shirt only add to his sinfully sexy edge.
I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to trace each dark line with my fingers and tongue. Heat gathers between my thighs as my traitorous body reacts to the dangerous visions of me doing just that.
