Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Good.” He flashes me a wide grin.
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.”
My eyes dart up to his face. “I don’t.”
“I’ll give you a hint, and if you don’t get it, feel free to share that food with the ballroom dancing hero.”
I’d much rather eat lunch with my husband, but since he seems to be calling my bluff, I nod. “Give me the hint.”
“Three words…you used to say them when…”
My gaze locks on his. “True love rules.”
“It does,” he whispers before he steps aside to grant me entry into my home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Daniel
How the fuck have I not noticed the goddamn neighbor?
Gina lives next door to some guy who got a medal for courage, and he can ballroom dance? My resume doesn’t include either of those things.
I thought I was a great dancer until Dominick showed me a video he shot at his mom’s birthday nine years ago.
Jesus.
Talk about two left feet. I looked like I had eleven of them when I was busting a move and potentially my kneecap on the dance floor.
That hell finally ended when I tripped. My left shoe literally left me, and my knee hit the concrete floor with a sound that could have woken the dead.
“What are you thinking about?” Gina asks from across the table.
I can’t say it’s the neighbor because I don’t want my wife to accuse me of being jealous, although clearly I am.
I make a mental note to borrow a cup of sugar from everyone on this floor before the day ends.
If I cover my bases and introduce myself to every neighbor, maybe it won’t seem that obvious that I’m checking out my competition.
“Boston,” I say because that seems like a safe bet.
Gina tilts her head. “Was it a good trip?”
“Very.”
She scratches her nose in the same adorable way she’s done since she was a kid. “That’s nice.”
I keep rolling with the subject at hand since she seems semi-invested, or at the very least, not completely disinterested. “When’s the last time you went to Boston?”