Page 2 of Only Santas in the Building
And the subject of all my late-night fantasies.
Chapter Two
The firm support of the hand at my waist sends rippling tendrils of awareness through me. Under my heavy coat, my skin tingles, and I start to sweat. Between the shock of the collision and my racing heart, it takes me a moment to find my voice, and the words come out thin and tight. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking.”
By contrast, Theo’s deep baritone is as steady as an ancient oak tree. “Are you okay, Evie?”
“Um, yeah. Thanks to you.” If he hadn’t caught me, I would’ve landed on my ass, making this encounter even more embarrassing than it already is.
We’re so close. And while I’m incredibly glad I showered and brushed my teeth, I wish I’d also taken the time to brush my hair instead of tucking it under a pink beanie, and maybe swiped on a little lip gloss too.
Theo, on the other hand, looks perfect. But then, he always does, with his dark, wavy hair, sharp features, and overly sensuous mouth. If I drew him, he’d look like a cross between Maluma and Jon Snow, romantic and rough. He’s at least a few inches over six feet and sort of bulky. And when he grins, his prominent canines slightly resemble fangs. I was obsessed with vampires when I was in high school, so this little detail does not go unnoticed or unappreciated.
I wouldn’t mind at all if he bit me.
Not in a vampire way. In a sex way.
It’s official. I have it bad for Mr. 4A.Realbad.
But then my stomach churns as I recall the last time I saw him.
It was last week, and I was already in frantic deadline mode. Someone knocked on my apartment door, and since I was expecting Bernard, the building’s super, I opened it without looking through the peephole.
Rookie mistake. Instead of Bernard, there was Theo in all his rugged glory. He had on jeans, work boots, and an olive-green Henley that made his brown eyes look like melted milk chocolate.
I, meanwhile, was wearing a ratty Oscar the Grouch T-shirt, no bra, and baggy sweatpants. My unwashed hair was pulled into a messy bun that was admittedly more mess than bun, and my curtain bangs desperately needed a trim. I hadn’t washed my face, let alone brushed my hair or my teeth, and of course, I’d just polished off a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
I think I gasped when I saw Theo, or squeaked, or something else equally ridiculous. And then I blurted out, “I thought you were the super.”
His dark brows lifted as he took me in. “Are you expecting him?”
I tried unsuccessfully to push the longer parts of my bangs behind my ears, as if that would do anything to help my overall appearance. “Um, yeah, my hall light is out. I have a stepladder, but I still can’t reach it. Bernard said he’d swing by today to change it.”
Theo nodded. “I can do that for you. But I’m actually here to check out your kitchen. I think one of my pipes is leaking, and I wanted to make sure it isn’t causing damage. Mind if I look?”
Ididmind and would’ve preferred he come back after I’d used mouthwash and, I don’t know, gotten a full makeover at Sephora, but politeness, lack of sleep, and this persistent crush had me opening the door and saying, “Sure. Come on in.”
When he passed by me into the apartment, I nearly whimpered. He smelled fresh and woodsy, like cedar and mint, an aromatherapy blend specifically designed to incite my libido.
Since he lives right above me in 4A, the layouts of our one-bedroom apartments are the same. The bathroom and bedroom are to the right, off a narrow hallway that opens into a combo kitchen / dining / living room space.
Theo stopped in front of the sink and rolled up his sleeves, showing off a collection of tattoos. Then he opened the cabinet doors and crouched down, peering inside with a penlight attached to his keys. It was on the tip of my potato-chip-flavored tongue to ask about his tats when I noticed that my sink was full of dirty dishes and take-out containers.
Have I mentioned that I’ve been on deadline?
And that there’s been no one else to bother cleaning up for since my grandmother died?
I was about to apologize for the slovenly state of my apartment—and myself—when he straightened to his full height and I nearly swallowed my tongue. Theo’s a big guy, and while his size always makes my mouth go dry when I run into him in the hall or around the neighborhood, his standing in my tiny kitchen made him seem even more gigantic. I wanted to climb him like a beanstalk.
“Everything looks okay,” he said. “Which light bulb needs changing?”
“Oh, um, that one.” I pointed at the overhead light fixture in the hallway.
“Gotcha. Where’s this alleged stepladder?”
His adorable grin only served to make me more flustered. I showed him the stepladder stashed between the fridge and the wall. He unfolded it in the hallway and climbed on. When he reached up to unscrew the old-fashioned glass fixture, my eyes zeroed in on the exposed strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans and ... Yeah, I’ll just say it: his ass. I stared at his ass. And I couldn’t stop.
Theo’s ass filled out the back of his jeans with an intriguing curve, the muscle definition on his lower back acting as neon arrows pointing down. Really, how could Inotlook?
