Deep (Pagano Family #4)(9)

Then he turned away from her, and she saw his back. A tattoo covered him from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and side to side—black and grey, huge angel’s wings, drawn to appear to be growing out of his shoulder blades, with an elaborate, medieval-looking sword straight down his spine, all of it wrapped in barbed wire. She was going to have a heart attack. Could you die from looking at perfection? Like going blind from looking at the sun?

Chris was still smirking at her, but Nick ignored her and spoke to him. “Here. Pick it up from the bottom and tip it forward about forty-five degrees.” They did so. “Good. Take a few steps to your left. Good. Okay.” He stepped backwards, and Bev did as well, keeping the same distance between them, staying out of his way.

She couldn’t stop staring at his back, the way it flexed as he moved and lifted her sofa. Sweet, swaddled baby Jesus. She had an image of walking up to him and licking him straight up his spine—an image so vivid she took a step forward before she pulled up with a gasp.

They’d gotten the sofa around the corner. Feeling a little seasick from the waves of relief and arousal crashing together inside her, Bev turned and trotted down the hallway, opening her door and yanking in all the cushions before the men got there. With only minimal consideration and discussion, they got the beast into the apartment and placed in the spot she’d made for it, right next to the window wall and her balcony overlooking the pool.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You both rock!” Chris was shaking Nick’s hand. She hugged Chris hard and then turned to Nick, who was already on his way to the door. “Wait. Stay for a beer. I owe you a beer, at least.”

He smiled a little—it was the first smile she’d ever seen on his face in almost a year of hallway and mailroom greetings, and it made him twice as gorgeous. Who’d’ve thought it possible? Even that little turn of his mouth, though, made him look kind and open instead of scary and intense. “No need. I need to get back. Have a good night.”

And he was gone, his perfect back going through her door.

From behind her, Chris snickered. “Shit, girl, why not just wear a sign that says FUCK ME, HOT STUFF? Wouldn’t be any less subtle.”

She turned back to her friend. “Bite me, bitch. Anyway, he has a girlfriend. And I am not his type. He likes blonde model types—tall, skinny, and beautiful. Here, help me get the cushions on and then you can have your beer.”

As they got the sofa set up, Chris said, “You are beautiful, Bev.”

“I wasn’t looking for affirmation, pal. I’m comfortable the way I am, finally. But I’m not six feet tall and a hundred-ten pounds.”

“True. But that’s such a cliché. So is he. But he is a fine specimen, even I can see that. That parkour thing he did, though, that was just being a showoff. Who is he?”

She shrugged and went into the kitchen to get Chris a beer. “Just my neighbor. Nick Pagano.”

Chris had been in the act of sitting on the new sofa. He stopped and reversed, standing straight again. “Pagano? No shit? Bev, you know who they are, right?”

“Of course I do. But it’s not like Tony Soprano and Sonny Corleone are hanging out in the hallway every day. From what I can tell, I think all the stories are mostly that—stories. He just goes to work and comes home, like everybody else.” She handed Chris his beer.

“You’re deluded. He’s bad news. I’m glad you’re not his type.” He took a drink and then scowled at the bottle. “And what the f*ck is this? You said beer. This is IPA. IPA tastes like fermented yak piss.”

Bev had chosen it because it came from the Quiet Cove Brewery and had a cool label. She didn’t know from beers, really. She preferred wine. Or vodka, or rum. In her opinion, all beer was pretty gross. “I thought beer was beer. Plus, look—lighthouse on the label. Pretty.”

He set the bottle on the chrome and glass table in front of the new sofa. “You are such a girl sometimes. Saying beer is beer is like saying soda is soda. Or sex is sex. Actually, that last one is true. Never mind.” He kissed her cheek. “But I still love you. I’m gonna head out. We’re still on for Neon tomorrow, though, right?”

“Yep. Bought a new dress and everything.” Neon was a high-end club in Providence. A guy Chris knew from college was head of security there and had invited them, otherwise they would very much not have been on the list.

“Okay. Make sure Sky and what’s-his-name are here by eight.”

“Romeo. His name is Romeo, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but I can’t say it. No grown man should have that name.”

Sky’s boyfriend weighed about three hundred pounds, and it wasn’t fat. Chris weighed not much more than half that. “You should be careful.”

He grinned and went out, singing “Sky and Romeo sitting in a tree, sounding like a porn movie.”

Alone with her new sofa, Bev laughed and picked up his barely-touched beer from the coffee table. Not beer—IPA. Whatever the difference was, and whatever IPA meant. She took a sip. It actually wasn’t too bad. Not really her taste, but better than most beers she’d had. She had most of a six-pack in her fridge.

She wondered whether Nick liked IPA. Maybe she’d see. Just to be neighborly.





3



Nick went back to his apartment and took a look at his door. No damage from the sofa. He went in, washed his hands in the bathroom, and returned to his kitchen, picking up the bottle of Glenfiddich and resuming the act of pouring himself a glass.