Page 2 of The Players Next Door

"Need a hand?" That’s the gentle giant. His tone is quieter, more reserved.

"Please, don't worry about it." I snatch up a bra and shove it back into the box. If the floor could swallow me whole right now, that'd be great.

"You sure? Really looks like you could use a hand—or two," the tattooed god's dimpled smile doesn't help my blush.

"Got it!" I squeak, trying to snatch everything up at superhuman speed.

The gentle giant bends down, all focused energy and quiet intensity, and my pulse stutters. He's close—too close—and when he straightens, a lacy something dangles from his fingers. Mortification floods me. I'm about to make an even bigger fool of myself; I can feel it.

"Here." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but it rolls over me, warm and deep. He hands me the offending garment without so much as a smirk. Our fingers brush, and a jolt shoots through me. Green eyes lock onto mine, sparking with something that feels a lot like heat.

"Uh, thanks," I choke out, snatching the lingerie like it's a lifeline. But it's not, because now I'm drowning in those eyes, in the silent question they ask, the one I don't have an answer to.

"Anytime." There's a hint of a smile on his lips, but it doesn't reach those intense green eyes. They're still looking at me, seeing way too much. It's like he knows every secret I've ever kept, every thought I've never said out loud.

"Right." I stuff the lacy item into the box—trying to subtly shove the hot pink dildo back inside before anyone sees—slamming the lid shut. "Appreciate the help."

"Any time," Mr. Broody says again, and I don’t miss the way his lips twitch, like he's fighting a smile too.

"Sure." The word comes out of my mouth breathy and light, fluttering around the hallway like a lost butterfly. I need to get out of here, away from their helpful hands and knowing looks.

"Welcome to the building," the gentle giant adds, sounding polite but distant. Like he's already put up a wall between us. I'm not sure if I want to tear it down or hide behind it myself.

"Thanks." I force a smile, hoping it doesn't look as shaky as it feels. "Guess I'll see you around."

"Looking forward to it," Broody replies with a grin that could melt the ice at the Grizzlies' home arena.

I nod, clutching the box to my chest like it's a shield, and rush toward my brother's old apartment. My new refuge. Away from embarrassing drops and smoldering neighborly assists. Because, of course, they’re my neighbors, why wouldn’t they be?

"See ya," I call over my shoulder, not daring to look back at them. Not yet. Not until my face stops feeling like a five-alarm fire.

As the door slams behind me, I lean against it, my heart pounding. New city, new job, and new neighbors who are way too handsome and way too close for comfort.

"Get it together, Holly," I mutter to myself. "It's just a couple of hot men who saw your unmentionables. No big deal."

But who am I kidding? It's a very big deal.

I catch my breath, back pressed against the door. That's when I notice it—my phone's not in my hand or my pocket. Panic spikes within me. A knock sounds on the door, the impact vibrating through my body.

"Looking for this?" The voice is deep, confident. It’s the tattooed god.

I peel the door open a crack and peer back out. He's got my lifeline in his hand, and he's talking into it like it's his. I squint at him, trying to make sense of it all. Then it clicks. Sawyer's laugh filters through the speaker.

"Give me that!" I lunge for the phone, cheeks flaming.

"Whoa, easy tiger," he chuckles, handing it over.

"Who's that? Your boyfriend?" The tattooed god leans over my shoulder, looking at my phone where Sawyer is still waiting.

"Brother," I say sharply, glaring over my shoulder at the tattooed man, who has this look on his face like he knows something I don't. "Sawyer, I—stop laughing."

“Put me on speaker, Hol.”

Sawyer's laughter continues to ring through the phone as I switch it to speaker. He’s clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Having fun with the new neighbors?” Sawyer's voice crackles through the phone, still laced with amusement.

“Oh, loads. You know me. I always like to make a big splash.” I roll my eyes, trying to play off my embarrassment. If only my cheeks would cooperate. I’m pretty sure they’re as rosy as Santa’s.

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