Page 3 of Playing to Win

“Every night for at least six to seven hours. Sundays are my one day off a week.” I shrug my shoulders. Not that Theo can see the gesture; he’s maneuvering the car with careful precision, weaving in and out of traffic. I have no doubt he could drive the streets of New York in his sleep, unlike myself. I have a license. I use Clean and Gleam as my address for the majority of my bills and packages I order as well. Did I mention Mallory is a freaking saint?

“You can stop here,” I tell Theo when he’s at a stop light a block from the front of my building.

“Not fucking likely. I’ll park and walk you up.” This time, I really can’t contain myself. My eyes roll in a fluttering of lashes, and I cross my arms over my chest, causing me to look down my body. Theo is in his several-thousand-dollar suit, while I’m in a white tank I found in the clearance bin, jean shorts from jeans that had more holes than I could repair, and shoes that are beyond scuffed up. We’re complete opposites in every way imaginable, yet Theo seems not to care.

“Theo, I, um… Yeah, well, this isn’t the best area, and while I appreciate you walking me up to my apartment, it’s probably not a good idea.” My words fall on deaf ears. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” He does the impossible and finds a parking spot along the curb at this time of day. Never have I seen one around at this hour. Luck must run through his veins.

“It’ll be fine. Now you want to tell me which building is yours?”

“That one, a few stoops up the street.” I nod toward the brick building. He grumbles something, but I don’t catch it. He’s busy opening his door, unfolding from his seat, then closing the door, and then it’s me scrambling from my seat. I grab my small bag by my feet, hand going to the door to open it, when Theo appears.

“Ready?” His hand is out, giving me no other option except to take it, and when I do, I’m not prepared for the way he makes me feel. I am well and truly fucked.

FIVE

Theo

I don’t lether hand go, not when she’s out of the car, standing beside me, not when we’re walking up toward her apartment. Danica tried to take her hand away from mine, but I wasn’t having it, pulling her closer to my body in order to avoid others on the sidewalk and keeping her there. The way she made it seem when I parked my car was that the neighborhood isn’t all that great, and while I can understand where she’s coming from, I’m pretty sure in the ten minutes it takes me to walk her, I won’t walk back out to someone having hot wired my car. In fact, I’d like to see them fucking try. The car is equipped with more shit than even I was aware, auto locking itself down if someone tries to tamper with the handle. The most that could happen is I’d come out with the car on jacks with no tires.

“This is me,” Danica says once we stop in front of her building. I look at her. She tightens her hold on the backpack strap, gripping it as if it were a life vest and she’s stranded out at sea.

“Lead the way. I’ll walk you to your door, and then you can get rid of me.” I wink, teasing her. Never in my life have I had to work to get a woman to at least pretend to like me. God, if my fucking brothers could see me now, they’d be having the last laugh.

“Theo, you’ve done more than enough. I’m sure you have better things to do with your evening than walk up three flights of stairs to watch me walk inside.” My eyes narrow on hearing her taking the stairs. “I do this all the time at least twice a day. Now, it was great meeting you, but I really have to get to class.” I let her hand go when she pulls away, allowing it this time. I know she has no problem with elevators, and after working as much as she does, the last thing anyone wants to do is climb three fucking flights when you’re dead on your damn feet.

“I’m still walking you up.” I open the door to the entrance. The keypad is clearly old and dated. Fucking thing probably doesn’t work, and if I could hazard a guess, it’s been years since it has. Danica grumbles under her breath, ducking under my arm as she goes. “Is the elevator broken?” My eyes sweep the place—peeling paint, dim lighting, and a few of the mailboxes are hanging open. Danica and the tenants here don’t deserve this. Rent in New York, no matter the area, is fucking steep as hell.

“Fine,” she puffs out, annoyance tinging her tone yet again. I don’t reply. I’m too busy following her up the first flight of stairs, hand at the railing when she tosses her head over her shoulder. “Don’t touch that.” My hand falls away, and I wonder what the heck else is going on in her apartment building.

“Got it,” I reply. I’d bet that damn banister is coming away from the steps. Great, now my head is filled with all kinds of things that could happen to Danica. A fire swarming the building, and she’s trying to get out without burning to a damn crisp, being trampled on because there’s only one fucking entrance and exit. Unless there’s a fire escape. Highly doubtful with what I’m seeing so far. I turn my attention back to Danica, the soft sway of her hips as she takes another step, lean body with a slightly muscled tone. It’s obvious the woman works more than most others do, holding down two jobs while going to school.

“You doing okay back there?” Danica snickers over her shoulder. Gone is the serious, unapproachable, hands-fucking-off woman, and in its place is what I’m noticing is a different person once she feels comfortable around you. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still busting my balls all the while keeping shit locked up tight.

“You think one flight of stairs could wear me out?” We’ve stopped on the second-floor landing. Her body is still. The backpack she was carrying on one shoulder slides to her forearm. I move closer, whispering in her ear before she can answer, “It takes a lot more than this to wear me out.”

“We’ll see about that. A man who wears business suits five out of the seven days a week and sits behind a desk all day, I highly doubt that.” She recovers after a beat or two, and when she does, I’m out to prove a point. I move from behind her, meeting her gaze head on, and don’t bother to respond. Instead, I dip my body, shoulder meeting her stomach, and she’s hanging over me, hands gripping my sides, and I feel her small fingers dig into me through the two layers of fabric. My arm bands around the back of her thighs as I hold her in place while I walk a few steps.

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” I goad her when she’s eerily quiet.

“I’m going to knee you in the balls, Theo Goldman, but yes, let’s test that theory, and then maybe you’ll be so worn out by the time we make it to my floor, it won’t take much to take you down.” Her voice is garbled since her mouth is near my back, so I ignore her need for violating my balls in a manner I’d much rather not feel. If Danica were to use her hands or mouth, that I would no doubt like a hell of a lot more. Since the little fairy has a personality like a firecracker, I don’t think my family jewels will be safe anywhere near the vicinity of her body with how she’s threatening bodily harm.

SIX

Danica

All the bloodin my body rushes to my head, and all I can do is hold on for the duration of Theo exuding some weird macho man mentality. Why I’m not more upset than I should be, I have no idea, except he’s the first man who doesn’t give me the absolute ick. What really annoys me is that my thighs are clenching, my hands are digging into his sides, and it’s not to get a firmer hold on him either. Nope, I’m practically copping a feel like a horny cougar, except I’m younger than him, drastically younger, and I can’t let a man get in my way of meeting my goals.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling Theo Goldman isn’t going to allow me to push him away. We’re currently on the last set of steps. The worn step that’s been painted over time and time again gives me the clue; otherwise, I wouldn’t really know in my upside-down position. My apartment and the building are a steppingstone, sixteen hundred dollars a month for a studio apartment the size of a postage stamp. When you walk inside the door, you’re smack dab in the kitchen with its undersized fridge, stove, and sink. The countertop is maybe two feet long, making it impossible to keep anything on the old and aged Formica except my beloved Nespresso machine. A splurge to say the least, along with the pods that go with it. If it weren’t for the all too smooth and rich coffee, I’d have a normal coffee pot. I blame Mallory for this current addiction and obsession. The woman is a caffeine connoisseur of the coffee variety and has four different machines in her office at Clean and Gleam.

“Which apartment, Danica?” How, how is Theo not breathless after ascending two flights of stairs while carrying me? Now I’m even more annoyed with this damn man. How is it I get winded after working all day and trudging up the steps, yet he doesn’t?

“Three eleven.” The only good thing about this place is that my apartment number is the same as a rock band’s name I absolutely love. My music taste is not that of today’s hits but more of the music of the past. When I’m not working, you can usually find me in an old band tee. And yes, I’m asked to name one or two songs on the musician on my shirt more times than I can count. Theo chooses that moment to move his hands along my thigh in a massaging manner, ruining me further. I’d like to think he has no idea what he’s doing to my body, but from the way he surrounded me before picking me up like he’s some type of caveman, it would prove otherwise.

“Nice.” I bite my lip. Making a smart remark won’t have Theo putting me down from his hold. Nope, I’m sure he’d more than likely hold on tighter, demand my keys, unlock the door, and walk me inside. No freaking way. There are some things an almost-sort-of boss/pseudo stranger should not see. My unmentionables that were easier to hand wash and hang dry are one of them, the stack of dishes in my sink are another, right along with my unmade bed. I’m a crazy sleeper, moving all over the place, tossing around like a hot potato, turning counterclockwise half the time. There are actually times I wake up and my head is at the foot of the bed with not so much as a pillow beneath my head or sheets on my body.

“Theo, you can put me down now.” I didn’t fight him earlier simply because I wanted to prove him wrong on being out of breath and potentially worn out, but the joke is on me because the man didn’t even break a sweat. Well, at least from my vantage point, he didn’t.

“Are you going to kick me in the nuts?” he asks, yet I’m still hanging over his shoulder. I lift myself up using my hands, wiggling my legs, and still he’s relentless in his hold. “Quit wiggling. I’m not letting you go. Not until you promise to keep your knee away from my baby maker.” This fucking guy. Next, he’ll be coming up with dad jokes, the one-liners only a dad thinks are funny while we’re all left scratching our heads trying to understand their laughter.

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