Running into Love
Page 27

“I didn’t know you were dating someone. I thought you said you were taking a break from dating?” Hank says, studying Fawn in a way that says she obviously told him that and he was disappointed by the news.
“Oh.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I was . . . I mean, Levi and I, we live next door to each other, and this just kind of happened.” She raises our hands, laughing.
“Hmm.” His eyes slide to me briefly. “Did you get the invitation I e-mailed you last week?” She nods.
“Yeah, I’m going to see if Mac and Libby want to come to your showing with me.”
“Good.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then runs his hand through his shaggy hair. “I’d love to see you there.”
“Hank is an artist, and he has a showcase in SoHo after Thanksgiving,” she explains, tilting her head back to look at me. “He’s really very talented.”
“Really. Maybe I’ll go with you to check it out,” I say, wondering where the fuck that statement came from. I’d rather pull my teeth out one by one than go to an art show.
“It’s invite only,” Hank huffs, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
Fawn frowns, then mutters, “Oh.” Smiling at that, I drop her hand and tuck her under my arm. My woman seriously has no fucking idea when a man is interested. “Well, we were just getting ready to leave. It was nice to see you, Hank.”
“You, too.” He steps forward like he’s going to give her a hug, but Muffin steps in front of her to block the move. Hank’s eyes drop to the big wolfhound, and he visibly swallows. “I’ll see you at the showing.”
“Yeah, see you then,” she agrees, as I give Muffin a scratch for being so good.
“Nice meeting you, Hank. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I lift my chin to him, and his eyes narrow.
“Yeah, see ya,” he mutters, walking to the gate and opening it, then bending down to pick up the Yorkie Muffin was playing with.
“So you and Hank?” I ask as we head toward the park exit with Muffin walking in front of us.
“Me and Hank?” she asks, and I drop my eyes to meet hers.
“Yeah, have you ever dated that guy?”
“Um, no.” She shakes her head, scrunching up her face. “He’s just a friend—well, we kind of know each other from the dog park.”
“Has he asked you out?”
“No. I mean, he’s asked me to coffee before, but that’s all, we’ve never dated.”
“He’s into you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Baby, I’m a man, and as a man, I can tell you that guy is interested in you and was definitely upset that you’re no longer available.”
“Really?” She bites her lip, studying me.
“Yeah, baby, really,” I say softly, and she frowns.
“I had no idea,” she mumbles.
“You wouldn’t know, because you’ve got no idea how beautiful you are,” I state, rubbing my thumb over the pulse of her wrist, feeling it speed up.
“I . . .”
“You’re gorgeous, and this sweet, unassuming thing you’ve got going on is a breath of fresh air to men like me and Hank, who are surrounded by women who’ve got nothing more to offer than a pretty face.”
“Um . . .” She drops her gaze from mine, and I smile. Most women who look like Fawn does would be using that beauty to get their way, but not her. No, she doesn’t even understand the power she has or when a man is interested in her. For me that shit is priceless and the exact thing that has drawn me to her from the beginning.
“Just so you know, you and Hank will never happen,” I inform her and feel her eyes on me, so I drop mine to look at her. “You’re mine, and I don’t share. He missed his chance when he didn’t step up to the plate like a man and straight up ask you out.”
“I . . . I was never interested in him.”
“Good to know, seeing how he’s going to try to convince you otherwise when you go to his showing.”
“What?” she asks as we head down the block toward our building.
“He made it pretty clear that I wasn’t invited to his showing—that right there tells me he plans on using that time alone with you as a way in.”
“I’m not . . .” She pauses, shaking her head again. “I don’t even like him like that. I don’t even really know him.”
“That’s good, considering you’re already in a relationship.” I smile, dropping her hand to press in the code for the door and holding it open for her to enter before me.
“Remember when I told you this morning that you were frustrating?” she asks, stomping up the stairs, and my smile turns into a grin. “Well, that still stands, but you’re also annoying.” I’m chuckling at that as we stop outside her door and unhook Muffin’s leash while she unlocks the door and pushes it open. Going in behind her, I head to the kitchen to put down some fresh water for Muffin while she walks back into her bedroom, coming out a few minutes later with a bag of laundry that’s almost as big as she is and a jug of detergent.
“I’m gonna run down and put this in the machine. I’ll be right back,” she says, muffled behind the bag, and I shake my head.
“If you really think I’m going to let you carry that shit down four flights of stairs, you don’t know me at all. Drop it, babe. I’ll take it down for you while you feed Muffin.”
“No,” she huffs moving to the door, not seeing that I’ve stepped in front of her because the damn bag in her arms is at least five inches over the top of her head.
Taking it from her with ease, I watch her eyes narrow as I grab the jug from her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Levi, you are not doing my laundry,” she semishouts, trying to take the bag from me.
“And you’re not carrying a bag of laundry as big as you are to the basement.”
“I don’t carry it down the stairs,” she cries, tossing her hands in the air. “I carry it to the top of the stairs, then let it roll down to the bottom.”
Staring at her in disbelief, I tilt my head back toward the ceiling, praying she’s not being serious right now but having no doubt that she’s done that exact thing each time she’s done her laundry. “What do you do if someone’s coming up the stairs when your laundry is rolling down?” I ask, and she presses her lips together before planting her hands on her hips.
“That’s never happened. I always make sure no one’s around.”
“I hate to point this out to you, but you are one of the most accident-prone women I have ever met in my life.”
“I’m not accident-prone,” she yells, and I lean in.
“You ran into me, literally ran into me, when you were running with your goddamn eyes closed,” I growl, and she bites her bottom lip.
“Fine,” she huffs. “You can carry it down for me, but I’m doing my own fricking laundry.”
“Fine,” I agree, hefting the bag up onto my shoulder before opening the door. Carrying the bag down the steps, I listen to her light footsteps on the steps behind me as we head for the basement, then mutter a curse under my breath when I see how fucking dark the room is where the washers and dryers are kept. The shit looks like something you’d see in a scary movie. I’ve never been down here, because I have my laundry washed and folded through a service.
“They need to get better lighting down here.”
“It’s fine; it’s always been like this,” she grumbles as I drop her bag on a yellow folding table near the door.
“It’s not safe.”
“The building is secure, Levi. Stop thinking like a cop for five minutes,” she says, opening the bag, pulling out an armful of laundry, and carrying it to one of the machines.
“I am a cop. Telling me to stop thinking like a cop is like asking a doctor not to save lives. This building is secure, but that doesn’t mean criminals don’t live here, or that people don’t give out the code to the door.”