Elliot holds up his hands in defeat. “I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. You caught me off guard, that’s all.”
I remember the baseball tickets Mr. Gordon told me about. He’s obviously a super fan. “You love it as much as Craig, don’t you? Baseball?”
He adjusts his cap and offers an oddly melancholy smile. “I must. I’ve played it all my life. From little league to college. And after Nationals, I was called up to the majors.” He chuckles, almost to himself. “Last year we almost made it to those last games your brother loves.”
“Wait.” I feel the need to take a knee. “You play baseball. Professionally?”
Elliot rubs his jaw, looking abashed. “Looks like I have more of an ego about it than I thought I did. I’ve been keeping under the radar for the last few months until Rue and I get settled. That’s why George let me stay at his place and Mr. G is in on the secret.”
“He’s a vault,” I assure him honestly. “I have no idea what the woman who lives on the fourth floor does, and I didn’t know anything about you beyond your philanthropic ticket purchases until you told me.”
“Fourth is a mystery to all of us,” Elliot says with a small grin.
I really should have guessed he was an athlete. With two brothers who used to compete in mixed martial arts, I know what it takes to keep a body in peak physical condition. Elliot is a prime specimen who has obviously spent a lifetime dedicated to his craft. His thighs alone should have given away the game.
“I was the geek babysitting for people who went to those games,” I explain by way of apology. “And I loved hanging out with the kids, but taking care of them meant I didn’t have that much time for extracurricular activities. Unless you count gaming. Of the tabletop, PS and Xbox variety. Which I’m sure you don’t, because you’ve been out there having a life.”
In the sunshine. With normal adults.
His green eyes never leave mine. “I’ve been out there playing baseball. And you’re in pretty good shape for a gamer. You aren’t interested in sports at all?”
“Bicycling,” I tell him. “Potato sack races. Swimming.”
His lips quirk. “You threw in the potato sack thing just to fuck with me, didn’t you?”
The elevator doors open and I breathe a sigh of simultaneous relief and disappointment. “No lie. I’m a championship sack racer from way back. And if that doesn’t impress you, for one brief week last summer, I played for a local quidditch team.”
I was not a Keeper. At least, not a good one.
His laugh follows me out into the lobby. “Now you’re just making up words.”
I spin on my heel to see if he’s serious and notice he’s thoughtfully positioned his duffle to keep the doors open. Because of my storage containers. Which I forgot.
But that’s not important right now.
“You have a child named after a character in a young adult series and you don’t know who Harry Potter is?”
“Rue is in Harry Potter?”
I hang my head. “This can’t get any worse.”
“I’m afraid it can. I only watch ESPN, and when I’m on the bus, I listen to murder mysteries.”
“Thinks murder is entertaining,” I tip my head back to tell the ceiling. “Qualities I always look for in a neighbor.”
“Then you’ll love George.” His eyes are full of warmth and humor as he watches me. “Come on. Let me help you get these out of the elevator.”
As he reaches for the first two tubs, I mentally add mystery lover and sports fanatic to my short list of his flaws. I need something to balance out the fact that I couldn’t have created a more attractive man if I owned an attractive man factory.
I wouldn’t have thought to add a crook to the bridge of his nose or that small scar near his temple. That chip in his tooth wouldn’t have occurred to me. I never would have chosen a haircut that short.
Despite all that, the whole package is really working for me, including his easygoing personality. And don’t get me going on the way the man smells. I still can’t pick out the exact notes. Sunshine and summer and some kind of tree. But if I could bottle it, I’d name it, I Want to Have Sex with You by (probably) Calvin Klein.
Straight. Straight. Straight.
I glance around the empty lobby, needing to think about something else. “You don’t have to do that. Where’s Mr. Gordon? I can use his cart.”
His biceps bulge and his perfect ass is flexing with the movement, but other than that he might as well be toting feathers. I had no idea baseball players were this muscular. “He should be around here somewhere. Unless he’s visiting the old woman on the second floor. Mrs. Hewitt. She can’t get around the way she used to, so when he has time, he brings her cookies and they gossip about the rest of us. If your car’s in the parking garage around back, you could go pull it around and I’ll get these in your trunk.”