Page 22 of On the Ropes
I slowed to a stop, nearing the turn onto Tenth. “I’m glad I fell into your lap, by the way,” I said. He smothered a cough. “We could even hang out again, if you wanted.”
Dean’s response to that was to stare at me like I was the toughest question on a math test.
“You know…” I continued, “paint the town red. Go a little wild. Have two margaritas, or even stay out till midnight.”
I was rewarded with a half smile. Gone in an instant, like a shooting star. “That sounds like a job for Rowan, not me. You know I’m not the wild type.”
Our eyes connected and held. For a person who claimed not to be wild, the naked lust that flared briefly in his gaze felt untamed to me.
I cocked my head to the side. “What about dancing?”
He looked down at the ground, then back up at me. Shy. Adorable. That spark of passion had vanished, and I wanted to tempt it back.
“You do not want to see me dance, Tabitha.”
“I thought your physical prowess was well documented, Mr. Machine?”
His lips curved up again. “A boxing ring is different than a dance floor. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”
I had a strong hunch there were a lot of things I’d enjoy doing with Dean.
“Maybe some other time, then,” I said. “You know where I live.” I glanced around where we were standing. “Which is here, believe it or not—at least temporarily. How’d you know where to walk me home? Are you staying at your parents’ house tonight?”
He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t know. I moved out a few years ago. Bought that house over there.”
I followed where he was pointing. “You live next to my aunt? She never told me, and we’re constantly texting about TheReal Housewives.”
“The real…what? Wait, are you staying in Linda’s house this month?”
I spun back to face him with a wide smile. “That is exactly where I’m staying. Dean, we’re about to become neighbors.” I dug Linda’s keys from my purse and walked toward her stoop, sniffing a little at the smell of the trash in the empty lot. “I meant to tell you at the bar that I was staying on your old street. I had noidea you lived here too.”
I peered up at his row home, which was near identical to Linda’s. Red brick and slightly run down like everyone else’s. White trim, white door, curtains slightly parted. He had a tiny chair and table next to his stoop.
“I like your house,” I said. “I’m guessing it doesn’t contain as many embarrassing photos of me and Alexis during our teen years. That’s really the whole vibe Aunt Linda was going for, decor-wise, in this place. Plus a lot of photos of both Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi. Right over her TV is a framed copy of the Inquirer the day after the Eagles won the Super Bowl. I think she and my uncle have the final score tattooed on their arms. They wouldn’t be the only people on the block with 41–33 inked somewhere on their body.”
My old friend—and new neighbor—studied me apprehensively. “You and me…we’re neighbors.”
“Yep.”
“We’ll definitely be seeing each other, then.”
“If by seeing you mean dancing all night in bars uptown, then yeah. We sure will.”
He looked at me. Looked at Linda’s house. Back and forth for a few seconds. Then he said, “I don’t have any embarrassing pictures of you. I do have that same article framed on my wall. And I listen to more Springsteen than most people would guess.”
“And that Super Bowl tattoo?”
He hesitated. “Not yet.”
I leaned against my front door. “See? That’s pretty wild. Call me up when you go through with it. I’ll come with. And I’m a good neighbor, I swear. Quiet. Respectful. I sing loudly in the shower, so you might hear that, but feel free to bang on the wall and I’ll shut up.”
“Um. Okay.” His voice was rough.
I slid the keys into the front door and cracked it open an inch. “Do you know the story about this lot? Linda mentioned when I was moving in that it might be a bit of a problem, though you know our street growing up had plenty of empty lots, so I’m used to it.” I scrunched up my nose. “Funny that she made sure to bring up the possibility of possums running rampant next door but not that her neighbor was Philly’s most famous boxer.”
We all loved our aunt Linda to the moon and back, but she was the epitome of quirky relative and nosy as hell with a devotion to dating shows. It made me wonder if this was some kind of sneaky setup—not that I was complaining. But I’d thrown out a few flirtatious signals to the dark-and-stormy hunk standing in front of me, and I couldn’t read his reactions.
Except when he turned toward the lot, revealing his crooked-nose profile. That reaction I could read just fine. He glowered at it, the look not unlike the scary scowl he’d unleashed on Flailing Guy at the bar.
