5. Gianna

I stood at the massive wall of windows, studying the Boston skyline. The zoo sign needed finishing touches, but the skyline had been screaming at me for hours.

It could be a challenge to channel creativity into what I was forced to do when deadlines and client demands became the priority. And I'd learned not to ignore inspiration for too long, or I'd get all gummed up. Then nothing I painted or drew would be anything but trash, whether for myself or for the job.

The zoo signs were going well. I'd have no trouble finishing the detailing before opening night under the stars next week. Even if I gave myself the night off.

My mother always said that food feeds the body, but creativity feeds the soul. And my soul felt bruised.

I was hopeful that being in Boston would give me a break from dealing with Jake on the regular, but even while I worked remotely, he emailed and called me multiple times a day. Almost like he was checking in on me. Like he was concerned that I wasn't doing my job with the zoo. I'd never given anything but a million percent to any of my designs, so the distrust was unnecessary and frustrating.

Between dealing with my asshole ex—who, although didn't leave me heartbroken, definitely left me feeling dumb and unwanted, not to mention embarrassed—and not having a place or space that was my own, failure hovered strong. I needed some soul food. And in this moment, between the view and some angry music, I found some peace.

I lifted my brush again and turned off all thought. The yellows blended into the grays and blacks, giving light to the buildings. My lips moved along with the words to the Miley Cyrus song, as if they had a mind of their own, while I worked. I had just finished lighting the buildings when a noise in the kitchen startled me.

I turned and jumped when I caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the counter. My heart pounded, even as he came into focus and I realized it was Emerson.

Pausing the music, I shot him a glare. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugged. "I'm not good at time."

Lips parted, I sucked in a breath, ready to lay into him. But I had no idea how to respond to that. He couldn't mean he didn't know how to read a clock. That would be ridiculous.

"Sorry." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't. It's just weird that you're standing there." I pressed my lips together, squirming as he watched me with a look of concentration on his face.

What was he hoping to see? I was a mess. I could guarantee I had paint on my face. It tended to happen when I got into a design. Hackles raised, I braced myself for him to comment on it, to mock me. He wouldn't be the first.

But rather than criticize me, he took a swig of his water and shrugged. "Standing is not weird. Juggling would be. Especially since I'm not good at it."

The air whooshed out of my lungs, and I dropped my shoulders, confused. "What?"

His face lit up in a full smile. "Crazy, right? I should be excellent at it. I catch balls for a living. But it's the damnedest thing." He chuckled deeply, and although I wasn't following him, the sound rumbled through my stomach. The man was oddly sexy. "Every time I try, I toss those balls up and they just rain on my head like bird shit."

I scoffed. What did he expect me to say to that? It's cool that you're a bad juggler? Or Yeah, I hate being dusted by bird droppings?

"Well, I'm just gonna zoom over to the shower."

I set my paintbrush down and turned. "Didn't you just shower?"

According to Chris, the guys always hit the showers after a game. It was why they took so long to get to the team room.

"Nah, locker room showers are typically just a quick rinse-and-go so I don't stink." He waved his hand in front of his nose. "Between the dirt and sweat"—lips quirked on one side, he made a clicking sound—"it's no bueno."

I huffed a laugh. "I grew up with Chris. I get it."

His eyes twinkled as he full-on laughed. "Yeah, I knew for sure Avery loved him when she ended up in the closet with him after the game but pre-shower."

A shudder ran through me. Those were details about my brother I had no interest in.

"Anyway, this is my wind-down shower. So…"He held his arms out on either side of him and took off, making a motor noise.

For several seconds, I stared at the empty space he'd left behind. Was he pretending to be a plane? Whatever he was doing, he'd left me all kinds of off-kilter.

Finally, I flicked the music back on and focused on my painting again. I'd only just gotten back into the zone when a loud pounding interrupted me.

I growled and tossed my brush down. I swore if a neighbor was here to complain about my music, I might chew them out. It had been a long day already, and I didn't have time for idiocy.

I yanked the door open to a guy in a gray polo, a pair of shorts, and the brightest blue Revs socks I'd ever seen.

"Where is Mr. Damiano?" he asked.

Great, a fan. I'd dealt with enough of them in my life, so I'd gotten pretty good at scaring them off quickly.

"Not here." I crossed my arms and arched a brow, making sure to don that mask Jake had mistaken for resting bitch face.

"Someone must be," he said, craning his neck and peering into the apartment, "because, clearly, you haven't showered."

My shoulders tightened in irritation. "Excuse me?" This guy was something. Yeah, I may be dotted in paint, and I was sporting leggings and T-shirt, but I wasn't disgusting.

He pushed past me and moved down the hall.

"Listen, asshole," I said, but my words were drowned out as he beat on Emerson's bathroom door.

"Shut the water off now," the guy barked, not looking back at me.

An instant later, the water stopped, but that didn't stop the fucker from pounding on the door. He only dropped his hand when it swung open and Emerson appeared.

My mouth went dry at the sight of him. My roommate had a white towel wrapped around his waist, and there were streams of water running down his broad shoulders, silver chain around his neck, over his tan chest, and settling into the divots of his abs. Without my permission, my eyes followed the drops as they continued their journey.

My perusal came to an abrupt halt, though, when he cleared his throat. Sucking in a breath, I forced my eyes to his face, finding him smiling sweetly at me. I ground my teeth. Dammit. He'd caught me ogling him. He flicked his hair back, flinging water on the dude who was hovering too close to the doorjamb.

"You're causing a flood downstairs," the dick growled.

Emerson blinked in confusion, and his smile fell. He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, the fuckface continued his tirade.

"It doesn't take a genius to know to shut off the water when there is a leak."

In the next heartbeat, the light left Emerson's eyes. Fuck, the look was all wrong on him. Sad Emerson shouldn't exist.

The defeat in his posture sent my blood boiling. I'd had enough. Yanking on the guy's arm, I spun him toward me. He stumbled, but caught himself quickly and pulled his thin arm out of my grasp. The glare he hit me with was surely meant to intimidate me, but clearly, he didn't know who he was dealing with.

"Listen, dickwad," I gritted out, pulling my shoulders back and tipping my chin to towel-clad Emerson, who was still dripping water all over the floor beneath him. "This poor guy just finished winning a game for a team you like, if your socks are any indication." I pointed down to the high socks and shorts look this tool bag was failing to pull off. "All he wanted was to unwind. The only way he could have known a pipe was leaking was if he could see the fucking future. And as quirky as he is, I don't get the genie lamp or a wizard vibe. Do you?" I lifted my brows.

The man's only response was sputtered nonsense.

"That's what I thought." I took a step closer. "So maybe calm the fuck down and think twice about yelling at the person paying rent for an apartment you apparently don't take care of very well."

At this point, my finger was slammed into the man chest, but I wasn't done. I'd show this douche?—

My tirade was cut off by a chuckle in my ear and a strong, damp arm wrapped around my waist. Normally, I'd flinch away from a germy shower towel because they were almost as bad as sheets, but the warmth of his body above the white fabric froze me in place.

"Thanks, Mariposa," Emerson said, pulling me away from the assholey little man.

His breath ghosted across my ear, and I fought the shiver that tried to race down my spine at the sensation. Leave it to my body to betray me when this overzealous puppy stuck in a gorgeous man's body touched me.

Rather than release me, he kept his arm wrapped around my midsection, and though I could have been hallucinating, I swore he brought his nose to my hair and inhaled.

Holy. Shit. Did he sniff me? Did I smell? Oh shit. The comment he'd made about the shower flashed through my mind. I had showered early in the day. But maybe I'd worked up a sweat?—

"If you've got your woman under control?—"

My body clenched for a totally different reason, and I pushed at his arm, ready to toss my gloves and show this man just how out of control I could be.

But Emerson stepped around me and stood between us, protecting the idiot who clearly had a death wish. I stepped to one side, but Emerson reached one large hand back and set it on my hip, his fingers biting into my skin, stopping me.

The contact sent my heart tripping over itself, distracting me from the moment.

"I'm sorry, sir," Emerson said, keeping his tone polite, as always. "But regardless of the state of my relationship with Gianna or any woman, I'd never attempt to control them. I find most of the female population way more capable than us idiots."

His disarming smile had the guy snorting. But my stomach flipped at Emerson's statement and the respect in his tone.

He released me, and with both hands up in front of him, he stepped back toward his room.

"Why don't you relax in the living room, sir? Give me a second to get dressed, and then we can talk. I'll do whatever I can to help." He smiled like a big, dumb dope at the man who had been nothing but awful since he stepped into the apartment.

"Well." The man shifted on his feet and pursed his lips. "The people who live below you are Revs fans. I'm sure an autograph from your roommate would go a long way in smoothing things over."

The light in Emerson's eyes dulled, but he nodded and pasted a phony smile to his face. "Done. Dragon always has a few signed photos around."

Five minutes later, the asshole left happily, with Emerson's promise to not use the bathroom and a handful of signed pictures of my brother.

"There's no way I would have given him my brother's autograph," I said as soon as the door was closed. "I was seriously considering castration."

Emerson chuckled. "Really? I totally didn't get that vibe."

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't like how he was talking to you."

The corner of Emerson's mouth lifted just a bit, drawing my attention to his strong jawline and the fine layer of scruff there. Normally, facial hair looked messy, but the dark shadow on Emerson's otherwise innocent face worked.

"The way you stuck up for me definitely roller-coastered my stomach. I'm not sure anyone has ever fought like that for me."

My shoulders tightened at his words. Seriously? I narrowed my eyes at him. This guy was sweet enough to cause a toothache. How was it possible that he didn't have an army at his back?

He shrugged. "I stay out of the way and do my best to keep people smiling."

I assessed the happy man in front of me, taking him in from head to toe. I would never have guessed by his constant positivity that he'd had a hard life, but suddenly, I was questioning a lot of things.

Jaw locked, I asked, "What does that mean?"

Emerson shifted on his bare feet and pressed his hands together in front of him. The pop of his knuckles as they cracked filled the silence around us.

"Emerson?"

Finally glancing my way, he sighed. "I'm the oldest of four. My mom's time was stretched thin, and I didn't need her to protect me. She had other people to worry about."

His focus drifted over my shoulder, like he couldn't look at me and say the next words.

"I was seventeen when I moved to triple-A. They treated me like a goofball kid, teased me endlessly. So I leaned into it. Made a point to make them laugh so that they didn't hate me."

My heart ached at the words and the hint of sadness in his usually jovial tone. "What?"

"Gianna." He finally met my gaze, his normally bright green eyes tinged with brown looking almost muddied and hollow. "I was a kid, on a team full of men. I had no friends and barely any life skills. But I made sure they'd never have to go out of their way to do shit for me. The last thing I wanted was for them to resent me, so I stayed out of the way."