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Dylan slid into the door just as the door lock clicked open.
“Shit.” Dylan grabbed onto the rattling doorknob.
“Your door is stuck, Mr. Gallagher. Do I need to call the fire department?”
Derek threw the towel—okay, the tea towel—at Dylan’s crotch.
Because Gus had no sense of self-preservation, he picked that moment to trot over. Derek caught his collar just in time.
“I heard a large crash down there and then shouting.” More yanking at the door. “Are you injured? Is there an intruder?” Her tone shifted as if she believed Jack the Ripper lurked behind the door. “I’m on the phone to the 9–1–1 dispatch. I could have the police here in—”
With one hand keeping the undersized terry cloth in place, he let go of the doorknob without undoing the chain. “I’m fine, Carol,” Dylan said. “Sorry for the loud noise. I just knocked something over… and I was yelling at the TV. Hockey game.” He hoped his voice carried through her phone. “Please, tell dispatch I’m fine.”
Carol looked him up and down through the slit in the door. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I just got out of the shower.”
“How were you watching hockey in the shower? And you’re not wet.” She said with another perusal of his body. “Just very cold, apparently.”
Internally cursing, he hid his bottom half behind the door.
An urgent voice came through the speaker of Carol’s phone. “Ma’am, did you say there was a man with a hickey in the shower?”
“Hockey, not hickey. He said he was watching hockey naked in the shower for some reason.” Carol’s voice echoed off the back alley behind the building. “I said naked. Damn bad service. I said he was naked and watching hockey, not naked with a hickey.” She turned on the speakerphone as if the volume wasn’t loud enough before.
At least its volume covered Derek’s snort.
“Ma’am, can you please explain if you’re experiencing an emergency?”
“Can you just tell the operator I’m fine?” Dylan sighed.
“He says he’s fine.” After a few more exchanges with dispatch, Carol ended the call. Her expression shifted from concern to suspicion. “Now Mr. Gallagher…” She kept her hand in Dylan’s door so he couldn’t shut it. She sniffed twice. Like a bloodhound. “I ignored all that equipment I saw you bringing in and the man setting up that ultra-highspeed internet connection.”
Confusion outstripped his irritation. “What does the internet connection have to do with—?
“My sister told me all about those websites and how people make money with them. No judgment here. We all have to make ends meet these days. My sister might not understand that, but I do.” She looked at him with pity. “But I need you to keep it down during quiet hours.”
“You think I’m a—oh-NO, I’m not—”
“And since,” her voice became low, almost conspiratorial. “And since I’m keeping your little secret, can I ask you a question?”
“A question?”
“Did you see any signs of a large dog while you were down helping Mr. Chang with his toilet earlier?”
An aggressive breeze made Dylan’s nipples pucker painfully.
“A large dog? Not that I saw.”
“But you’ll tell me if you see it, won’t you? It’s really important we feel safe in our building after all.”
“Sure.” He yawned to disguise how bad he was at lying.
“Alright. Good night, Mr. Gallagher. You are quite handsome, aren’t you.” The knowing smile she gave Dylan caused the rest of him to shrivel as much as another certain part of him already had.
Derek tossed Dylan some clothes and collapsed into a chair and covered his face with a pillow to muffle his laughter. “Not sure which is more surprising—that Carol Taylor thinks a fast internet connection means you’re making amateur porn down here or that she’s more okay with that than Gus living here. I mean, you? A cam boy? The way she said you were handsome. Duuude.”
“Yeah, the idea of me being a porn star is completely absurd,” Dylan said dryly. Dylan had been ready to laugh until the last bit. Derek was laughing a little too hard at the idea of him being an amateur porn star.