Page 181 of The Last Good Man

There are no moving cars, andthe odds of him showing up diminishwithevery passing hour.I finally turnoff the TV and night lamp andpoweroff my phone, convinced he only said what he said to tease me.

I roll onto my side, fold my arm under my head, and think about him. Moonlight drips across the floors as I stare out the window, restless and nostalgic.

I wish I could see life through his eyes.

He is such a force of nature, wild and unpredictable, living outside the lines, while my life is so predictable.

I almost never push myself out of my comfort zone whilehe doesn’t even know what a comfort zone is.

My thoughts become fuzzy as I almost fall asleep.

I’m not fully snoozing when I hear a noise at the door, and jerk upright, my eyes wide.

For a moment, I don’t even know whether I locked the dooror not.

I did.

Luckily, I did.

A quiet click tells me the door is now open.

I quietly roll off the bed and tiptoe to the window.First I need to check the cars. I see nothing suspicious.

What if it’s not him?

Where is my phone?

Oh, crap. My phone is not even on.

His car is not in the front. It wouldn’t be anyway because there aren’t any parking spots.

If it’s him, he must’ve come on foot.

If it’s him, I’m not naked,andI’ve disregarded his instructions.

Out of ideas, I slide to the floor and roll under the bedjustas the door opens.

His smell drifts into the room, rolling over me.

I must look silly now, hiding under the bed in myownhome. I will never be able to recover from that.

His Italian shoes move around the bed, and then I hear his buckle unfastening.

“Get out, baby. It doesn’t suit you.”

Oh, my God.

How embarrassing.

His jacket swishes as it falls on the armchair.

“For someone used to boss people around, you’re not very good at taking orders,” he says, his raspy voice holding a smile.

A few moments pass before his top lands on his jacket.

“What did I tell you?” he goes on. “I bet you’re not naked.”

A soft laugh gurgles in my chest.

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