Page 19 of The Last Good Man

Silently chuckling at that ridiculous thought, I move past the elevator and down the stairs.

Reaching the front of the building, I look up at Aretha’s windows, hoping to see that man again.

No chance, though.

Sunk in thought, I head home on foot, not even considering that man’s unreasonable demands.

4

MELODY

Friday

I select my outfit with great care, elegant and sexy, not too revealing. And I’m doing it out of habit, not because I’ll meet Thomas tonight.

This time, I'm going for a slim–fit, off–the–shoulder lavender cape dress with a rhinestone-studded clutch and matching sandals.

The color highlights my dark brown hair flowing down my back in large, lazy rings, yet the sandals are not thegreatestpick, considering the weather outside.

It’s been raining since nine in the morning.

I took a cab to work–I usually do it when the weather is nasty—and now I’m waiting for Thomas to pick me up.

He’s late, which isn’t a good sign, yetan explanation arrives in the form ofa brief text message.

He’d been held up at work and gotten home late. It happens, so I won’t hold it against him.

While prancing around my small yet stylishly decorated apartment, my fingers slide across my phone again, my eyesgoing to the recent calls.

I find that stranger's number right there, tucked between a string of calls from work, my mother, my sister, and my friend, Alice.

I haven’t thought about him since last night.

Once I decided his behavior and demands were absolutely hilarious, I refused to go back and think about him with an ounce of seriousness.

Despite all that, my lips curl into a smile as I peer at his number and save it in my contacts list.

After a brief deliberation, I nickname him ‘The Impossible Man.’

What better name for someone who's forced his way into my phone?I could alsojustdelete his number and forget about him.I won’t call him anyway.

And I’m about to do that when my phone rings, and I take the call, forgetting about him.

“I’m downstairs,” Thomas says, and I swivel to the window, slide the curtain to the sideand give him a wave.

“I’m coming,” I say and end the call before turning my phone off, sliding it into my bag, and putting on my gloves.

Moments later, Thomas Everett, a man with a pleasant grin and a clean-shaven face, greets me inside a black limousine while the driver holds the door for me.

My date is set to impress me, and I welcome his grand gesture with a smile and a peck on his face.

“Is this a special occasion?” I ask, making sure my cape doesn’t wrinkle while removing the gloves I just put on.

His eyes move away from my face as the driver reclaims his seat and sets the car in motion.

“You are special to me,’ he says, not looking at me.

My gaze clings to his profile for a few more seconds before I peruse his Armani suit and expensive tie.

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