Page 3 of Alik

Slowly, I turn my head his way. I look like a sociopath, don’t I? Standing here waiting for him to leave so I can follow after him. I don’t even have any mail.

Of course we’re supposed to walk together.

I should’ve stayed in my apartment.

I didn’t think this through.

“Umm yeah, right.” I shut my box and cross my arms over my chest before walking toward him with my head down. Worms wiggle beneath my skin, and I shudder, rubbing my hands up and down my arms to get them to stop.

My neighbor opens the stairwell door for me, and I scurry through it with a feeblethank youon my lips that I can’t even voice because his scent drifts into my nostrils when I pass.

It nearly stops me cold, but I force my feet to keep moving as I swallow. Tingles spread over my neck as I climb the stairs with him behind me, his eyes naturally on my back, I’m sure. I wish I would’ve washed my hair. Or worn cuter jeans. Do I have dandruff? Do I smell?

I press my nose to my shoulder then sniff as slyly as I can, but all I seem to smell is his lingering scent. It’s like a tattoo on my senses. It’s another thing I’ll never be able to capture on a page.

“You left your window open, by the way.”

My steps halt for a moment as my knees lock, but then I force myself to keep moving, even as my heavy breathing returns. He’ll think it’s the stairs. I hope.

“Oh.”

“And a light on.”

When we reach our floor, I walk a little faster, but slow when I remember my door isn’t locked, and I don’t have a key to pretend to unlock it. He’ll know I was home if he doesn’t already.

I want to cry.

Mercifully, he steps around me and up to his door when I start shuffling my feet. I breathe his masculine scent, unable to help myself yet again.

It’s a chilly January night in Vegas, so he’s wearing his usual black, fleece jacket that matches his black jeans and dark hair like someone told him he didn’t look villainous enough. It could be part of his look, or it could be to blend into the darkness to hide the crimes he must be committing. Up to this point, I’ve been content to never know. To just imagine. Dream. Let him be the bad boy across the hall who quickens my heart rate and excites my nerves. But watching him now, I wish I had the courage to ask which it is because up this close, I’m dying to know.

I turn to my door but stop when he speaks to me yet again.

“Hold on a second, I have something for you.”

My hand on the knob, I feel my muscles go taut while I stare at the splintered wood around the peephole. His key turns in his lock, and he goes inside his apartment, returning a minute later.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn around.

For the very first time, the man in 3B and I lock eyes.

My breath hitches.

My heart stops.

My throat closes.

A humming in my ears has me straining to hear him before he ever even speaks. I can feel my lips part, and I want to close them, but I can’t. My jaw won’t shut.

I am pathetic. Horribly, truly pathetic.

Because all at once, in an innocent, normal, everyday look, he captures me in his strange eyes and steals my free will. I can’tmove or breathe or look away. He doesn’t know my name or care, but right now, he owns me.

When he holds out his hand, I don’t react right away. Not until his beautifully odd eyes start to narrow.

Blinking, I look down at his outstretched hand with an opened envelope in it.

“This was in my box by mistake. I thought you might want it back.”

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