Page 96 of Fight

After days of soft, overprocessed food, this meal is hitting the spot. She must have the same thought, because the next words out of her mouth are, “It’s so nice to eat something crunchy!”

As soon as we finish dinner, I’m making small talk about plans for this week, hoping it helps assure her nothing is changing. She’s not leaving.

I’m not concerned, and she shouldn’t be either.

She mentions she’s working tomorrow, and I give her a questioning look. Scottie quickly makes me aware that any protests against her decision to return to work so soon are useless. The cut on her forehead has barely healed and she’s ready to clock in. However, she says she won’t be going out on calls for a couple weeks until her shoulder is healed. That’s gonna drive her nuts.

We pay the bill and return to the truck. Within minutes, we’re already back at her front door. She insists she doesn't need me to escort her inside, and for the second time today, I drive away from her.

Instant regret.

I make it a block before I realize I didn’t even kiss her good night.

“Fuck this.”

I whip the truck around and hit the accelerator. As soon as I park next to her building, I jump out. The last time I was here, Iwas seeing red, but now I’m able to take in more details. There’s a cheap storm door with vertical metal bars and ornamental scrollwork that probably looked new in the sixties. Its metal used to be painted white, but now it’s mostly rust, and large chips of paint flake off when I open the door with a god-awful screech, like nails on a chalkboard. Blue painter’s tape is holding together the cracked glass on the other side.

I’m taken aback when the door behind the rusty one has a broken lock.How did I not see that before?Anybody could just meander in here. I remember her apartment number from when she gave me her address, and I locate her name on one of the interior mailboxes to confirm I’m right. Again,anybodycould do it. I head upstairs and stand outside her door like I did once before. This time I knock.

As soon as she opens the door, I step over the threshold, crushing my lips against hers. My hands cup the sides of her neck, and she grips my forearms. Walking her backward into the space, I kick the door shut and groan as she responds to my kiss with equal fervor. I’m lost in her.

She slides a palm to my nape, raking her nails down my scalp and sending chills down my arms.I love it when she does that.I slip on of my hands into her back pocket, letting my fingers grasp the globe of her ass. Blood is rushing south. Despite every instinct coursing through me, I release her. I have to think clearly, or I will end up fucking her right where we stand. Though, I’ve had worse ideas.

I press my forehead to hers, and we chuckle through panting breaths.

“You forgot to kiss me good night,” she says.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Sudden movement in my peripheral draws my gaze through the rest of her apartment… well, her studio. My lips part, and I turn in a circle, regarding her living conditions.

On top of being small, the walls are paintedwith so many water stains it almost looks intentional. They extend to the carpet, which was probably beige when it was first installed. To her credit, she’s done everything possible to make it homey, but there’s only so much lipstick you can put on a pig. I’ve stayed at some shady places before, slept wrapped up in a tarp under the stars, lived in a camper for a bit, and I’d take any of those over this. I don’t think twice about asking her to stay with me.

I need to find a delicate way to propose she move in with me without being insulting or pushy.Be delicate. Be delicate…

“This place is a dump,” I blurt.Well, I tried.

She shoves my shoulder and laughs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well, I’m begging you to stay with me instead.”

The smile drops off her face. “Why? I live here.”

I shake my head.

“Not anymore. You can’t live in a place like this. It’s not safe.” I plead with her.

“Cal, it’s not that bad. I make due. The rent is cheap, and I can pay month to month…”

“Yeah, no shit.” Out of the corner of my eye, something scurries across the floor, and this time, I spot it. My eyes track the small brown rat as it runs along the side of her half-deflated air mattress that sits on the floor behind her.Oh, hell no.

“What’s your pet’s name?” I give a chin lift in its direction.

Her brow knits in confusion. “I don’t have a pet.”

I point behind her, and she turns, scrambling backward and bumping into me. I catch her so she doesn't trip. “Looks like you do now.”

“Ugh!” She shudders. “I hate rats.”

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