Page 41 of Petrichor

He keeps asking me to go have fun with him, but I’m too tired these days. My dick keeps pushing for some action, though. I glance at Marco and am surprised to see his intense eyes on my phone. I turn the screen toward my chest, afraid he’ll read the crazy texts.

Iquickly type.

Me

Another day.

And slide the cell back into my bag.

“Who are you texting?” he asks.

“A friend.”

“Will I ever see this friend of yours?”

He wants to meet Art? Why? Must be part of his I-keep-an-eye-on-my-crew bit. He’s very thorough.

Fortunately, the car stops in front of a red, five-story building. It’s unremarkable, with black fire escapes and dirty windows. Marco is the only one following me inside the building. We are not that far from his penthouse, but very far away from all that luxury. It always surprises me how a few blocks can makes such a stark difference in this city.

The landlord, a lanky guy with a frizzy nest of brown hair, takes us to the second floor. Marco remains silent near me, like an imposing colossus. I can feel his displeasure. Why the hell did he come? I brush it off, concentrating on the landlord’s apathetic voice listing the apartment’s amenities.

“There’re three apartments on each floor.” He points at the other doors as he opens the first one on the right. “This studio gets nice sunlight, the fridge is new, and the bathroom has a bathtub.”

I walk inside and look around at the dusty room. The rent is ridiculously expensive now that I see the tiny place. But it’s quite close to Marco’s and in a nicer area than the one I stayed before.

“As I told you on the phone, the deposit is a month in advance. No loud noises after ten and no clogging the trash chute.”

“I’ve seen enough. Let’s go,” Marco suddenly utters, opening the studio’s front door.

“What?” I ask him, fully confused by his behavior. “I’m not done.”

“Yes, you are,” the jerk insists.

“No, I’m not!” I counter, irked by his demanding act. I get that he orders and people follow, but this is my apartment to rent, and it’s my decision.

He lets out an exasperated sigh as he pulls a cigarette out of the pack. He lights it up, silencing the landlord’s protests with a murderous glare. “No elevator. The lock on the door is flimsy at best, the walls are thin, and I bet not soundproofed.” He looks at the landlord, who just blinks at him. “No double-pane windows with a fire station two blocks down.”

“That—” the guy tries to interject, but Marco glowers at him as he takes a pull from his cigarette. “I can see from here that the pipes in the bathroom are rusty, the boiler is fucking ancient. Should I go on?” Keeping his eyes on the unnerved landlord, he smoothly moves the side of his jacket, purposely showing the gun hanging from the leather shoulder holster underneath.

The guy takes a step back, almost tripping over his feet. “Y-yes. He’s right on all counts.” His voice cracks at the end, and I cannot fucking believe it.

“I’m the one looking for a place. Not him,” I let the landlord know.

“You can’t be interested in this particular one.”

“And why the fuck not?” I question him, unable to rein my fury.The landlord is not looking at me, though. But at Marco. Like he can feel who the alpha a-hole is in the room. Utter shit!

“Pl-please leave.” His trembling hands and tense body tell me it’s useless to keep fighting for something I’m not even sure I want.

I storm out of the room, stomping my way down the stairs. “Why did you do that?” I bark over my shoulder without stopping.

“Do what?” Marco asks flatly.

Jesus, he’s so infuriating. Why do I like him? He's straight, rude and overbearing. I must be nuts—my past partners are hard evidence of it. I push the heavy front door open and walk away without watching where I’m going. I’m suddenly being tugged back as his hand wraps around my arm.

“It’s raining. Where the fuck are you going?”

My eyes fall on the car still idling near the sidewalk. I can see Luca through the open window, giving me serious side eye. Who do they think I am, Lupin the Third?

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