Page 7 of Don't Fall

“Is it? My place?!” I drop Dick in her lap and move on to the kitchen. I’ve got my hand on the door to the pantry when I hear her make an almost painful sound. “What?”

She makes a face to match the sound. “I forgot to pick up more coffee when I was out yesterday.” I get it now. The sound. The face. It was in anticipation of the pain I’m about to inflict on her.

“Drea! It’s coffee! Coffee should always be available for those who need it! It’s coffee for God’s sake!” I don’t know why I keep referencing coffee as if it’s a legally required beverage or something. Clearly, I’m the only one who understands and respects the importance of the coffee and one’s need for it. “I can’t believe you, Drea. I need the coffee. I need the coffee like I need the air. No air, no Tessa.”

She laughs at my plight. “I get it; you need the coffee like you need the crack. Why don’t you just go home and ask if Hot New Neighbor can spare a cup? Actually, that’s totally what you should do.” Her eyes light up and she’s suddenly wide awake. Scheming does this to her.

“You’re out of your mind. I’m not asking Hot New – Michael – for anything.” I look at the curtains blowing in from the balcony. “I am going to go and stand out there to try and get high on the scent though.”

“Get that crack, girl.” She giggles and hurls the one remaining throw pillow from the sofa at me, I guess in lieu of cracking a whip at my heels? I don’t know. I do know it hits me upside the head just as I reach the doorway, causing me to step outside looking even more disheveled than I did before.

“Good morning.”

I yelp. “Holy shit. You scared me.” I scramble to straighten my hair, or, at least push it back out of my face. On second thought, maybe I’m better off leaving it there. I’m fairly certain last night’s makeup doesn’t look so hot this morning.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to keep startling you.” But he’s grinning, so I’m thinking I don’t buy that.

“Well, stop creeping up on me and that won’t be an issue.”

He laughs. It’s a baffled laugh. Like he can’t believe the things I’m accusing him of. “I was out here first. If anything, you’re the one creeping up on me this morning.”

“I smelled coffee.” It’s the truth. It’s also the only thing I can think to say. It’s pretty much the only thing I can think period. And not because it’s the crack. Because he’s fucking gorgeous. Ugh. Drea was right. Hot New Neighbor suits him way better than Michael. I must have been really out of it last night not to notice sooner. Well, that and the whole thinking he was a rapist burglar thing did sort of sway my perception of him.

He holds up his mug. Steam is still coming out of it. He must have just refilled it. Bastard.

“Would you like a cup?” God, he’s so nice. Gorgeous and nice. That can’t be right.

“I’m dying for one actually. Drea’s pantry is deprived. Of coffee...” I’m rambling like a buffoon. If buffoons could talk. I think being around him is making me stupid.

“Deprived of coffee, huh?” I don’t think he understands the importance of the coffee either. This helps. He’s losing his appeal already. Plus, he’s still holding a cup of the liquid life source and I’m not, which honestly, I’m starting to feel a bit resentful over.

“When you asked if I wanted a cup, were you just inquiring out of interest or were you actually offering to share?”

He chuckles softly, holding up his finger indicating for me to wait before he disappears inside his – my - apartment. When he comes back out, he’s holding two big mugs.

Good God, he’s hot.

For a moment, he looks as if he’s contemplating the best way to hand it to me from one balcony to the other.

“May I?” I point over to his landing.

“Come over here?” He doesn’t seem to think that’s possible. Little does he know that before Drea landed this place, I was neighbors with Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucas.

Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucaswas never comfortable with handing out a spare set of keys, but had no problem with leaving his balcony door unlocked and asking me to break into his apartment on a regular basis. Always Locks His Keys Inside Lucas is in jail now. Broke into someone’s house. Some nights I worry I gave him the wrong idea about things.

I wave my hand impatiently to get him to back up. I really want that first sip of coffee to happen while it’s still piping hot. Holding onto the outside light, I step up onto the railing and then climb into the frame of the window separating our unit from his. If I had a fear of heights this would be problematic, as it is, I pause briefly to remind myself that this is smarter than walking through the apartment and out through the front door because this way Drea can’t see me, then continue onto the neighboring window where I can repeat the steps I took leaving Drea’s balcony to join Michael on mine.

I’m about to hop off the railing and into safety when his hand comes out to assist me. Out of habit, I reach for the light again, cursing myself and my stupid instincts as I do it. Holding his hand would have been nice.

“Impressive.” He grins, retrieving the cup he set down when he thought he was going to help me down, and handing it to me.

“Back at ya.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His eyes narrow and an awkwardness creeps in. “Excuse me?”

“The coffee,” I say, hurrying to actually have a sip, “it’s impressive. I could tell just by smelling it.” The coffee’s not bad. But it’s not leaving nearly the impression his naked body did last night. Which is somehow all I can think about, now that I’m standing here, looking at him fully clothed. I missed a lot of details during our first interactions. Many of which are coming back to me in a rush of blurred images, bleeding into my mind one after the other, making themselves far more comfortable than I’d like.

He’s tall. I’m tall and I have to look up to talk to him. But, he’s not lanky like most dudes his height. He’s got sturdy, broad shoulders and an overall body that looks like it moves often and well. But, he lacks the gym body bulk, which I sort of loathe. I always imagine gym bulk to be the equivalent to fake boobs. It’s perky and big and perfect, but it’s just not natural. Neither is the ink which, as I can attest to, covers the majority of his skin, but I can very comfortably call that art, and art is like a step up from natural. So, you know, it works.

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