Page 42 of Choke

“She’s like the big red button that says ‘do not push.’ She is the itch of a mosquito bite you know you shouldn’t scratch. She blew me off all those years ago, and…” I hesitate a moment. How do I tell him I need to possess her without sounding completely unhinged?

“You hate to lose.” He supplies.

Yeah. That’s precisely it. I hate to lose. I nod, and he looks satisfied as if he understands. The thing is, this isn’t about winning; it’s about making her mine.

“I get it. I hate losing. I fucking love pushing buttons.” He quips, and we both laugh.

We chat a little longer, the conversation light. When we walk outside together, he slaps his hand on my shoulder, the tension of earlier gone.

“Will I see you at the charity game next weekend?” He asks.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say.

We say our goodbyes, and he climbs into his unmarked cruiser. I watch him pull away, knowing he’ll head home and be the advocate I need so that everyone backs off and lets me figure this out, meaning I am free to push things with Lex to the next level.

Everything’s Fine

Lex

Lane’s face is etched with concern as she asks, “What can I do?”

I’m moving as fast as I can. My building manager called 15 minutes ago. My house sitter arrived this morning to check on Millie and found my front door ajar and the place out of sorts. They had already called the police and confirmed Millie was fine, but they encouraged me to come home, file a formal report, and check for missing items.

They told me Millie was fine, but I won’t believe it until I see her. Until I know for sure. And I need to know what was taken. My heart slams against my chest, and it takes everything I have not to fall apart.

What the fuck!

“Lex, stop.” Lane grips both my arms, forcing me to face her.

Tears prick my eyes. I need to keep moving.

She pulls me into a tight embrace before I can tell her to let me go or pull away. Gently rubbing my back. I can feel myself shaking.

“Everything is okay, babe. Your cat is fine. If anything’s missing, you can replace it. It’s just stuff.” She soothes.

Those words have me coming unglued, and I sink into her, quietly crying.

Seriously, what the fuck?

When I finally get myself together, she helps me pack the last of my clothes into my overnight bag and walks me to my car. We say goodbye, and I promise to call her when I finish the police report.

The drive back to the city takes forever and mere seconds. My stomach sinks as I pull into the parking garage. Three police cruisers are parked in front of the building. Isn’t that overkill for a break-in?

The following two hours pass in a blur. Police cleared my condo hours ago, and two cruisers parked outside are responding to a domestic dispute on another floor. The officer is waiting in the building manager’s office. He offers a kind smile and ushers me into the elevator. Sadness and confusion consume me as the elevator rises. The silence is unbearable. I’m about to speak when the officer beats me to it.

“This was likely a crime of opportunity. Your house sitter maybe forgot to lock the door. Or someone went to the wrong apartment.” His voice is gentle and kind, and his cologne is masculine and spicy.

He’s trying to keep me calm.

Can he hear my heart slamming against my ribs?

I nod without speaking but look toward him. He is young, tall, and handsome. When he notices that I have shifted to look at him, he offers a crooked smile, and I can’t help but return it. He looks like the boy next door—sweet and familiar.

I’m struck by déjà vu. Which is impossible—I’ve never had my apartment broken into. I’ve never engaged with the police here. The elevator dings, signaling my floor, and my door at the end of the hall catches my attention. With each step, the rate of my breathing increases. By the time we reach the door, my hand shakes so badly that the officer reaches out and lays a hand on top of mine.

“Ma’am —” He starts.

I interrupt him, “Lex. My name is Lex.” Even my voice shakes.

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