Page 11 of Another Round
Instead, I do what I always do when I don’t know what else to do. I stride from my bedroom to the walk-in closet turned workout room. I jump up and grab the bar bolted between two pillars. Pulling myself up until my chin clears the rod. Crossing my legs at the ankles and squeezing my shoulder blades down and together. Over and over until streams of sweat gush down my back and my trembling muscles burn in protest. Only quitting when a piercing buzz breaks the silence. Signaling her door has opened. Only a few seconds pass before a knock sounds on mine.
Without even checking, I know it’s her. I’m pissed that it’s her. I’m thrilled that it’s her. I’m curious as to why it’s her.
I drop to my feet and grab a towel from the stack and a shirt from the hook behind the punching bag. Swiping at my damp body as I hustle to the living room. An impish smile greets me when I open the door, and I pretend I’m surprised. “Hey trouble. What’s up?”
“I hadn’t talked to you in while and wanted to see if you want to hang out.”
She holds up one of the wine bottles that had been previously nestled in the sleek chrome stand on her counter and two oversize glasses. A surprisingly sophisticated drink for someone so young but she’s been exposed to wealth and privilege her whole life. I’m sure her parents don’t drink cheap booze.
I also don’t miss her lingering gaze on my bare torso. A clever retort to remind her that my eyes are up here can’t leap from my tongue with my imagination playing tricks on me. Instead I yank on my shirt to stop whatever is going through her mind. Or at least whatever the fuck is going on in mine.
“Sorry love but I’m not much of a drinker.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face fall faster or harder than hers. But fuck if she isn’t resilient. Hiding her disappointment with a quick, fake smile and nonchalant shrug of her narrow shoulders. Already backing out of the doorway. Retreating to her apartment to conceal her embarrassment.
“No worries. Maybe another time.”
“Wait.”
She shouldn’t stay.
But I don’t want her to go.
I step backward and wave her inside. “But I’ll keep you company while you do.”
Hesitation lines her face. Mistakes my guilt for pity. While it’s really shame on my part. I shouldn’t be hanging out with her. Shouldn’t be crossing that line. Shouldn’t be going there.
But I will and I do and I am.
She gives a slow nod. Accepting, I guess, that at least my reluctant companionship is better than being by herself.
My need to be a gentleman kicks in again, and this time I don’t stifle the urge. I lift the bottle and glasses out of her hands, carrying them to the narrow island defining the kitchen from the living room. She hops onto one of the stools. Watching me with apparent curiosity while I release the cork and pour her a healthy amount. She raises her drink in appreciation and approval.
“For someone who doesn’t drink, you’re a pretty good bartender.”
Her luscious grin stays on her plump lips until she brings the rim to her mouth and takes a long sip. Unable to deny how sexy she is and how horrible I am and how wrong we are, I wink back with my own teasing. “Not that hard to pour wine.”
“You’re not that good though at accepting compliments.”
“No, I guess not.” This isn’t flirting. She’s lonely. I’m here. That’s it. “I need to grab a quick shower. Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”
“Yes, but don’t be too long…” She taps the side of her half empty glass with a short pink nail. Reminding both of us how quickly and easily the liquor is going down now that she’s no longer alone. “… or I won’t be as generous with my tip.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes from her playful tone. She’s cute but I can’t give her too much encouragement. “Be good, trouble.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
Her infectious laugh follows me through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Where I make absolutely sure the door is properly and fully closed to avoid any misunderstandings. Besides the cyclone of confusion in my head. No woman has ever affected me before like her. Fucking with my mind and my conscience, that I need to follow. At least this time.
While the water heats, I peel off my damp clothes and toss them into the overflowing laundry basket. The impromptu workout messing with my schedule. Just like she is. Except I’d be a damn liar if I pretend I’m upset. Reminding me how boring my life really has been until she swept into it.
Anxious to get back to her, I wash quickly. No telling what mischief she’ll get herself into in my absence. Rinsing soap off my back, I freeze from the three-tone siren breaking through the white noise of the spray. Raising the alarm in me just as frenzied as the high-pitched wailing. Someone is in the stairwell, and she’s unprotected. Adrenaline floods my veins and in what feels like one long fluid motion, I twist the handle, yank on the running shorts heaped on the dirty clothes pile, grab my weapon off my dresser, and race through the living room where she stares at me in astonishment. “Stay here.”
With no time to explain or comfort her, I jerk open the front door and point my gun at the bloke jogging up the steps. Despite looking down his face seems vaguely familiar. I scan him from hair to shoe for any clues or hints. The bright orange laces in his red sneakers trigger the memory—one of the men from the running trail.
His gaze lifts from the stained concrete to mine, and his eyes widen while his palms fly up. “What the fuck?”
Exactly. “This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”
