Page 28 of Uncharted Desires
I look both ways and notice some vehicles that look like they belonged on the road twenty years ago, parked by the curb, and a man sitting on the pavement, hunched over, snorting something off a dirty-looking wrapper.
He’s probably right.
The front door of the building creaks when he opens it and holds it for me. I step inside a pitch-black lobby.
Sawyer walks behind me and presses something on the wall, the lobby turning uncomfortably yellow as a sharp light illuminates the space, stinging my eyes.
There’s no elevator, and I find myself following Sawyer up the stairs, making sure not to touch the suspiciously looking railing.
He glances at me over his shoulder somewhere around the second floor. “Did you expect a red carpet?” he asks as if reading my thoughts.
I school my features. “I didn’t say anything.”
The way up seems to stretch forever, and with each step, the reality of what’s about to happen crashes in, and by the time Sawyer takes a right on the last floor and proceeds to a narrow corridor, my legs are barely cooperative.
I follow him to the end of the hallway, and occasional shouts spill from behind closed doors as we pass them. My heart races when Sawyer fishes a keychain out of his pocket and fumbles with the lock.
The door squeaks when he pushes it open, but instead of stepping in, he turns to look at me. “I know you don’t think highly of me, but I can assure you—no cockroaches at my place.”
“That’s not what I was—” I bite my tongue. Maybe it’s easier to just go with it than to try to explain what’s really causing my mind to spin and my legs to barely hold me upright. I nod. “Good to know.”
I take a calming breath and step inside with Sawyer in tow.
He switches on a small lamp sitting on a table, and a gentle hue illuminates the interior.
His studio apartment is tiny but neat. There’s a kitchenette to the left of the entrance and a single door leading to what I presume is the bathroom on the opposite wall. And in front of me, mere fifteen feet away, a queen-size bed.
I swallow and tear my eyes off it. “It’s really nice,” I say, examining a lonely coffee table and stack of books lined on the floor by a wall. There’s no trace of his past football career in sight.
Sawyer chuckles as he passes me, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it on one of the chairs by the table. “If you say so.”
I take a few steps forward until I’m in the middle of the room, where I stop and run my palms over my shoulders, not knowing what to do with my hands. Any farther, and I’d be dangerously close to the bed.
My heart pounds at the idea and I squash it. But then my eyes land on an acoustic guitar resting on a rack next to the bed and I find myself walking over.
“Do you play?” I ask, more to occupy my brain than anything else. I carefully take it off the rack and examine the shiny, dark-brown wood. Unlike anything else around here, it doesn’t look cheap.
“Just a little.” Sawyer’s voice comes from somewhere right behind me.
I turn to face him. “Can you play me something?”
His eyes are intense. He reaches out and takes the instrument from me before resting it against the wall. His voice is deep, reverberating in my brain as he speaks. “Blake? Did you come here for a concert?”
My stalling tactic fails. It’s just him and me now. A promise sparkles in his eyes, and suddenly, I’m not sure if I can handle it. “I’m a little nervous,” I admit, my cheeks flaming.
I fully expect him to mock me, but he takes a step back and raises his hands in a placating motion. “That’s okay. Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
My mouth grows dry, too dry to speak, and I find myself stepping closer until I’m directly in front of him, within arm’s reach, in the middle of a tiny room that’s about to become a witness to—
Hell, I’m not even sure. Or maybe I choose not to focus on it.
My hands all but shake as I lift them and bring them to his neck, loosening the slim, red tie that’s a part of his usual work attire.
Sawyer tilts his head back and lets me.
How is it that just a few days ago, hell, even earlier today, I was able to get out of my head and do things I never expected myself to do, yet now, even the faintest brush of my finger against his neck makes my hair stand on end?
Something about it feels different, more intimate as I widen the red loop and then slowly pull on one end until it unwraps from his neck entirely.
