Page 6 of The Landlord
Damien sighs and sits back on his heels. "I might need to move the bed."
"It's fine. I mean, he can't stay there forever, right?"
"You'd be surprised how stubborn he can be."
As if to prove the point, Doug retreats farther under the bed, disappearing completely into the shadows.
Damien stands, and I'm once again reminded of how tall he is, how he fills the space. In my bedroom. Where my bed is. The bed I've sometimes imagined him in during long, lonely nights.
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've seen before when he's frustrated. "I'm really sorry about this. And about—" he tips his head in the direction of the living room, where the package sits.
"It's not your fault. Either thing. Doug or the ... package."
"Still not how I imagined getting invited into your place for the first time. Of course, not including the times I carried your things and installed your shelves."
My heart stutters. He's imagined being invited in? Damien thinking of being in my apartment?
I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly, there's a crash from the living room. We both rush out to find Doug has somehow climbed onto my coffee table and knocked over a mug of cold tea. The liquid is dangerously close to seeping into my yarn.
"Doug!" Damien's voice has an edge I've never heard before.
I dash to the kitchen for a towel, grateful for something practical to focus on. When I return, Damien has Doug in his arms, but the dog is squirming and barking, clearly not ready to leave.
"I've got him," Damien says, adjusting his grip as Doug wriggles. "I should go before he causes more damage."
Part of me is relieved—the part that's still mortified about the dildo and flustered by Damien's presence in my apartment. Butanother part wants him to stay, wants to see what would happen if we picked up where we left off in the hallway.
"Okay," I say, mopping up the tea. "Thanks for bringing him out."
Damien nods and turns toward the door, Doug still struggling in his arms. I follow, ready to close the door behind them and collapse into a puddle of embarrassment.
But as Damien reaches the threshold, Doug makes one final desperate attempt at freedom. He twists violently in Damien's grip, his small body writhing with surprising strength. Damien adjusts his hold, finally getting Doug under control.
"Come on, you little escape artist," Damien says, stepping fully into the hallway with Doug secured in his arms.
I follow them to the doorway, my hand on the door frame. Damien turns back to face me, and for a moment we just look at each other across the threshold.
"I should—" he starts.
"Yeah," I agree quickly, though I'm not sure what either of us was going to say.
I'm about to close the door when Doug suddenly erupts into violent motion again. This time, his struggles are successful. He slips from Damien's grip like a furry eel and hits the floor running.
Straight back into my apartment.
"Doug, no!" Damien lunges forward, but Doug is already past me, his tiny legs carrying him toward my living room at breakneck speed.
Panic seizes me. The thought of being alone with him, who might destroy my apartment or hurt himself out of spite, overwhelms every rational thought in my head.
I don't think. I just react.
I throw the door wide open and run straight to Damien, launching myself into his arms without any consideration for dignity or propriety or the fact that I'm wearing pajama pants and no bra under my oversized sweater.
His arms come around me automatically, catching me against his chest. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, clinging to him.
Damien's hands settle on my back, one between my shoulder blades, the other dangerously low on my spine before he lowers both to grip my thighs. I can feel the heat of his palms through my sweater, the solid strength of his chest pressed against mine.
That's when I realize what I've done. I'm wrapped around my landlord like a koala, my face buried in his neck, breathing in his scent. I can feel every inch of his hard body against mine.
