Page 52 of Two Chances With You

“All right. What do you want in exchange for my keys?”

I look up and shoot her an amused glance.

“Don’t even tell me. Let’s just go upstairs. It’s better to just end on ‘let me fix you a nice tall drink,’ like in the movies. But first, give me back my keys.”

I open the door and keep the keys clutched good and tight in my right hand. “I’ll give you the keys when I get upstairs and inside. I’m just trying to be a responsible chaperone.”

Gin smiles in amusement. “Sheesh, you’ll never cease to amaze me.”

“Because I used a big word?”

“No. Because you left your motorcycle unlocked.” And she walks in proud and aloof. I hurry out and put on the steering lock, and a second later, I’m standing in front of her.

I dart into the elevator. “Well, now, does signorina wish to enter in elevator or is signorina afraid and want to walk upstairs?”

She walks in confidently and steps in front of me. Close to me. Very close. Way too close. I’ll tell you, she’s something. Then she moves away.

“Fine, you trust your chaperone. What floor, signorina?”

Now she’s leaning against the wall and looking at me. She has big eyes, completely innocent.

“Fifth floor, thanks.” She smiles, clearly amused by the game. I lean forward in her direction, pretending I can’t find the button. “Oh, here it is, at last. Fifth floor, there we go.” But she stays there, pressed against the elevator wall, made of antique wood worn dull by the continuous up and down, there at the center of that stairwell.

We ride up in silence. There I stand, leaning against her, careful not to press too hard, breathing in her scent. Then I pull away, and we look at each other. Our faces are so close. She bats her eyes for a moment and then continues to hold her gaze on me. Confident, bold, by no means intimidated.

I smile. She looks at me and subtly moves her cheeks, a faint hint of a smile from her too. Then she leans closer and whispers into my ear, warm and sensual. “Hey, chaperone…”

It makes me shiver. “Yes?” I look her in the eyes.

She raises an eyebrow. “We’re here.” And she slips out through my arms, agile and lightning quick. In an instant, she’s out of the elevator. She stops in front of the door. I catch up with her and pull out the keys. “Hey, these are worse than the bunch St. Peter has to use.”

“Give them here.”

Nearly all us guys use this line about the keys of St. Peter. I feel like a fool for having dragged it out at a moment like this. I dunno, maybe just a way of killing time. Who knows why we even say it. St. Peter must just have one key, or maybe he doesn’t even need a key. After all, do you think they’re going to lock you out of heaven?

Gin gives the key one last turn. I’m ready to slip my foot in the door and keep it from shutting when she tries to leave me outside. But instead, Gin surprises me. She smiles gleefully and courteously opens the door. “Come on in, and don’t make a ruckus.” She lets me go by and shuts the door behind me. Then she walks past me and calls out, “Hey, I’m home! Is anyone here?”

The apartment is charming, modest, not overdecorated, and casual. There are photos of relatives above a linen chest, and more photos still on a small half-moon dresser placed against the wall. A tranquil home without excess, no weird paintings and with no excessive profusion of doilies and centerpieces. But above all, at seven p.m., halfway through sunset, no one is at home.

“Hey, you really are lucky, living legend.”

“Are you done with this living legend routine? And why am I so lucky? Aside from the fact that if there’s anyone in here who’s lucky, it’s you. Just look at the body God gave you. Shapely, strong, and perfect.” I smile as I reach my hand out to touch her.

“Oh, are you done? You’d think you just got out of prison after six years without ever seeing a woman.”

“Make that four.”

She looks at me, furrowing her brow.

“Four what?”

“I was released recently after four years in prison.”

“Oh, really?” She doesn’t know whether to believe me or not. She looks at me curiously but must decide to play along. “Aside from the fact that you’re surely innocent, what is it you did?”

“I murdered a girl who invited me up to her house at exactly…” I pretend to check the time. “Well, just about this time of day, and decided not to put out.”

“Quick, quick! I heard a noise. I think it must be my folks. Darn it!” She pushes me toward an armoire. “Get in here.”

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