Page 4 of Downfall

She tries to bite back a smile, but I catch the small tilt of her lips before she shuts it down. “And why is that?”

After a brief pause, considering if I should just tell her that I’d like to take her home and fuck her into next week, I say, “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, knowing it’s a flat out lie, but not caring enough to call me out on it. “Walk me home, then.”

I reach out my hand, silently offering to carry her bag, and she hands it over, probably hoping like hell that I’m not about to run off with all her shit. I shoulder her giant tote bag, surprised by how light it is.

“When I saw you earlier, I assumed you were on your way to a friend’s house to go out for the night, but it doesn’t even seem like you’ve been drinking, let alone out at a club,” I mention casually, letting my eyes roam her body from head to toe. She’s in leggings and no makeup, but she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, anyway. Now that I’m right next to her, our height difference is more apparent. The top of her head doesn’t reach my shoulder, even in her platform Converse, and I have the inappropriate urge to ask her if she wants a piggyback ride.

“Um, yeah, I went to a friend’s place, but we didn’t go out. Just hung out for a bit,” she says, glancing away like she doesn’t want me to see her face.

“A weekly tradition or something?” She walks by every Friday and Saturday evening around the same time, and no one spends that much time with the same friend. Even Ryan and I, who have been attached at the hip since high school, don’t have weekly nights together. And watching her every weekend is frustratingly intriguing. Strolling by in leggings or sweatpants, I can’t help but pause whatever transaction I’m in the middle of to watch her. Each week, my obsession grows. Tonight, it got the better of me.

“Something like that. And I started a new job on Monday; it’s been a big change from college.” Her long hair blows across her face, and I clench my fist to stop myself from brushing it behind her ear.

“What do you do?” I rarely care so much about anyone I meet, but Abby is captivating. I want to know everything about her. And give into my every desire, her every desire.

“I’m a tax auditor. Boring, I know. But eventually I’ll get my CPA and make a career of it. For now, I just need to gain real world experience. Get my sea legs, you know?” If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I may have missed the way her eyebrows dip together, the way she subtly chews her inner lip, while she talks about her job.

“You hate it,” I say with confidence.

“What?!” she says incredulously. “I do not. I’m still learning and getting used to it.”

“You hate it. And I bet you wouldn’t go back on Monday if you felt like you had a choice.”

She huffs, no doubt annoyed that I saw through her. “And what do you do that you love so much?”

“I’m a drug dealer.” I watch her reaction as I tell her, waiting for the look of either disgust or longing that always comes after I utter those words, but the look never comes. She looks amused, actually. A first, so I continue, “That’s why I’ve been hanging out in an alley all night.”

Nodding, she surprises me when she calmly asks if I am also an addict. Then adds, “Because if you are, I’m going to need my bag back. And also, you can go back to your alley now.”

I laugh, shocked by the conviction in her tone, but also strangely proud of this little siren for standing up for herself. As someone who deals with addicts on a daily basis, she should be wary, and she definitely shouldn’t show them where she lives. “I’m not an addict. I make it a point to only sell the purest shit, so I keep a high-end client list, but I don’t personally test my product. If I did that, dust would end up being my life forever, and that’s not the goal.”

“And what is the goal?”

“I want to start a company, but I need seed money for that. Dealing is an easy way to grow that, but I’ll have to finish school at some point. I dropped out of college after junior year, so maybe I’ll do some kind of accelerated certificate program. My friends and I have an idea, and he’s ready to jump on it, but I only know the basics of the code I’d have to write,” I tell her. The possibilities have been going around and around in my head for months. The motivation just isn’t there. I’m making easy money, I work my own hours, and I don’t particularly care what anyone thinks of my job. Why mess that up?

“I’m really glad I don’t have to kick you to the curb right now,” she says, giving me a small smile. And, fuck, I’ve never been more happy to not be addicted to my own drugs than I am right now.

Chapter 5

Kolson

Ihaven’ttakenmyeyes off her since we started walking. Her bright, caramel brown eyes pulled me in from the first moment I saw her, but it’s those perfect, pouty lips that are keeping my attention now.

As we walk up to her apartment building, she punches in a quick code on the keypad—I try not to watch, but of course, I memorize the four-digits—then leads me through the small lobby to the elevator. I don’t know what I was expecting from her place, maybe something small and a little rundown. Definitely not a highrise in the middle of downtown. She just got out of college and is starting her career; I didn’t expect her to live somewhere this nice. Family money, maybe.

Getting into the elevator, Abby hits the button for the tenth floor, then steps back to lean against the back wall next to me. Shifting her massive bag to my other shoulder, so it’s no longer between us, I inch closer to her, letting my pinky skim her wrist. A spark ignites, my hand burning to feel more of her.

Glancing over, I assume she sees the look of barely controlled restraint on my face, and she just smirks, fueling my need and the questions swimming in my mind about this woman. I want to know everything—every thought in her head, every desire in her heart, every freckle on her perfect body.

The elevator ride is silent. She closes her eyes, enjoying the moment of comfortable silence, and I take the opportunity to study her profile. Her long hair is pushed behind her ears, giving me the perfect view of her perfectly straight button nose and pouty pink lips.

When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, her eyes fly open and she grabs my hand, ushering me from the elevator to her apartment door. She unlocks it and walks inside with me in tow. Letting go of my hand, she moves toward the bathroom, kicking off her shoes and motioning for me to drop her bag on the floor by the front door. I’m left to close the door, clicking the lock into place.

Looking into the bathroom, to the left of the door where I stand, I watch Abby lean into her large walk-in shower to turn the knob. And when she glances over her shoulder to look back at me, chewing the inside of her bottom lip, I smirk, averting my gaze and spending a minute scrutinizing her apartment.

Taking a few measured steps into her space, the first thing I notice is the complete lack of rhyme or reason to her furniture and decor. Each piece of her furniture looks like it came from a secondhand store, but it somehow all flows together seamlessly. The kitchen, to the right of the front door, is spotless, and the only appliance out on the countertop is an expensive-looking espresso maker. Beyond the large island, along the far wall, is the living area, a dark green velvet couch as the centerpiece. Also in the living room is a huge cabinet that takes up almost the entire wall next to her bedroom door.

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