12
JOHNNY
I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear a knock at the door. For a split-second, my mind goes wild, assuming that it’s Franklin or one of his goons, but if history tells me anything, it’s that he doesn’t make house calls.
Franklin has succeeded for as long as he has in his industry because he keeps his hands clean. He hires other people to do his dirty work and uses his various business ventures, like the rundown diner I meet him at, to covertly operate. He’s a wise man, and never makes mistakes. Showing his face at my complex or sending someone here to do it for him would pose too many risks.
The moment I step foot out of here, though—that’s when I really need to worry. He’s not going to let it slide that I lost a delivery. There will be a price to pay, and I’m not sure I’m ready to find out what it is.
Hurriedly, I dry myself off, careful not to agitate my many bumps and bruises. I wipe away the steam from the mirror, relieved to see the swelling in my face going down. I still look like I was stung by a bee, but I can open my eyes almost all the way, and that alone is a huge plus. They’re bright green against the redness of the busted blood vessels.
The knock could have been Billy, coming to ask me to borrow something or ask for help on his homework.
I throw on a clean T-shirt and jeans, not bothering to slide any underwear on first. It was enough that I got up to take a shower, what more could the world ask from me in this condition?
I peek through the blinds covering the window, but no one is there. Slowly, I crack open the door and peer out. Not a soul in sight. My gaze trails down to the ground where a takeout bag and a cup sit.
Bram isn’t really a home-delivery type person, and I’ve never told him the access code to get in, so unless he followed someone into the complex, it couldn’t have been him. Plus, he probably would have banged on my door until I answered, not dropped off food and left.
I’ve severed ties with pretty much all of my friends since I started this new business venture, mostly to protect them. They all hate my guts now, meaning it couldn’t have been one of them. Plus, they weren’t really the type of friends that would drop in to check on me, let alone leave me food out of nowhere.
The only other explanation seems highly unlikely, too.
My stomach growls, telling me that I need to eat something to soak up the random booze I’ve been nursing all day for the pain.
I reluctantly grab the offering and go inside, dropping the food on the counter and opening the bag. Instantly, I’m greeted with a heavenly aroma. I must be hungrier than I thought if food smellsthisgood.
I pop the lid off the cup and sniff at the contents. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume this was my regular order, but if Bram didn’t deliver it, there’s no way someone could have guessed such a random combination. I take a sip to test my theory, swallowing down the cinnamon warmth.
How the hell did she know how I take my coffee?
* * *
Idon’t go to class all week. It’s not that I don’t care about my education, I’m just not really prepared to handle this Franklin situation quite yet. Not to mention, I don’t want to answer questions about why my face is fucked up.
I spend most of the time sleeping, staring at the ceiling, and wondering how the fuck I’m going to get myself out of this mess. I barely have an appetite, but I end up forcing down a frozen meal or a bowl of cereal here or there.
I even fill my time doing something I shouldn’t—watching out the window for her.
Her routine has become a bit predictable. She leaves her place and lingers around the courtyard for a little while before heading to what I assume is her first class of the day. Between courses, she returns to study at the corner table, tucked away from everything else. Once she’s in for the evening, she bounces between staying inside and at her chosen courtyard hideaway.
Part of me wishes that I were invisible, making it possible to be near her. To give her company and let her know that she’s not alone. She seems sad, like something is bothering her, besides the obvious asshole that lives in her building. I long to bring her a moment of peace. Which is entirely strange considering I still don’t know her name.
Maybe those types of formalities don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Maybe you can be drawn to someone without really knowing them.
A door opens down the hall in the direction of her place and I freeze, still stealthily peering from inside my house.
She appears in my line of sight, and I swear it’s like my heart is going to pound out of my chest and leap through the door at her.
I hold my breath, desperate not to alert her to my watchfulness.
The stunning girl pauses right outside.
I study the rise and fall of her shoulders with each bit of air that enters her lungs. Her V-neck charcoal gray tee and dark denim skinny jeans hug her body in the best way. Her chocolate brown hair is tied off to the left side in a low ponytail.
She raises her fist to my door, but nothing happens. Her hand lingers in the air and stays there.
I could move—I could rush to open it, to finally greet her properly and say something to redeem myself for being such a shitty person, but I don’t do anything. I stand there, completely and utterly mesmerized by her beauty and the fact that such a being simply exists.