"Exactly. Which means he has a lot of experience in bed."
I shook my head. I loved Miles Young when we were both little. When we shared our first kiss. When we held hands for the first time. When he wrote to me every week after my parents died. I wasn't in love with this version of him. My love had turned into hate over the past few years. And that's where it needed to stay. I hated him. Tears continued to prick at my eyes. Why couldn't my words convince me? Why couldn't these pictures convince me? Why was my heart so fucking stupid?
"You deserve better than him, Kins."
She smiled. "Thank you. But there is no one better than him. Every girl on campus loves him as much as me. Except you apparently. Oh my God, let me show you my favorite picture." She grabbed her phone back. A few seconds later she was holding it out for me again.
Miles had his jersey tossed over one shoulder, baring his perfect six pack. He was tan and muscular and everything you could possible want in a man. His chest glistened with sweat like he had just finished a game and he was pushing his hair off his forehead. If I wasn't trying to hold back tears I'd probably be drooling.
"Right there," Kins said, pointing to a line sticking out beneath his jersey. "I am dying to know what he has a tattoo of. I can't find a picture of it anywhere."
I stared at the line that disappeared beneath his jersey onto the left side of his chest. The whole tattoo must be over his heart.
"One day, I'm going to see that tattoo, I swear." She collapsed backward onto my bed. "I just need one night with him, that's all I'm asking. One night and I can move on. God, it's like an itch that I just can't seem to scratch."
One night and I can move on. Kins was getting in my head. But I couldn't help but wonder. Would I be able to move on if I had Miles for one night? I had a feeling it would just make me want him even more. I stared at the picture. Maybe I imagined it, but there was one thing every picture seemed to have in common. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Chapter 31
Sunday
With each step, I felt like I was walking farther and farther into a bad part of town. I glanced over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck seemed to prickle and I picked up my pace. My legs were sore from another run this morning, and they seemed to protest with each movement.
A cat scampering across a path made me jump. Why did the author of the blog have to live in the sketchiest place ever? I had been happy when they had written me back. But the message was blunt. It was just an address and a time. Now I was regretting my decision. This was something a stupid girl in a horror flick would do. My feet kept moving though.
I had convinced myself that the vigilante was writing the blog himself. Which meant I was about to come face to face with him. A few sirens and beggars on the streets weren't going to scare me away. I stopped in front of a rundown building. Some of the windows were boarded up. This can't possibly be right. I pulled out the piece of paper I had written the address down on to double check. 255 S. Broad Street, apartment 1057. The number above the front door verified that I was indeed in the right place.
I glanced over my shoulder again. I was starting to get used to the feeling of being watched. The vigilante was out there. I could feel it. It was more comforting than alarming now. I turned my attention back to the front of the building and pressed on the button for apartment 1057.
The door immediately buzzed. I grabbed the handle and walked inside. I jumped as a rat scurried across the floor. Why would the vigilante live here? He should have kept some of that money he had given away for himself. I pictured a poor boy, wanting to fight for people like him. I wasn't at all surprised when the button for the elevator didn't do a thing.
I found the stairs and slowly started walking up. My muscles were screaming at me. Each step up, I'd look down at my Converses. I was going to meet the vigilante. I wanted to prove to him that I was strong. Hell, I wanted to prove to myself that I was strong.
I opened the door to floor 10. It made a terrible squeaking noise. One of the lights in the ceiling was flickering. It seemed more like I was walking into a villain's den than a superhero's. I stopped in front of the door marked 1057. This was it. My heart seemed to be beating out of my chest as I lifted my hand. My knock seemed to echo in the empty hallway.
There was a scuffling noise inside. And then it sounded like someone was undoing a dozen locks. A moment later the door opened. A girl with frizzy dark hair and big glasses was standing in front of me. "You're Sadie Davis?" She pushed her glasses up her nose.
It took me a moment to find my voice. She wasn't what I was expecting at all. "Yes. And you're the author of The Night Watch?" I tried to hide my disappointment. I had been expecting the vigilante.
"Shhh." She stepped out into the hall and looked both ways. "You'll ruin everything. Come in, hurry."
I flinched as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into her apartment. I stood awkwardly in the center of a barely furnished studio apartment as she bolted the door. There were newspaper clippings strewn all over the place. A single couch was the only furniture in the living room. But the whole right wall of her apartment was filled with computer monitors, showing different angles of the city.
"Everyone thinks I'm crazy."
I turned around to look at her standing by the door. She looked crazy. Her apartment was insane. But I knew that wasn't what she was talking about. She meant that no one believed in her articles. "I don't think you're crazy."
"No one sees the connection." She started pacing back and forth. "The missing money. The apartment payments. The charity donations. Why does no one see it? It's not just a correlation."
"I see it."
She stopped pacing as she stared at me. "I was at the bank that day. He's a hero. So many people are making him out to be a villain."
"He saved my life. I know he's a hero."
"But why? Why did he save you? There was no money involved. It doesn't fit. Why you?"
"I don't know. But he knew my name. I feel like he's been watching me."