“Jesus… Kane.” Shaking, cold, chattering teeth, and the onset of a brand-new bout of shock, I step forward on jelly legs and try to process the shit-tastic series of events that continue to play out in front of me. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” I point down the hall to the space the homeless man escaped. “He scared me, but he wasn’t breaking any laws.”
“He has no reason to be at my door, Blondie. None.” Spinning around, he turns back into that bear from earlier and doesn’t stop until his toes touch mine. Even with me in heels and him with bare feet, I still have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “I don’t want to buy cookies, and I sure as fuck don’t want to sell you. Therefore, he has no reason to be here. If you see him in the street,ever, you call me. I’m not joking.”
“But…” My thumping heart, the furious slog of blood through my veins, leaves me dizzy. “You… I…”will not pass out. I will not spew. I will not let down my guard.“You’re the person I should be afraid of! Not an old man with a lack of dental hygiene.”
“No.” Reaching out and tucking my bed-messy hair behind my ear, he ducks low to meet my eyes. “I’m not a good man, Blondie. I hurt people. I do illegal things. But I won’t hurt you.” Letting his hand drop, he reaches out to take mine. “Are you gonna pass out again?”
“No.”I’m too stubborn to do that shit again.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Um…” I can’t even count the hours. “Dinner… night before last. Before I met you.”
“Fuck me. “ He shakes his head with disgust. “It’s like you’re intent on hurting yourself. Come inside away from the rodents. Let me get dressed. I’ll take you through the drive-thru, then back to get your car.”
“Oh my God! My car! Jules will see my car at the office.”
“Relax. I texted and told her you were sick and calling out.”
“Right.” I glare like he’s missing half a dozen brain cells. “But why’s my car there? It should be at home, not at the office.”
“Well–”
“I could say I was too unwell to drive…”
He nods dismissively. “Okay.”
“No. No one would believe that.” I work reasonable excuses through my sluggish brain. “I could say I was having engine trouble.”
“Alright.”
“No, because then they’d ask why I didn’t call Ang.”
“Who’s Ang?”
“Oh! I know. I’ll say I slept at Scotch’s apartment. It’s empty, and just one block from the office. I’ll say I walked and slept at his place.”
“Who’s Scotch?”
“It’s cool. All fixed; they’ll believe the Scotch one.” Stepping back into his apartment, I ignore the scowl shadowing his dark eyes, and when he closes the door and brushes past me, I expect him to pull jeans on. I expect haste and a little modesty.
What I get are his boxer shorts dropping to the floor near my feet and the Grim Reaper staring from the ink on his back and his rippling muscles as he moves.
Muscles and ink as far as the eye can see.
It’s all.
I.
Can.
See.
The Grim Reaper stares, promising retribution for a crime I’m not sure I committed. Wringing my hands together and pretending I’m not losing my shit and completely fucking terrified, I watch his sly glance over his shoulder, the smug grin twitching his lips. He stops six feet away and turns side on until I focus on his erection.
And his strong hand wrapped around it.
“Oh…”Good lord, just put me out of my misery.