Just transferred 10k. Let me know when you need more.
* * *
Stepping out of my apartment at nine-thirty, instead of heading downstairs, I go up and break the rules both parties set down. Sophia doesn’t really want me knocking on her door late at night, and neither does Ace.
But I’m going up anyway.
I need two minutes and a visual confirmation the beautiful dancer is alive and well. If she’s in her jammies with a bowl of ice cream in her hands and thick socks covering her dancer feet, then I’ll happily leave and go about my life.
But if she’s missing or dead, then I’ll be finding Ace before ten o’clock hits and ending his miserable fucking life.
Taking the stairs at a jog, I rub my hands together to fight off the chill and stop in front of her door for the first time in my life. I never had reason to come up before this week and never considered her life in Ace’s scope before. So I knock, drop my hands back into my coat pockets, and in the left, I finger the blade my brother is probably still looking for.
What can I say? I’m a born thief, a thug in a cop’s uniform, a stoner in a sober man’s body.
I was addicted to cocaine before I woke and found myself in this new world, and when I was injured, my cocaine dependency was replaced with opioids the hospital fed me daily. Shoot a guy in the head, operate on his busted cranium, they pop pills like they’re candy, and slowly, they wean you off so you don’t feel the burn.
I’m a man with an addictive personality, but knowing how fortunate I was to be weaned so gracefully, I replaced my addiction with gummy worms, women, fidget spinners, and my obsession with finding the man who’s put a contract on my brother’s head.
I’d say it’s a pretty healthy coping mechanism, so long as I don’t run out of food and girls.
When Sophia doesn’t come to the door, I knock again, louder, and risk annoying the assholes on the third floor. “Sophia?” I knock again and lean closer to press my ear against her door. “Open the door, Sophia, right now.”
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my keys. Every thug knows he should carry tools to break into someone else’s home at any given moment; it’s practically in the handbook they give out. “Sophia? I just wanna see your face for two seconds, then I’ll leave you be. One!” I select the right tool and bring it to the lock. “Two.” I fist the doorknob and prepare to ram this fucker straight down. “Sophia! Thr–”
The door swings open with a flourish, her dramatics allowing me time to slide my keys back into my pocket before her eyes have a chance to leave my face. “What the hell are you doing, Jay? It’s bedtime, and it’s cold as hell.”
I study her trim body, her long legs with holey socks pulled up to her calves, and sleep shorts that would provide absolutely zero barrier if I wanted to turn her around and fuck her in the hall. She wears a saggy sweater and has her long hair tied in a knot at the top of her head.
She’s cold, tired, and pissed, but she’s alive. “Sorry. I was just downstairs, and I thought I heard a thump. Like maybe you fell in the shower or something. It would be shitty of me not to investigate while you lie on the tile and freeze to death.”
“You thought I fell in the shower?” Her eyes glitter as she seethes, “For months, we’ve lived in the same building, but this week, you figure I fell in the shower? I don’t know if you’re angling for an invitation inside, but you’re not getting one.” She grabs her door and closes it most of the way.
I don’t block it because I really only wanted to make sure she wasn’t lying dead in her living room.
“I’m sorry for waking you.” Stepping back, I glance at her exposed wrist and tilt my head to catch the script inked on.Your wings were ready, but my heart was not.“Sorry. I’m heading out to work for a couple hours, but I’ll be back later, ya know, if you feel uneasy in the shower or whatever. I can wash your back if you want.”
She lifts a sexy little brow and pops her hip. “Heading out to sell a fridge at nearly ten at night?”
“Yup. I’m all about making sure the customer is satisfied. Jay Bi–” I cut my words off and bite off a curse when Soph’s brows lift. “Jay Hamilton, satisfaction guaranteed, in bed and out. Now go back inside and hush. Don’t answer the door for anyone you don’t know.”
“I don’t know you! I was in the middle of my show, so if you don’t mind…” She slams the door in my face and mutters something about selling a fake fridge.
Smiling because she answered for me despite her general lack of trust for humankind, I think of her long legs as I turn, skip down the stairs and pass my own door. Down past third, second, first, I push through the front doors and step into the street with fantasies of her long legs wrapped around my head while I eat her up and show her the best night of her life.
Turning left and leaving my block, I jog to the next before I hail a cab and slide in.
Ever since I was old enough to become a federal agent, I threw myself in with steely focus and zero fear. If my father could do it, and if my brother could do it, then no fucker was going to tell me I couldn’t become a Fed. I studied hard, worked hard, partied quietly, and kept my name clean as a whistle.
I met women, used them, enjoyed them, but I never hurt them, and I never took anything they didn’t want to give. So despite my long-ish list of female companions, none of them hold ill will toward me.
I always made them come first, and I never treated them like shit or passed judgment on the fact they were fucking a stranger.
I was fucking a stranger too, so who was I to judge?
But this chick, this fucking Sophia Solomon the Wise and Peaceful, has been haunting my favorite diner for two months too long, and now she’s worked her way under my skin.
As if I didn’t notice her from the very first time I walked my ass in there. As if I didn’t notice her beauty or the fragrance of her long hair.