From Yesterday (12 page)

I get my things as quickly as I can. Just as I'm about to go, a locker door slams shut in one of the other rows.

Strange. No one was in here, and I didn't hear anyone else come in. I start to peek around the corner to see if anyone is there when another locker door is slammed. Startled, I drop my keys and the sound echoes loudly throughout the room.

I don't believe I am alone in here after all. It would be wise for me to get out of here as quickly as I can. I get my keys from the floor and run out of the locker room with lightening speed, but not before I hear one more locker door slammed.

When I get to my car, I thank my running late earlier for forcing me to drive back to campus this afternoon. I want to be as far from here as possible right now. I drive fast enough to make it home in less than two minutes. I don't even care if I get stopped by campus police; a ticket would be preferable over whatever, or whomever, was back at that gym.

After parking my car in the garage, I enter the lobby of the building and I am comforted by the familiar sight of two security guards at the front desk, and all the other measures in place to keep unwanted visitors out of here.

That's when I remember that whoever this is has already been inside my apartment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I take a shower quickly, dress in a skirt made of terry-cloth material and a tank top, and haul ass down to Brady's place. Being alone in my apartment sounds less and less appealing. Guns are not allowed on campus even with a concealed weapons permit, so I have had it locked up at home all day and I leave it there. I don't know if Brady would be bothered by having a gun in his house and I am not in the mood to get on the subject of why I have one. He still doesn't know that the gun he saw that day was mine.

I knock lightly on Brady's door before opening it, just in case. After all, you never know when you are going to walk into someone's home and see them standing by the refrigerator, drinking a glass of water and wearing nothing but a towel.

His skin is dry, but his hair hangs down in damp waves. Muscle defines every inch of his body. And I can see it all, well, most of it. The slightly wet towel tied around his waist is clingy and the outline of his perfectly shaped behind is mesmerizing. The towel ends at mid thigh, and as Brady slowly turns in my direction, I discover that things are being outlined that leave little to the imagination. I should be the one drinking water because my mouth is suddenly dry.

"I'm sorry!"

I blurt out the apology, but I can't seem to make myself turn away. So now I've walked in on him, been caught staring, and continue to embarrass myself.

Brady laughs. "What are you sorry for, Paige? I told you to just come in. If I minded you seeing me in a towel, I probably wouldn't be in the kitchen wearing only that."

"So, you did that on purpose?"

He grins. "Maybe. Maybe not. Let's say it wasn't a conscious decision, but you know how those pesky subconscious decisions can arise."

"Your subconscious wanted me to see you half naked? Uh, sure."

"Maybe I just wanted to see your reaction. Which was priceless, by the way. I'll go get dressed. Make yourself comfortable."

I take in the room while I wait for him. This is a one bedroom unit, other than that the layout is nearly identical to mine. His furniture is a set I recognize from an Ikea catalog; dark wood with very clean lines. A futon is the only seating in the living room, and it faces the wall which is dominated by a massive flat screen television. Underneath the TV is a low to the ground entertainment unit with stereo equipment and a video game console.

I sit at the breakfast bar and take out my binder with my notes for our project. I've done all of my part of the research; if Brady has completed his then all we have to do is type everything up and create some kind of visual presentation.

"Would you like something to drink?"

I nearly jump off of the barstool. I didn't hear him return.

"Uh, just some water, please."

"Why are you so nervous, Paige?"

He winks, the bastard. He knows why I'm on edge, or at least he knows what his part in my anxiety is. All of the other stuff isn't his fault at all. I give him the finger. He cracks up.

"Wow, that is not a gesture I'd ever guess you would make. I like it."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I make a rude gesture?"

Brady looks sheepish now. "Because you're just... kind of perfect."

I don't say anything, not right away. Silence hangs in the air, not in an awkward way, but with a modicum of emotion that touches me and energizes him.

I break the spell. "I'm as far from perfect as I possibly could be, Brady, and I'm sorry because inevitably you will see why."

"I don't believe you. You just don't see yourself for who you really are. Most people don't."

I purse my lips and turn my head to the side to avoid the intensity with which he focuses on me. He doesn't let me escape, though. He reaches for me and tips my face back towards him and leans in. All the way in.

We stare at one another for a microsecond before I feel his lips on my own. They linger lightly at first, and then a simple touch becomes a kiss as he presses forward with intensity. Our mouths dance together as we each test the waters; a gentle bite, a tiny slip of tongue, each one of us seeking to match the rhythm of the other. His hand snakes up the back of my neck until it is in my hair, bringing me even closer to him. I'm between his thighs, nearly falling off the edge of the barstool. The kiss becomes open-mouthed and we taste one another; I take hold of his t-shirt with both hands and breathe him in through my nose. His scent is warm and masculine and I'm drugged by it. I want to be.

Until I don't anymore.

Reality is a harsh slap in the face when I come to my senses and remember who I am. I let go of his shirt, place my hands on his upper arms, and push him away from me until I have space to stand up. He looks up, still blissfully unaware of what I'm about to do.

"You're amazing," he tells me.

I shake my head and back away. "I'm wrong, all wrong. I'll ruin you. Please, I can't."

And then I'm running out the door; always running away from any possibility of a good thing because if there is one thing that I am certain of, it is that any happiness I may have comes with an expiration date.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I know something is off the moment I walk through my door. There is a heaviness in the air that I didn't feel before I left, but I did feel it every time some fucked up little gift has been left for me in the past few weeks. Now I wish I'd taken the Glock with me when I went downstairs.

I take a deep breath and go further into the apartment, hoping I can get to my gun if someone is still here. I don't think there is, though; I feel as though I'm alone.

The vase, the Swarovski crystal vase that I loved enough to bring with me, it is no longer on the end table by the love seat. Instead, it is now a jigsaw puzzle that I will never be able to solve. Millions of little pieces lay scattered throughout the living and dining rooms, and there is some dark substance coating much of it. I get closer, careful not to step on any shards that will cut through my thin ballet flats.

My hand flies to my mouth and I suppress the urge to vomit. The dark stuff? It is blood. Wet, sticky blood.

I'm kneeling on the floor next to this mess of a life that belongs to me, frozen in place, when the front door flies open.

"Are you kidding me, Paige? Really? You're so damn infuriating. I thought we were finally over this up and down bullshit!"

Brady is yelling, but it is the most comforting sound I could possibly hope to hear in this moment. And then I see him in my peripheral vision.

"What the... is that your blood? Paige, are you okay?"

He rushes over to me, grabs me by the arms, and lifts me up to check me over.

"It's not mine."

"Whose is it then? What is going on?"

Now he is practically shaking me.

"It's time for you to start talking, Paige. Is someone bothering you? Should I call the police."

Mentioning the cops snaps me back to reality and I look up at him; fear is prevalent in all my features. "No! No police. You can't."

Brady lets go of me and crosses his arms over his chest. "Fine, but tell me why."

I nod. "Okay. But I can't be in this room. Please, let's go into my spare bedroom."

I don't wait for him, nor do I look back to see if he's even moved from the spot he was standing in. I just go into the office and open the top drawer of my desk. This is where I'm keeping the lock box with my gun.

I sit down in my desk chair, take the gun out, and place it on the desk in plain view of Brady, who has just come in the room.

He walks around the desk to where I'm sitting and leans against it. "So, that gun was yours."

"Yes."

"A lot of strange things have been going on with you lately, Paige, but I think I'm starting to put two and two together. Will you please tell me the whole story?"

"I can only tell you what I know, which isn't a whole lot. I don't know the reason why someone is doing this stuff to me, but I also cannot lie about it any longer. And I have been keeping things from you."

Brady shrugs. "I know, Paige. I've been trying to be as patient as possible, but I'm really worried about you. I can't just keep my mouth shut any longer."

"I didn't want to involve you in this messed up life of mine. I tried to keep you from it, but after a while I didn't want to push you away anymore."

"You don't have to hide this. You need help, or at least someone to talk to. I want to be that person for you."

"Look, I don't know who has been sending me the messages and breaking into my apartment. I really don't. If I believed in ghosts, and I absolutely do not, I'd think it was my dead sister doing this. Which is why this is even more fucked up, because they want me to think it is Nicole. Or they want me to be reminded of her unfortunate legacy."

Brady looks even more unsettled than he did a moment ago. "What happened to your sister, Paige?"

I close my eyes for a moment as I relive the pain of her death all over again.

"I don't. I mean, I can't. It is just too much. I wanted you to know that I am not okay; that someone is trying to scare me. And it probably has everything to do with what happened to my sister, but that story is not yet ready to be told. I'm sorry, but I need you to just give me more time. Can you do that?"

Brady reaches out and takes one of my hands in his. "Yes, Paige, I can do that. But that doesn't mean I can ignore the fact that you have, for all intents and purposes, a stalker."

This makes me shudder. I hadn't thought of it that way. He's right, though. All of this does kind of fall under the category of stalking. "I don't know what to do. I can't call the police. I have to figure this out by myself."

"You're not on your own, remember? We will figure this out. Starting with your safety. You shouldn't be spending time alone anymore."

I point to the gun. "I have protection with that. I'm an excellent shot. And you can't be with me all the time. I don't want a baby sitter."

"You can't take the gun with you to campus, so at least let me be with you to and from school. And even with a gun, you could be surprised and lose the advantage. I'm not trying to be a baby sitter, believe me, but I will do what I have to help you get out of this situation."

"The gun doesn't bother you?" I ask.

"No, I grew up around guns. My father taught me. He has a rather large collection of semi-automatic handguns and rifles. I have a .45 downstairs, but I haven't yet applied for my concealed carry license in Florida."

Brady puts the hand he's holding down onto my knee, but he doesn't let go. I don't say anything, I just look at his fingers intertwined with my own.

"One more thing, Paige. You need someone with a background in criminal justice to do a little research for you. Neither one of us is qualified for that, but I know someone who is."

I shake my head vigorously, keeping my focus on his hand "No cops, Brady."

"No, I promise. I'm talking about Victor. He's the daytime security guard at the front desk. He's a cool guy; we've played basketball a few times. He told me about the freelance private investigating he does. His brother runs a P.I. firm in the Gables. Those guys know how to be discreet."

"Okay, I'm fine with that."

All of a sudden the enormity of everything hits me hard. I feel weighed down and I slump forward a little bit on my chair. Brady catches me by the shoulders and pulls me towards him. I rest my cheek against his abdomen and his arms go around me as best as they can while he is standing and I am sitting. The expansion and contraction of his diaphragm as he breathes is a comfort to me; it soothes my anxiousness until my eyes are half-lidded and my inhibitions are fading. I reach my arms up and slide my hands down the front of his shirt until I am touching him just inside his hips. He sucks in a breath and pulls me up out of the chair, flips us around so that he is now the one sitting, and settles me in his lap to face him. I don't bother pulling my skirt down; I don't even think about the fact that I'm not wearing panties.

His cock is hard and I can feel him through the fabric of his cargo shorts against my bare, aching core. I lean forward, lick my lips slowly, and then gently bite down on his bottom lip. The shift forward means that my pubic bone feels the pressure of his erection and it is so damn good. He holds me there, pressing his lips to my own and deepening the kiss. I let myself rub against him just enough to make me crave him inside of me.

His hands roam down my back until he is gripping my hips and pulling me into him harder; grinding up against me as I push back down. The friction is intense and I am losing my ability to think straight.

I pull back from Brady's mouth, breaking the kiss and just moving against him; enjoying the sensation of muscles clenching. One of his hands leaves my hip and makes its way to the inside of my thigh, inching upward until I feel a soft touch just above my clit.

I groan, loudly and unapologetically; anticipating his next movement.