Authors: Jae Hood
I shake my head. “What—”
“If the bastard tries to hit me, his fist will slide right off.” Madi nods, and I’m not sure who my friend is for a moment. Certainly not the same girl I’ve known for the past several years. “If he tries to hold me down, I’ll slither out of his arms.”
“Eight wouldn’t hit you or hold you down, and you’re not giving him any reason to do either one of those things.” I block the door before she can dart outside. “Let’s just investigate. Like we did before.” I’m grappling at air, at any idea that’ll calm her ass down.
Madi raises her eyebrows, her interest piqued. “Keep talking.”
“I’ll distract him and you take a quick peek inside the apartment.”
Madi’s eyes widen. “How will I do that without him seeing me? What if someone really is in there and they freak out over some random chick lurking in the doorway?”
“He won’t see you because I’ll lure him inside my apartment. And if someone is in there, they won’t know who you are. Hell, you’ve never even met Eight.”
“You’re right.” Madi’s face lights up like Christmas time in the city. “I'll hide behind that ficus tree in the hallway, next to the window overlooking the lot. You make a big commotion in here. Something that’ll draw him out of the apartment. He’ll be in such a hurry he won’t think about locking his door. I’ll come out of my hiding spot and peep inside. And if no one sees me, I’ll knock on your door like I’m just showing up for a visit.”
“And if someone does see you?”
Madi snorts and places her earrings back in her ears. “I’m running like my ass is on fire and getting the hell out of this building. I’ll blow the horn once I’m inside my car to let you know I made it out okay.”
Blowing out a deep breath, I give her a determined nod. “Let’s do this. Get in your position!”
Clapping once and bouncing on her heels, she takes off. She opens the door just a crack and glances first right, then left before slinking out into the hallway.
“What to do, what to do.” I gaze around the kitchen and living room, wiping my damp palms on the butt of my jeans. Cally gapes at me from her spot beside the sink. She likes it when I turn on the faucet and let her bat the water with her paw. On the other side of the sink sits the drying rack, stock full of pots and pans from the meal I attempted to cook last night.
“Maybe I can shove all the pans to the floor,” I tell Cally. “Let them clatter and clash and make a racket. Would that be enough to draw him out of the apartment?”
I pick up one of the pans, cringing at the dark residue I missed scrubbing away in one corner. I’d found a recipe online but had burnt the food to the point where it was inedible. Wait a second … burnt food.
Eyes widening, I scan the apartment for the smoke detectors. One hangs on a wall in the kitchen, the other in my living room. I put the pan away and rummage around inside a junk drawer near the sink until I find a working lighter. I press the button and flick the little wheel, grinning when a flicker of a flame wavers from the metal top. I grab a chair from the kitchen table and drag it to the wall underneath the alarm. When I stand on top and flick the lighter again, the response is almost immediate.
An ear-splitting screech bounces off the walls of the tiny apartment. I hop off the chair and toss the lighter inside the junk drawer. If Eight’s at home, he’ll be here in ten seconds flat.
Sure enough, seconds later there’s a frantic bang at the door. Eventually, he lets himself inside.
“You okay?” he hollers above the shrillness of the alarm.
Nodding, I climb on the chair like I just moved it and wave my hands in front of the alarm. Removing my palms from my ears proves painful, and I’ll be lucky if I don’t suffer a massive headache later tonight.
Waving my hands does nothing to stop the screech. I pull the alarm off the wall and pop open the back cover. After removing the batteries, I sigh at the silence that ensues.
“No more ringing. Well, except the residual inside my head.” I step off the chair and drop the alarm and batteries on the bar.
“What happened? You burn something?” Eight looks around the apartment, sniffing the air. A dark figure wearing highly expensive boots darts by the open doorway behind him and into his apartment. My heart plummets to the depths of my belly before rising to my throat. I jog across the room and shut the door, giving him a nervous smile.
“That hallway’s drafty.” Pushing myself off the door, I survey the room. “I wasn’t cooking. Not sure why the alarm went off, but I guess we should look around? Make sure there’s not something burning?”
Eight grunts in agreement and canvases the living room. I pretend to peek into my bedroom and bathroom before rejoining him in the kitchen.
“Weird,” I say, laughing. “Stupid alarm. Maybe that’s how it acts when the batteries are dying.”
“Maybe.” Eight looks unconvinced. He rubs the back of his neck. “Pretty sure it just beeps when the battery dies. Well, if you don’t need anything else …”
Eight backs towards the door, and I go into full panic mode. Madi hasn’t knocked, which means she’s still in the apartment. And she hasn’t blown the horn, which means she’s not yet made it to her car. The thought of Eight returning to his apartment and finding Madi lurking around causes me to panic. I grab the hem of his sleep-rumbled shirt and drag him forward.
We bump chests, both wide-eyed, both with hearts pounding. I know because I see the throb of his pulse in his neck below the scruff of a dusting of hair he has yet to shave off, which makes no sense. He’s always in a disarray of unkempt hair and tired eyes, but always clean-shaven.
Feeling somewhat bold, I reach up and rest my palm on his face, marveling at the scuff of rough bristle against my sensitive skin. He’s stark still, aside from his tongue, which sweeps out to moisten his lips. I think about kissing him, and not for the sake of distracting him away from Madi and his apartment. I think about kissing him for the sake of kissing him. I think about kissing him because he’s Eight, my lucky number, the guy the stars align with mine. And I think he wants to kiss me too.
He licks his bottom lip once more and leans down, cupping my face in his hands. My eyes automatically close. His breath is on my skin. His hands are in my hair. The strum of my heart rushes in my ears so loud, I’m sure he hears the frantic pulse. A featherlight caress of his nose brushes my cheek, and I tilt my head to one side, ready. Ready for our first kiss.
Someone knocks on the door. A short little
tap, tap, tap
.
“Ignore them,” he says.
His mouth touches the edge of mine, and I part my lips. One hand travels from my jaw to the back of my neck; the other settles on my waist. His thumb presses below my hip bone, in that delicate place inches from where I secretly wish he’d touch.
Lust almost makes me cave.
Tap, tap, tap.
Madi’s stranded in the hallway, possibly filled with the knowledge of who Eight’s hiding in his apartment across the hall, and I don’t care. I tease the corner of his mouth with my tongue before traveling lower. I nip the angle of his scruffy jaw, the column of his neck. His head lolls back, his moan filling the heated air. My hands touch his waist, one dipping low enough to cup his ass and squeeze.
God, he’s got a nice ass.
Tap, tap, tap.
Madi’s not leaving, and neither is he. He pushes me against the bar. The granite digs painfully into my lower back, but I ignore it. He brushes loose curls from my forehead and searches my face, looking for what, I don’t know. But he’s looking and looking deep. And he’s hard against my soft belly. Hard and thick and needy.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Jesus Christ.” Eight presses his forehead against mine, his eyes never wavering. “I want to kiss you.”
Screw his secrets, his evasiveness, his weird mood swings. “So kiss me.”
“Not like this.” He groans and takes a step back, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Not with someone knocking on your door nonstop.”
He lets me go altogether, and for the first time, as melodramatic and cliché as it sounds, I feel completely alone. Never have I considered myself the needy type, the kind of girl unable to function without a special someone in my life. It’s a cold, pathetic sensation. I wrap my arms around my torso, warming away the odd feeling.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I divert my eyes from his probing gaze. No way am I looking at him. He’ll see the weakness there, and he’ll feed off it. This is how it starts, becoming one of the giddy, moon-eyed girls I remember in high school and college. I always sort of mocked them, in my mind at least. They’d get swept away by one guy, and then dumped in a matter of days, weeks. Sometimes even a year or two later. Falling that much in love only to have it snatched away is a terrifying feeling for someone like me, a person who doesn’t share her true self with anyone, even her family.
“Six.”
Tap, tap, tap.
Eight releases a string of curses and stalks to the door. Madi’s standing in the hallway, her fist poised in the air ready to knock again. She looks up and blinks at Eight, her lips parted in surprise. I don’t even have to wonder why. He’s hot, all bedskewn and ridiculously frumpled. A major woody strains against the fly of his jeans. Heat rushes to my face and chest the moment I notice it. The same moment Madi notices it.
“You must be Eight,” she says. She stares at his crotch and lowers her voice. “At
least
an eighter. Maybe a niner.”
“Excuse me?”
Madi blinks and glances up. “Uh, I mean Eight. You’re Eight, right?”
Eight nods and the two of them do that weird thing where one is trying to elbow their way into the apartment while the other is attempting to elbow their way out. Once he’s standing in the hallway, Eight shoots me a look of disappointment, and I know how he feels. I break his gaze, not wanting him to know how deep I’m in.
Eight offers his hand to Madi. “Nice to meet you …”
“Madi Prescott.” All traces of her embarrassment at being caught ogling his crotch and guessing his dick size dissipate with her bright smile. “Detective Madi Prescott.”
Jesus, fix it.
“You’re a detective?” He pauses outside the door, one hand on the back of his neck, the other tugging his tee down.
Oh, honey. It’s too late. We’ve both seen that boner.
“That’s correct.” Madi whips out a business card from her purse that she dropped beside the door when she’d first arrived at the apartment.
If Eight wonders why her purse is inside my apartment while she wasn’t, he doesn’t show it. He takes the card from her, wrinkling his brow. “Says Madi Prescott, Interior Designer.”
“Right. That’s a front for who I really am.” Madi gestures at herself. “You woulda never thought, huh?”
Eight gives her an incredulous stare.
“Okay, Madi, that’s enough.” I practically drag her away from the door.
“Fine, fine, jeez.” Madi bats my hands away and smoothes the wrinkles from her clothes. “Hey, Eight, you wanna go out with us tonight?” Madi shoots me the side-eye. “We’re going to Club Champagne. Me, my husband Logan, and Alex. Feel free to join us.”
Relief tornados inside my head. Madi’s inviting him out with us. She’d never do that if she’d found a girl inside Eight’s apartment.
“Club Champagne?” Eight gives me a suspicious glance. “Didn’t know Six was much of a clubber.”
“I’m not. Madi’s inviting you out so she can investigate you some more.” I wink at him, like a full-on wink. People don’t wink anymore, except the pervy old man who checks me out at the local Save-a-Dime. Literally and figuratively. He’s one hell of a pervy cashier.
“Yeah, I’m not much of a club guy myself.” Eight takes one, two steps back, giving Madi a half-hearted head nod. “Nice to meet you. And you …” He gazes my way, his tolerable smile for Madi turning heated for me. “I’ll see you later.”
Madi takes both my hands and leads me to the couch. She falls back onto the cushions, one arm slung over her forehead. Heaving a dramatic sigh, she stares up at the ceiling. A whimsical, lovelorn smile winds its way onto her face. She sits up and pats the cushion beside her, taking my hands again when I plop down.
“There’s a man in Eight’s apartment,” she says. “And … and he’s beautiful. Well, what I saw of him was beautiful.”
A man, not a woman.
I blow out a sigh of relief. “What man? And what did you see?”
Giggling, Madi tucks her legs underneath her, bouncing a little on the cushion. “He was asleep on Eight’s expensive-ass couch. Shirtless and wearing a pair of sleep pants that had worked their way down over the waistband of his underwear.” Madi sighs, staring at the blank screen of the television. “You should’ve seen him: the muscles on his defined back rippling with each breath he took, the roundness of his firm ass.”
I snort. “And what about his face?”
Madi’s forehead scrunches in thought. “I wouldn’t know. He was lying face down with his head buried in a pillow, but I’m sure he has the face of an angel.”
“Why would Eight hide a gorgeous man inside his apartment?” Fear creeps up my throat. “Dear God. You don’t think …”
“He swings both ways?” Madi rubs her chin. “Maybe, but I doubt it. The guy obviously needed a place to crash while recuperating from a pretty bad breakup.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There was an empty bottle of booze sitting on the floor beside him and half-eaten food in takeout boxes scattered around the coffee table. Clearly signs of numbing his pain.” She clutches her chest in despair. “Also, the missed text I read on his phone.”
My mouth drops open. “Madi! You went through his phone?”
“Of course I didn’t,” she scoffs. “Well, not entirely. But only because it was locked. A partial missed text showed up on the screen. Some girl begging for his forgiveness. That’s all I saw, I swear.” Madi crosses her heart with one manicured finger.
“Then why is Eight being so secretive? Why’s he trying to hide his friend?”
“I don’t know. You think he’s got one of those crazy ex-girlfriends and Eight’s trying to stash him away so she won’t find him? One of those key your car, blast you out on social media type of girlfriends?” Madi grins. “I know one way to help him get over his ex.” She wags her eyebrows.
“Need I remind you that you’re married? To Logan?” I frown at her lovestruck theatrics.
“Need I remind you of my ten year plan?”
For the past year or so, Madi’s joked about leaving Logan once they reach their ten year anniversary.
“Need I remind you that you’re nowhere close to your ten year anniversary? And you’re kidding when you say all that anyway.”
“No I’m not.” Madi gives me a sad smile. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. You and everyone else think I’m happy. I’ve got a good, hardworking man, a fantastic job, an adorable child.”
“Sounds like a miserable existence.” Rolling my eyes, I lay back on the couch, propping my feet on my silly friend’s lap. “Really, I don’t know how you wake up and face the world everyday.”
Madi touches my feet. I half expect her to push them from her lap. It’s not her hands that make me recoil, both physically and mentally, but her words.
“Just because my hurt seems insignificant to you doesn’t mean it’s insignificant to me.”
I sit up, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Facing Madi forces me to see her for who she is in the moment. Her face pinches at whatever thought flits through her mind. The edges of her eyes are rimmed in redness, holding back tears. She wipes them away, invisible before they become real. But still they spill over her bottom lashes, peppering the loose shirt and leggings.
“What’s going on? Jesus, Madi, I didn’t know.” I scoot closer to her, bringing her in for a hug. She relaxes against me, her head on my shoulder. “I thought it was just a joke. All fun and games.”
“There’s no fun and absolutely no games.” She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Since Logan opened the new gym he’s busier than ever. He works long hours, and still works as a personal trainer on the side. One guy he’s been training put in a pretty good word for him, and this company, this production company of all things, contacted him wanting to know if he’ll train some of their actors.”
“A production company? That’s great.”
Madi lifts her head from my shoulder, giving me a wry smile. “Great? Yeah, it’s great. We barely see each other, and when we do see each other all we do is argue about how much time we don’t spend together. But I’m the one doing all the arguing. He doesn’t understand the problem. And I tell him, ‘Your one-year-old is growing up without a dad. You leave when it’s dark, you come home when it’s dark. You haven’t made love to me in weeks.’ What kind of marriage is that? So excuse me if I get a little excited over the sight of a shirtless man’s well-defined ass, okay?”
She laughs at the end, wiping away traces of runny mascara with the sleeve of her dark shirt. I laugh along with her, but the knot in the back of my throat ends my chuckling. I’ve been so caught up with my own problems I haven't noticed Madi’s. My best friend. My ride or die. How could I have been this blind?
“That’s why I suggested we go to Club Champagne tonight.” Madi shrugs. “Hopefully it’ll help rekindle those old feelings. It’s where Logan and I first met. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” I roll my eyes. “You had one too many glasses of what was absolutely
not
champagne. Tasted more like motor oil. You were so drunk I practically carried you to the restroom. Logan walked out of the men’s room at the same time we were passing to go into the ladies’ room and you threw up all over his new shoes.”
Madi smiles at the memory. “And he said, ‘Damn, girl. Did you eat tacos before you came here?’”
I almost gag at the memory. “And that was the line that drew you in. I’ll never understand.”
“Nah, it had nothing to do with what he said.” Madi’s smile fades. She looks down at her hands folded in her lap. “It was because he cared. He called us a cab to make sure we made it safely back to the dorms. He asked for my number and made sure we’d made it home in one piece. Then he called the next day to check on me.”
“He was very sweet,” I admit. “Especially considering he was soaked in a stranger’s vomit.”
Madi smiles but doesn’t respond. The look of sheer sadness on her face compels me to do something I haven't done in years.
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” I draw in a deep breath and meet her curious gaze. “If you want me to go to Club Champagne, I’ll go, okay? Even though I told myself long ago I’d never go clubbing again. I’ll be your wingman, your bumper, your shoulder to cry on. I’ll remind Logan of the good old days. Not the night he was covered in your vomit, but those nights soon thereafter.”
Sniffling, Madi pulls me in for a bone-crushing hug. “Thanks, Alex. But if this doesn’t work, I’m going for the guy next door.”
***
Later that day, Madi returns to my apartment, her arms loaded with everything from makeup to clothes.
“You’re two sizes smaller than me.” I hold up a red dress. An utterly tiny red dress. Good thing there’s a jacket to go along with it.
“Exactly.” She dumps a bag of makeup and a new pair of heels on my bed. “There’re other guys out there looking for a hot, successful, sassy girl to spend their time with. What better way to make a guy like Eight want you than to make every other guy want you?”
“I don’t know …” I drop trou and shimmy into the red dress. Well, I say shimmy. More like yank on the stretchy material until all my lady parts are at least partly covered.
I tug the dress down, and it rides back up. “Who’s keeping the baby tonight while you’re getting your club on?”
“The in-laws, girl. He’ll be spoiled rotten by the time he makes it home tomorrow.”
After a long look in the mirror situated above my dresser, I turn to my friend. “There’s no way I’m leaving the apartment looking like this.”
Madi looks up from the tube of lipstick she’s taken out of the bag. Her eyes brighten and a wide smile stretches across her face. “There’s no way you’re
not
leaving this apartment looking like that. Do me a favor. If Eight doesn’t stop by or call by the time you’re ready to go out, make a lot of noise when you leave. Let Eight get a glimpse of you.”
“No way. I’m too nervous letting strangers see me this way, let alone the guy I’m …”
“The guy you’re …” She makes a “tell me more” gesture with her hand. “The guy you’re in love with?”
“The guy I’m in
like
with,” I concede.
Madi snickers. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Keep telling yourself that lie. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta head home and get ready. See ya in a few hours, ‘kay?” And with that, she grabs her keys and breezes out the door with a skip in her step.
Ultimately I spend more time
getting ready
for the club than the actual amount of time I plan to spend inside the club. If anything, tonight’s a good excuse to experiment on my makeup. All those hours of watching drag queen YouTube makeup tutorials have not been watched in vain.
Eight’s apartment is quiet, quieter than it’s been all day. I press my diamond-studded ear against his door and, sure enough, hear the low hum of muffled voices on the other side. Madi might have invited him out with us, but he’s shown no interest in joining our group.
Disappointment floods my senses, but the emotion is short-lived. Tilting my chin up, I force myself forward. There’s no way I’m garnering his attention like Madi suggested. I look like a two-bit hooker on discount night.
The banister is my saving grace on my descent to the lobby. How Madi talked me into wearing heels is beyond me. They’re normally reserved for life-altering formal events, like funerals and weddings, which are both pretty much one in the same in my opinion.
There are no pockets on the skimpy, short jacket, and certainly none on this sleeve of a dress I’m wearing. So I toss my cell in the console of my car and shut the little door with a light thud.
I’m about two blocks from the club when some punk kid on a skateboard jumps the sidewalk and into traffic a few seconds after the light turns green. The car in front of me attempts to dodge him, jumps a curb, and nearly takes out a group of guys on the sidewalk. The guys leap back, their curse words swirling into the cold winter air in wisps of steam-tinged smoke. The SUV clips a streetlight, and I slam on my brakes as the light pole titters and tilts. Someone plows into me from behind, forcing me off the road and into the ass end of the SUV on the sidewalk. The last thing I remember is my head slamming against the steering wheel.
***
When I wake up, I’m blinded by a white light.
“Jesus, is that you?” I say, or at least I think that’s me talking. My voice is thick and garbled. My tongue is swollen. A metallic taste sours my mouth. Blood. I sit up, spitting. Red spots splatter the gray sidewalk my butt is sitting on.
My car sits in front of me, smoke curling from the crumpled front end. The front of another car is lodged into the back bumper of mine. A young guy stands next to the car on his cell phone, his worried eyes darting from me to the car.
“Hey, gal, don’t move.” A man in his late fifties hovers over me, blinding me with the light on his cell phone as he stares into my eyes. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Too late.” A dull, throbbing pain splinters its way across my forehead. “Who pulled me out of my car? You’re not supposed to move someone with a head injury.” Fuzzy minded, I’m grappling at what little information I know about injured people. All I’ve learned is self-taught from watching
Grey’s Anatomy
and reruns of
House
, so who knows how true any of that really is.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” The man pockets his phone and pulls my probing fingers away from a split on my forehead. He sheds his coat and drops it on the ground, easing me back to rest on the denim material. “Either I pull you from the car and take the chance of hurting you worse, or I leave you in the car and hope you don’t burn to death.”
I blink at the thought of burning to death. “Good decision.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” The guy smiles. He’s missing most of his front teeth and he smells like cheap booze, but I’m not judging. The toothless, drunk bastard saved me.
I reach up and pull him in for a hug. Losing his footing, he lands on the ground beside me with an
oomph
. His face spins on his shoulders in a swirl of dark skin and yellowing teeth.
“My hero.” Giddiness swirls inside me. An odd sense of euphoria infiltrates my system. I can only imagine this is the sensation one gets after a near death experience. Any and all traces of terror ebb away, replaced with utmost happiness.
Toothless scrambles out of my arms, but I’m having none of that. I’m taking this homeless guy home to live with me. Hell, I might even marry him. Damn society’s standards.
“Hon, I ain’t homeless. Just trying to get home from the club.”
I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud, and don’t even have the decency to blush. “Club? Club Champagne?”