Twisted Mind (Chequered Flag #2) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Dustin

I stumbled home around eleven o’clock since Teo—the bastard—stole my car keys, which was undoubtedly a good thing. Though it probably didn’t sound too late, considering I’d started drinking around two o’clock it was a wonder I could still even remain on my feet.

Nonetheless, the alcohol had finally done its job. My mind felt dead and my body numb to anything and everything.

Somehow I managed to stagger up the two flights of stairs in my building. I reached my door and fell against it so I could rummage in my pocket for my keys. I dug my hand into my right pocket as deep as it would go and came up empty. I tried the second pocket and still found no keys. With drunken movements I patted my body down, only to find I had nothing except my wallet and the clothes on my back.

I groaned. Out of all of the situations I’d been in, I had to forget my keys on the worst day of my life.

“Raine,” I called, knocking on the door. “Raineeee, come on. Lemme in,” I slurred and banged on the door a little harder. “Raine! I forgot me keys. Lemme in.”

I kept thumping my fist against the door until finally it was removed. I swayed, only just catching myself from falling head first through the opening.

The woman in the doorway regarded me with suspicion and disgust. Even in my inebriated state I could tell the expression looked out of place on a face as beautiful as hers. Her nearly black eyes, framed with thick lashes, weren’t meant to hold such anger.

“What the hell do
you
want?” Her tone dripped with resentment. She seemed to know me from somewhere, though I couldn’t put my finger on where we’d met before. She wasn’t Nadine, and Raine didn’t have any other friends. I’d have definitely remembered the Latin beauty in front of me.

“Who…who are you? Why you in my house?”

“This isn’t your house.”

“Yeah, t’is.”

“No, it’s not.” She pointed behind me, drawing my gaze to the piece of metal hanging from her arm. “I’m guessing that’s your home. This is mine.”

A bubble of laughter escaped my lips. “I’m locked out.”

“Not my problem.” She moved to shut the door.

I lifted my hand, stopping it from closing at the last second. “Can I use your phone?”

“No. Now move your hand so I can close my door.”

I arched an eyebrow, or at least I tried to. I couldn’t be sure of the expression I pulled since my muscles weren’t cooperating with my brain. “You don’t like me.”

She huffed. “
Oh really.
I’m
meant
to like the dickhead who knocked me over earlier and left me on the floor and unable to get up?”

I attempted to recall what she was talking about, my eyes rolling back into my head as if searching my mind. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“I’m
pretty sure
I don’t, though it’s not worth the argument so please leave. I want to go back to bed.”

“Let me use your phone first, please.”

“I said no.”

“I’m going to be out here all night if you don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. Even in my state I could see her resolve cracking as my words sunk in. She knew I spoke the truth.

“Ugh, fine. Come in and I’ll go and find it,” she muttered finally. She turned her back on me, her crutches hindering her quick escape.

Once she’d disappeared into another room I moved over to the sofa since my balance started to fail me again. I swayed on the spot and my head pounded.

Sinking into the cushions, I told myself I’d only be there a minute, yet my body wasn’t listening. I relaxed against the soft material, my eyes shutting.

Chapter Five

Tazia

Why me?

Out of all the doors he could have knocked on, why mine?

It hadn’t taken me long to find my mobile considering I had organised everything I’d brought with me into rooms to unpack at a later date, and my bag had gone into my bedroom. Despite the short amount of time I was gone, I returned to find the jackass passed out on the ugly sofa I planned on replacing as soon as possible.

I allowed my head to fall back, letting out a frustrated hiss.

I really didn’t need this.

Making my way around to stand in front of him, I studied his sleeping form. A strand of his shaggy brown hair lay fallen across his eyes and he had one hand beneath his cheek to support it. The other arm hung off the side of the chair and his knuckles grazed the floor. With his lips slightly parted, his breaths came in long, deep cycles.

Three scratch marks decorated the side of his face and looked fairly fresh. A few specks of blood crusted at the base, but from the bright colour I knew they had at least happened within the last day, which worried me. I had no idea how he got them, and it didn’t put me at ease about having a stranger who had already proved he contained plenty of anger staying in my house.

Keeping my distance, I raised one of my arms and drew my crutch up with it. I lined up the rubber covered end with his shoulder then straightened my arm.

“Hey,” I called. “Wake up.”

I pushed against him, shaking my arm to try and rouse him. His body lolled with the movement, swaying away from me only to flop back into his original position not even a second later.

“Come
on.
You can’t stay here.” I pushed him once more, this time causing him to fall onto his back where his mouth dropped open to emit a more audible snore.

Finally, I accepted the attempts to wake him were futile.

He really was out cold.

With no option besides leaving him, I returned to my bedroom and double checked the lock on my door. If he really wanted to get in it wouldn’t stop him, though I’d at least have a warning.

So much for easy,
I thought. I’d been in the building less than a day and already drama was creeping back into my life.

* * *

Seeing my neighbour sprawled out on my sofa the next morning was a wake-up call I could have done without. I stumbled out of my room at seven a.m., heading straight for the coffee machine when his snore caused me to jump and squeal.

How I’d forgotten about him was beyond me.

Thankfully, I hadn’t woken him. It gave me a second to dart back into my room, slam the door, and get dressed into something less revealing than my almost see through white camisole and boy shorts.

When I returned—grudgingly—it disappointed me to find him still asleep. He had outstayed his welcome a long time ago, so as I went about my morning routine, I made as much noise as possible.

Mugs clattered, the coffee machine whirred, taps were switched on full blast, and I slammed the microwave door. I even went as far as dragging out my fairy cake tin from the box labelled “kitchen”—because my baking supplies were one of the few things I couldn’t leave behind—and “accidently” dropped it.

Still I got no reaction. Not even a change in breathing. All I’d done was work myself into a state.

I downed my coffee in a few gulps then reverted to sending him dagger stares. If noise failed to wake him, maybe the heat from my glower would.

I snorted, realising how ridiculous I sounded. Unfolding my arms, I shook my head to clear my frustration. It seemed pointless to get so worked up over someone who couldn’t see it. Therefore, grabbing my keys off the counter, I marched—as well as I could with a lump of plaster on my leg—over to my front door.

Not wanting him to wake up while I wasn’t there, I shut the door behind me softly and headed for the lift.

If there was one thing I hated most about having broken my leg, it was the time everything took now. Even the simplest of activities, such as getting dressed or walking somewhere, took forever. It frustrated me to have to slow my usual tornado speed and really focus on my actions. I’d never thought about something as simple as walking until it was taken away and hindered.

On the plus side, my arms were getting a work out every day.

The lift doors opened on the bottom floor where a middle-aged man with greying hair waited. Giving him a polite smile, I exited the lift and limped over to my post box. With the key the landlord had given me a few days ago, I unlocked the box corresponding to my flat number. I retrieved the few envelopes, wedging them under my arm. Once I’d relocked the post box I made the arduous journey back up to my flat.

It wouldn’t make a difference once my cast came off, but the lift made my life a hell of a lot easier for the moment. I didn’t even want to consider struggling down two flights of stairs with a broken leg.

The lift stopped on my floor and I rounded the corner to find the man I’d seen downstairs leaning against the wall opposite my flat while talking furiously into his the mobile. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he paused to listen to a response.

With a cursory glance, I walked by and focused my attention on fishing my keys from my pocket.

“Excuse me, this is probably a long shot, but have you seen Dustin?”

I lifted my gaze from the lock on my door. “Sorry, I only moved in yesterday, is Dustin the guy who lives there?”

“Yeah, a lot of people have been trying to get hold of him and we’re starting to worry. I really need to get his ass on a plane.”

A plane? His comment made me curious, though not curious enough to ask. I pushed open the door and hitched a thumb over my shoulder at the figure sprawled out on my sofa.

“That him?”

The man exhaled and cast his eyes to the ceiling briefly. “Oh thank God. Do you mind me asking…uh…why?”

“Why’s he there?”

He nodded and I explained what had happened. A myriad of expressions flittered across his face: embarrassment, frustration, anger, worry, and finally concern.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Tazia,” I filled in for him when he looked at me expectantly.

“I’m Anthony. Like I was saying, I’m truly sorry you’ve had to deal with this. Although it’s not an excuse, he really hasn’t been himself lately. He doesn’t usually do this. All I know is something happened yesterday.”

I shrugged, not able to lie and say it was no trouble.

“Do you mind if I come in? I’ll get him out of your hair.”

“Have at it.” I waved him past me then followed him in. Anthony shook, pushed, and raised his voice at Dustin, only to get a grunt of protest when Dustin rolled over to show him his back.

Anthony puffed out his cheeks and blew the air from them forcefully. He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes and an idea came to me.

“Let me have a go.” I hurried to pull a glass out of a box and filled it with water from the tap. “He owes me after he knocked me over.”

Anthony’s lips curved and he shook his head mockingly. “Your funeral.”

I made my way over to the sofa and held the glass over Dustin’s head. Tilting it slowly, I let a steady trickle hit him right in the middle of his forehead.

As soon as the first drop collided, his eyelids shot open in time to see the glass being tipped upside down and the rest of the contents pouring down on top of him.

He flew up from the sofa with a splutter, and I couldn’t contain the grin pulling at my lips. A giggle escaped and I glanced up at Anthony. Even he wasn’t immune to the sight.

“What the
fuck?
” Dustin cried. His voice cracked as he surveyed the room wildly, his mind struggling to process everything.

“Serves you right,” I stated proudly, causing his hard stare to snap to mine.

“Who are you and where am I?”

“She’s the person you owe an apology and thanks,” Anthony interrupted, capturing Dustin’s attention.

Dustin made a disgusted gurgle. “What for? She’s the one who dumped an ice cold cup of water over me.” He turned back to me. “Who are you anyway? And where the hell am I?”

“I’m Tazia, your new neighbour and the person you knocked over and left on the floor yesterday. That happened to be before you woke me up and dragged me from my bed because you banged on my door drunk, then passed out on my sofa since you were locked out.”

Dustin groaned and raised a hand to massage his temple. “I didn’t.” His statement sounded more like a whine of hope than denial.

“You did.”

He peered at me with contrition. His gaze dipped to my cast and the guilt plastered over his face deepened. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly not usually like this. You caught me on a bad day.”

I shrugged off the apology.

“Really, I’m sorry.”

When I stared down at him, the startling intensity pooling in his forest green orbs knocked the air from my lungs. The anger inside me subsided and I could finally look at him properly. Apart from the scratches, hangover, and pain etched into every tired crease, he actually looked quite attractive.

His body was lean like an athlete’s, though not overly big. He had more of a runner’s build than someone who lifted weights for fun.

Anthony cleared his throat. “We need to go, Dustin. You’ve already missed one flight and the team won’t accept an excuse for missing another.”

Wordlessly, Dustin pulled himself to his feet with shaky legs. He combed back his hair and exhaled heavily. “Can you call Raine? You’re going to need her set of keys to get my stuff. I’ll wait in the car so I don’t have to see her.”

Anthony appeared like he wanted to say something, but with a glance at me he shut his mouth. Grabbing Dustin by the back of the neck, he herded him from the room, once again apologising, and shut the door behind them.

As soon as the lock clicked into place I sat down on the dry edge of the sofa. All of the questions I wished I could have asked Dustin, yet had no right to, filled my mind. For some unexplainable reason I wanted to know him.

I shouldn’t have after the way he’d acted. However, when he’d gazed at me in apology he really did seem to mean it. The emotion I’d seen in his eyes had been so intense I believed below the surface lay a good guy.

The only problem I faced was how to unearth him.