by Nia Arthurs
I shrug. “Why not?”
Venus grabs the remote. “You got yourself into this, Maddox. Game on.”
Twelve
Venus
I’m in a hammock.
Nets made of rope and steel.
I hear a grunt.
My eyelids part slightly.
That’s not a net around me.
They’re arms.
Strong arms.
A T-shirt sleeve.
Troy’s.
He rocks me ever so gently as he mounts the steps to the second floor. Footsteps thud in a swift rhythm. He’s heading down the hallway.
My eyelids press together.
He shoulders my door and eases us inside.
I open my eyes again.
The room is dark.
Pitch black.
I should tell him I don’t sleep in total darkness, but I’m too tired.
Also… that’s embarrassing.
My nightlight’s a secret I’ll take with me to my grave.
Troy sets me on the bed.
His fingers whisk the back of my knees as he lets my body go.
He’s staring at me with eyes cast in shadows.
I wonder what he’s thinking?
A beat passes.
He’s still there. Still watching me.
Does he think I can’t see? That I won’t remember?
It’s dark in here, but there’s a sliver of light coming from the hallway.
Troy reaches out.
Touches one of my curls. It’s whisper-soft. His hands are shaking as if he can’t bring himself to trace even one strand.
I stir.
He pulls back like I bit him. Lets loose a tortured sigh.
His body pivots.
He’s about to leave.
Wait.
I don’t want him to go.
Not yet.
My arm shoots out. I snatch the hem of his T-shirt. “Is the movie over?”
He turns back. His voice is low and rumbly. “You lasted twenty-minutes.”
Liar. There’s no way. Elizabeth had already started flirting with Mr. Wickham by the time my eyelids went heavy.
Troy’s quivering smile tips me off.
He’s teasing me.
“Nice try.” I scrunch my fingers into his T-shirt. Tug him closer. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You fattened me with fajitas.”
His half-smile makes me want to yank him to the bed. “No one forced you to devour three tortillas and the placemats.”
“Very funny.” My finger slips beneath the T-shirt. Skims a stretch of taunt abdomen before hitting the hem of his sweatpants.
It’s unintentional, but I don’t move.
It’s just one finger.
One tiny inappropriate gesture.
I meet his eyes. “Either way, I lost. So…” I slip another finger in. This one’s not a mistake.
Blame it on the fact that I’m half-conscious.
High on beans and guac.
Or old memories.
Whatever.
I want to touch him.
Just for a moment.
I lower my voice and whisper, “What do you want?”
His gaze drops to my lips. I feel it more than I see it.
My heart thuds.
Electricity crackles in the air. Something dark and heavy and forbidden. Something hinting that I’ve been wrong about Troy. About his feelings. That I’m not a little kid to him anymore.
Then he smiles, amused.
My hope crumples.
“You should brush your teeth,” he says, laughter crackling in his tone.
I drop his shirt.
Flop back into bed.
He’s dead-set on acting like an annoying older brother. “Go away.”
His laughter taunts me. “Good night, Venus.”
Keeping my face turned, I lift my hand and flip him off.
Deep chuckles get quieter as he walks out and then they eventually fade.
When he’s gone, I bury my head in the pillow and release a muffled scream.
It takes me a while to go back to sleep that night.
Not a surprise given I took a nap on the couch. And then I flirted with Troy only to get shot down.
Which is a good thing.
We’re matchmaker and client.
I shouldn’t have let one finger slip under his shirt, much less two.
But I’m not thinking about that.
Tell the truth. Shame the—
Not thinking about that either.
I get some paperwork done until my eyes are dry and gritty. When I’m ready to fall asleep, I leave all the lights on and jump into bed.
Sleep comes quickly, but it’s no relief.
He’s in my dreams again.
It’s been a couple months since my subconscious pulled me into this familiar-yet-unfamiliar room. I know what will happen like it’s the back of my hand.
In my dream, I roll on my back. Watch the ceiling.
There are plastic stars there. The little glow-in-the-dark ones. They look chipped and worn. As if they’ve been there for years. As if they don’t light up anymore. They’re too exhausted.
A door creaks.
It’s loud.
A cheerful song plays in the background. I don’t know what kind of song it is or what it’s saying.
All I know is terror.
Pure, unfiltered fear.
Footsteps approach.
It feels like my body jumps with each thump.
A man’s shadow falls over me.
Please…
I can’t see his face, but his presence is enough to send ice slicing through my veins.
And… that’s usually where the scene will end.
Like a movie running out of footage.
Plastic stars. A faint song. A door creaking. And a man.
Usually the sound of my own whimpering would wake up.
And I’d turn on all the lights, hoping to chase away the shadows until the dream has no hold on me.
It’s just a dream.
That’s all it is.
I hope.
Not knowing where or how or why that scenario keeps playing in my head is it’s own torture.
I keep saying I need to see a therapist.
A priest.
A hypnotist.
Someone.
But I’ve never found the time.
Or maybe I’m just scared.
Maybe I don’t want to find out why I have dreams of a man slipping into my room when he’s not supposed to. A man who makes my body shut down and my teeth clamp so hard on my bottom lip that I draw blood.
There’s really no happy endings in situations like that.
Call it cowardice or self-preservation, I’d rather not know.
But tonight is different.
Because tonight, the bed dips when I’m fighting to escape the room with the stars. Fingers dig into my shoulders and shake gently.
Tonight, when I fling my eyes open, hoping to see the bright lights inside my bedroom and the emptiness that assures me what I’ve just experienced wasn’t real—I see something even better.
Troy.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
It’s a blatant lie.
Every time I have that dream, I’m reminded that—somewhere in my memories—there’s a man creeping into my room and I am not, under any circumstances ‘okay’.
“Nightmare?”
My eyes flicker up. How did you know?
“You were crying.” He lifts a finger.
I glance down and see a teardrop balancing daintily on the tip of his pointer.
“Oh, I…” Sniffing, I run the heel of my hand over my cheeks.
“Was it the stalker?” His voice deepens. Thick eyebrows are angry slashes over his narrowed eyes.
I say nothing, choosing to let Troy believe that I’m upset about a vague threat rather than an even more dangerous, faceless enemy
that lies buried in my subconscious.
“See.” Brown eyes assess me intently. “You act strong, but I know this craziness got to you.” He takes a glass of water from the nightstand and lifts my hand. Guiding me firmly, he wraps my fingers around the cool glass. “Have some water.”
“Thanks.” I drink. Lick my lips.
The tightness in my chest starts to loosen.
Troy’s banished the shadows.
The dream is nothing but a strange, distant flash in my head now.
“What time is it?”
He shrugs. “Early. You should get back to sleep. You were up till late.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard you shuffling around.”
“Ah.” I take in the hoodie he’s thrown over his T-shirt and sweatpants. “Where are you going?”
“For a run.” He stands.
I scramble to my knees. “Can I come?”
“You?” He slants me a dubious look.
“Yes, me. Who else?” I throw my blanket off and slide my feet on the ground. Going back to sleep is out of the equation and I need some fresh air. “What? You think I don’t exercise?”
“I know you exercise, but I thought you preferred…”
“What?”
“Zumba.” He utters the word like it’s a foreign planet.
I laugh. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to handle it if you ever did a Zumba Cardio session with me.”
“More bets? Aren’t you tired of losing?”
“I lost one. Don’t get cocky.”
He smiles. And then it fades. He’s back to being concerned. “Are you sure everything’s alright? There’s nothing I should know about? The stalker… all he did was stare at your door, right?”
I think of the note. “I’m fine.” I push his shoulder. “Out. I need to change.”
“You want a protein shake?” he asks, taking a step toward the door.
“No thanks. I don’t usually eat in the morning.”
He slants me a scolding look. “You will now.”
My stomach tightens.
That…
He’s so damn bossy, but it’s wrapped up in such good intentions.
I can’t even hate him for it.
Still, I refuse to give him the upper hand. “I’ll eat or starve if I want.”
That earns me another glare, but he doesn’t argue. “Meet me outside in ten.”
“I will.” I follow him to the door and then lock it tight.
My thoughts race as I pull out a sports bra from my yet-to-be-unpacked suitcase.
I’ll tell Troy about the note. Eventually.
When I’m sure the stalker and the scribbled messages are connected.
For now, I’ll focus on what I can control and…
I’ll enjoy spending time with him.
Thirteen
Troy
My sneakers pound the concrete. I inhale deeply as my body takes over and starts to speed up. Pulling back, I shorten my stride and fall in line beside Venus.
We’re doing a twenty-minute mile. Laughably slower than my preferred pace. Much faster than hers.
My mind quiets as I push the ground away.
I spend hours curved over a desk or an easel every day, so exercise is an integral part of my life.
More than that.
It’s an emotional life vest.
When I’m running, all my problems fade away.
The fact that I’m pushing thirty-five with no marriage and no kids to make a home with?
Gone.
The fact that my mom died before I could afford to put her in rehab?
Gone.
The fact that my agent wants to arrange an exhibit next month and all I can paint is Venus?
Gone.
When I’m in gear, nothing else matters.
Not my loneliness. Not my ex. Nothing but my heart pumping and the breath pulling into my lungs.
To my surprise, Venus and I complete the mile, quiet and in sync.
The sky is bursting with red, orange and pink by the time we stop to catch our breath and hydrate. There’s no water fountain on this route, but I came prepared.
I offer my water bottle to Venus for the first sip.
She shakes her head, gasping for breath.
Her hands grip her hips.
She bends slightly over. Messy curls fall past her shoulders and hide her face from view.
I drink deeply, eyeing the runners passing by. This is a popular route and it’s starting to get busier, which is why I usually plan my runs a half-hour earlier so I don’t have to see too many people.
Trees dance in the breeze.
A gentle wind cools the sweat on my neck.
I slip out of my hoodie and tie it around my waist.
I’m not the only one who’s decided to strip. A shirtless guy runs by, his knees hiking and his headphones secure in his ears.
I expect him to move on smartly like all the rest.
To my surprise, the guy doubles back.
He brazenly jogs in place, his eyes locked on Venus as she bends over.
I glare at him and then place my hand on her shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Thanks.” She straightens.
Shirtless Guy leaves.
I let out a breath, although I’m sure he won’t be the last to ogle her. That shapely body demands attention and she’s offering more than an eyeful in her tiny sports bra and tight, red running shorts.
That outfit should be illegal.
At least on her.
Those legs—
The low-cut bra—
“Done.” She hands the water bottle back. Smiles.
Her cheeks are flushed. More red than brown thanks to the exercise.
Her eyes sparkle.
My body thrums. It likes what it sees.
I swipe the bottle lid open and pour the rest on top of me. The water is cold as it runs down my face, neck and shoulders, but it fails to cool the heat racing through my veins.
Venus swipes her hair back and lets it fall. “You good?”
I’d be better if we were back home and I could have you to myself. “Of course.”
“You look red.”
“Not as red as you.” I point to her cheeks.
“That’s genetics.” She lifts her chin proudly, slipping into her Caribbean accent. “I’m always red.”
I smirk.
This is good. She’s calm. Smiling. Sweaty. Half-naked…
Not the point.
She’s got her bounce back.
I was worried.
When I passed her room and heard whimpering this morning, I thought for sure someone had broken in.
It was only a bad dream, but it revealed just how vulnerable Venus is.
She acts tough. She’s good at that. But it’s only a front.
I’ve got to protect her.
From the creep who’s after her.
From myself…
She pulls out her phone. “Would you take a picture?”
“Of the skyline?” I joke.
She rolls her eyes. “Of me, Troy.”
“Are you going to post it?”
“No, I’m going to print it out and use it as toilet paper.” She slants me a duh look.
I raise a brow and hold on to her phone. “Maybe you should stay off social media for a while. Just in case.”
“Excuse me?”
“We don’t know if your stalker is dangerous or not. Giving them your location will be like leaving breadcrumbs right to your door.”
She tilts her head. Licks her bottom lip. Thinks about it. “You have a point.”
“I usually do.”
“Give it. I’ll still take the picture.”
“Venus—”
“I won’t post it.” She throws her mass of curly hair over her shoulder. Brushes at the flyaway curls that stick to her cheek. “My hair looks a mess.”
“How?”
She motions to the frizzing coils.
“You look stunning.”
“I’m sweating everywhere.” She tugs at the strap of her sports bra. “I wish streaking was legal.”
My throat constricts.
My chest burns.
Venus.
Naked.
That’s all my brain needs to hear.
Visuals…
So many beautiful visuals.
She barks out a laugh. “Troy, you should see your face.”
“Just take the damn picture,” I grumble.
“Fine. Fine.” She smiles.
Snap.
I hand the phone back. “Done?”
“No.” She frowns as if I’ve deeply offended her. “Another one.”
I purse my lips.
It’s getting really crowded out here.
I’m itching to get back home.
Take a cold shower. Maybe two.
Get on with my day.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Wait.” And like the flip of a switch, she drops the goofy grin. Tilts her head. Hands in her hair. Chin tilted coyly as she shoots the camera smoldering I know you want this eyes.
My fingers slip off the shutter button on screen.
I swallow.
Snap.
Venus drops her hands and strolls over to me. “Let’s take one together.”
“No.”
Absolutely not.
I’m raging hot for her when she’s three feet away.
I don’t need Venus Miller any closer.
“Why not?” She keeps walking.
“Social media is overrated.”
“I’m not posting this.”
“Which is even more reason not to take it.”
“Stop being such a grouch.”
I scoff. “A grouch?”
“Would you prefer ‘curmudgeon’?”
“Now that’s just insulting.”
“I’ll make sure you look good.”
“I always look good.”
“Then prove it.” She gestures come here.
My legs start moving and pull the rest of me along.
Venus smiles in excitement.
She’s getting oddly hyped about this.
It’s just a picture, at least… it’s just a picture to her.
In my case…
Having her trim body, slick with sweat, pressing up into me…
It’s more than a picture for me.
I get as close to her as I dare. “So what do we do? Silly faces or something?”
“Just smile, you doofus.” She gives me a pretty one as example.
I try to follow her lead, but it just feels unnatural.
