Hangry

by Lily Kate

  Brad’s taking advantage of these almost-balmy temperatures with low hanging shorts and a t-shirt, and his hair is wet and rumpled. If I had to guess, he’s just showered at the gym and is coming home for lunch. Exactly like he said.

  “Well, whatever. I already knitted today.”

  “Knitted?” He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for the domesticated type.”

  “Why? You think I need a man to be domesticated?”

  “I didn’t say anything about a man.”

  “Well, you implied it.”

  “No, I just meant—”

  “You’re just jealous you don’t have this warm blanket to cuddle with.” I fist a hand through my oddly shaped blanket-scarf and brandish it in his face. “That’s right—I made this.”

  Bradley stares back at me. He’s got this whole chocolate brown hair, chocolate brown eyes thing going on, and it makes my hand slip right through one of the loops in my blanket. Not exactly snuggle material, I suppose.

  “Jealous?” I ask, rubbing it against my face. I struggle not to wince as it scratches my skin. “Because you should be.”

  “I am.” He bites his lip, watches me rub the blanket across my cheek, then directs his gaze toward the ceiling.

  He sounds a little strangled. I pull the blanket away from my face, not wanting to go down this road—especially when our elevator ride should be coming to an end any second now.

  “They really need to fix this elevator,” I babble. I’m not the sort of girl who sits in silence very well. It’s not that I want to be social, I just hate silence more than I hate talking to people. “We’re going to be in here all day, and I can’t afford—”

  The elevator groans to a stop, cutting off my sentence.

  Chapter 2

  LEXI

  “Well, that worked out well.” I give Bradley a smile and wait for the doors to slide open. “That was almost awkward.”

  I wait, and I wait a bit longer. I’m trying to be patient, but I’d really intended for that last comment to be a flippant dismissal before I stormed my sequined rear end down the hallway and far away from Bradley Hamilton.

  I reach over, press the door-open button.

  Tap my toes.

  Nothing.

  “What did you do?” I whirl to face Bradley. “Why aren’t these doors opening?”

  He’s got this odd sort of grimace on his face that’s torn between mild amusement and frustration. “What did I do? I’m not the one lighting up the button panel like a Christmas tree.”

  “Why aren’t the doors opening?”

  He raises a hand, points to the numbers. “We’re stuck between six and seven, sweetheart.”

  I’m stunned. Mostly by his use of the word sweetheart. He’s only called me that once before, and it was just before he almost kissed me. A long time ago.

  “Stuck? No, we can’t be stuck.”

  “Fine,” he agrees. “We’re not stuck, we’re stalled.”

  I glare at the numbers on the elevator. “But I have to be at work like... twenty minutes ago.”

  “Tell them you’ll be late.”

  “I’m the boss—I can’t be late.”

  “The elevator is stuck. There’s not much you can do about it.”

  I pull out my phone, glance down reluctantly at the messages to see if there’s a reply from Rick. No reply—and that’s strange. He should be at the diner by now and calling me frantically to see why I haven’t arrived.

  That’s when I notice the angry red mark next to the text. A warning exclamation point that tells me the message never sent in the first place, probably thanks to these stupid cement walls blocking out all my service. I should’ve known; I drop calls every time I use the back entrance to our building.

  I let out a train of expletives that doesn’t stop until I’ve used every last one in the book.

  “It’s fine,” Bradley says, his voice even and cool. “We’ll just call for some help. Five minutes, max.”

  “Great. Does your phone have service? Mine doesn’t.”

  “Press the call button. That’s what it’s there for.”

  “How’d you find out about this elevator, anyway?” I ask as my fingers depress the red button.

  “Fred. You?”

  “Freaking Fred,” I say. “He told me it was a secret.”

  “Fred keeps secrets like a sieve. Especially when a pretty girl is asking for help.”

  “A pretty...oh.” I blush at his implication. Then I press the button a hundred more times in rapid succession because I can’t meet his eyes.

  “Does it help to press it a million times?” Bradley asks. “Because it looks like it’s not working.”

  “It helps with my car and my computer,” I say through gritted teeth. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  I begin dialing on my phone, and thankfully, Bradley follows suit. We both stare at each other across the elevator as we pretend to make calls.

  After an extended minute of intense silence, I can’t handle it any longer. His gaze is searing into me, and my temperature is increasing by the second. The scent of his burger is wafting through the air, and I can’t decide what I want more—a rescuer to save the day, or a bite of that fast food.

  “Anything?” I ask, desperation clawing at my words. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “I’ve got a hamburger.”

  Bradley, to my surprise, doesn’t look at all distraught that the elevator is firmly planted between floors. In fact, he leans against the wall, slides down to the floor, and kicks his feet out in front of him.

  “Don’t start relaxing! We need to get out of here. If you fall asleep, we might die.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I’ll get bored and fall asleep, and then we’ll run out of oxygen.”

  “I don’t need to do anything,” he says. “I already worked today, put in my time at the gym, used the restroom and showered. I have my burger—I’ll be good in here for the next five hours.”

  “But I won’t!” I ram my fist against the door. “Help, anyone! I’m stuck in here with a lunatic!”

  Bradley’s eyebrows inch up, but he merely surveys his burger with a frown when I turn to face him. “Idiots.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They forgot the pickles. I specifically asked for extra pickles.”

  “Are you really worried about pickles now?” I pound against the door some more, yelling for help and praying someone will hear. Surely there’s a janitor, or a handyman, or one of our fellow tenants that’ll hear the shouting. “Save me!”

  “Who are you expecting to swoop in? I think Superman sleeps in on Sundays.”

  “At least I’m doing something.”

  “I’m doing something, too.” Bradley closes his eyes, takes a bite of the burger, and sighs.

  The picture on his face is one of pure bliss, and I want it, too. I want to be just like him—happily munching on a greasy hamburger with not a care in the world.

  Instead, I resume my pounding at an even more frantic pace. If I looked crazy before in all my sparkly getup, I now look downright nuts. I’m almost certain birds have nested in my hair, and my dress is in a state of disrepair as my strap chooses this moment to fall off my shoulder.

  I don’t even know how I managed to get a slight tear in the fabric around my thigh during my wild night. Who knew knitting could be so rough on clothes?

  There’s silence behind me when I stop the pounding. I harrumph, cross my arms, and whirl around to face my only companion. I catch him watching me, his mouth parted slightly, as if he’d meant to take a bite of the hamburger, and then forgot about it halfway to his mouth.

  I glance behind me, but sure enough, the doors are still frozen shut. “What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head and takes a massive bite of his burger. “It’s just... you’ve got...”

  My cheeks burn as I look down and find the back edge of my dress hiked up to my waist.

  I mus
t’ve flailed so thoroughly during my pounding that my dress went all out of whack and ended up inching its way to reveal my lacy underthings. It’s enough of a reason to start planning my funeral.

  I’m dead. Death by mortification. That’s what my tombstone will read.

  “Stop staring!” I yank my skirt down over my thighs. “At least I’m doing something.”

  “Yes, you are.” He sounds pained as he sets the burger in his bag and brings his head to rest in his hands. “You most certainly are.”

  “Oh, sorry, don’t let me stop you from enjoying a meal while I’m over here trying to save our lives. We could die in here. What if I starve to death? What if we run out of air, like I mentioned five minutes ago? What if we—”

  Bradley moves like lightning. He’s on his feet, his hands landing on my shoulders as he eases me, gently, back against the wall. His eyes have a serious gleam in them, and it takes my breath away. The sheer closeness of him has my eye twitching.

  “You are stealing all of my oxygen,” he says with measured breaths. “And if you don’t calm down, you’re going to get me all riled up, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Bradley’s hand inches up, testing the water. He moves it from my shoulder to my neck, cupping me there. Then his thumb brushes over my lips and sends tingles to the tips of my toes.

  When his fingers slide into my hair, curling tight to bring the strands taut against my head, my eyes fall shut. The moan this time has nothing to do with the hamburger and everything to do with the feel of Bradley’s hands on me.

  I try to convince myself that it’s only because I haven’t been touched in this way for so long by a man—any man—but that’s a lie. I’ve had plenty of first dates in the last few years, and nothing about those dates sizzled like this moment.

  Bradley drops his hand like he’s been burned. “You keep making noises like that, and I’ll make sure this is a walk of shame.”

  My eyes fly open. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Oh, sweetheart. It’s not a threat.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “An offer.”

  “I have plenty of offers, thank you very much.”

  “Mmm.” He lets his fingers trail over my shoulders, down to the blanket that’s still slung around my neck like a scarf. “Well, then, if you’re not interested, I’ll just leave you alone.”

  He drops his hands, moves across the elevator, and sits down next to his brown paper bag. Whatever he just did—it’s not fair. My cheeks are on fire and my chest is all flushed and blotchy. I can’t quite catch my breath.

  “Life’s not fair, is it?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  For a moment, I’m convinced he’s a mind reader who can tell that he has me all hot and bothered, my mind wandering to unladylike places. Then I watch as he takes another gigantic bite of his burger, and I’m all too aware he’s talking about food.

  My stomach growls. I rest a hand on it and whimper some. “Please take pity on me.”

  “No mercy here. Sorry.”

  “But—”

  “I can give you a bite, but it’ll cost you.”

  “Cost me?” I quickly run through a list of things I have in my purse that might be an acceptable trade. I find, in no particular order: a tampon, a stick of broken open gum, a receipt for my last pair of shoes, and my checkbook. Breathing a sigh of relief, I pull it out. “How much is it gonna cost me?”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “Do you want my...” I hesitate and quickly finger my belongings.

  He’s definitely not interested in the tampon, and probably not interested in the dirty piece of gum. The receipt is so old I can barely read the label on it. I itch underneath my scarf-blanket as I struggle to come up with another option.

  “You’ll figure it out,” he says evenly. “I’ll give you a minute.”

  “The masterpiece I created last night!” I unwrap the blanket from my neck. “I’m learning how to knit, and I’ll trade you my first blanket for a bite of your burger. It’s gonna be worth money someday.”

  “So, you were knitting last night?”

  “Fine, you caught me. Yes. No walk of shame, no wild nights—are you happy?”

  He breaks into a grin which answers that.

  “I’ll have you know that just because Kitty and I stayed in for one night doesn’t mean we’re barren old maids or—”

  “Oh, I know that much.”

  Bradley’s voice comes out all growly and deep, and it seems he’s forgotten the hamburger again. He’s got that possessive, hungry look going on right now, sort of like a wolf. Or like me, Lexi Monroe. Then again, I’m very hungry, so maybe I’m just projecting.

  “Do I get a bite?” I ask, trying for politeness this time around. “One teensy nibble?”

  “I don’t want your blanket full of holes.”

  I give him my most offended expression. “It’s not full of holes, it’s a loose weave. Fine, then, don’t take it. Sit there and freeze.”

  “Freeze?” He holds out a hand, as if testing the temperature.

  It’s warm enough that we’re both just about sweating.

  With another harrumph of frustration, I ease against the opposite wall, stick my legs straight out in front, and cover myself with the blanket. It’s about as effective as trying to catch water with a strainer, but that’s okay. If it were wool, I’d be dead from overheating.

  “I’m very warm and cozy,” I tell him, as one of my heels pokes through a watermelon-sized hole. “What about you?”

  “I’m full and happy.”

  He leans back against the wall, an arm coming to rest over his head as he takes another bite. The hamburger is dwindling close to only half left, and my heart speeds up at its rapid disappearance. I need to get myself a bite of that meat.

  “What’s it going to take?” I cross my arms.

  “A date.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Bradley sizes up his burger, stares between the bun like it’s the next Mona Lisa. “You heard me. I’ll give you half of my burger if you agree to a date with me.”

  I’m floored. Flabbergasted, maybe. I’d expected many things, but I’d not expected a date to be laid on the table. If I’d had to guess, I would’ve expected him to make me wash his car, clean his apartment, or deliver him food for a month. Anything but a date.

  “Do I have to pay?” I ask. “Do you have a wedding and you need a plus one? I’m looking for the catch here. Help me out.”

  “There is no catch.”

  “Bradley Hamilton, why on earth would you want a date with me? We’ve barely talked in three years.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “And I’m trying to figure out what they are.” I squint at him. “Are you trying to get into my pants? Because a date is not codeword for sex. Even if I agree to a date, that doesn’t mean anything—I’m not even promising a kiss.”

  “I know that.”

  I tap my finger against my lips. We’ve been trapped a solid fifteen minutes already, and my stomach has begun to eat itself. It feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. Pretty soon it’ll move on and eat my lungs and my liver, and I’ll be left shriveled up and dead all because I didn’t agree to a date with Bradley Hamilton.

  “How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?” I’m weighing my options.

  A date with Bradley sounds equal parts exciting and disastrous. But I can’t figure out the catch. I can’t figure out why he’d choose a date with me when he could’ve just taken home my beautiful knitted blanket and called it a day.

  “I’d say that’s impossible to determine.” He glances at his phone. “We have no service, nobody heard your screaming, and this elevator is technically not even supposed to be functioning. If you think anybody’s coming for us, you’re wrong.”

  My chest constricts and my breath begins to speed up. “Omigod. I’m going to die in here. I’m going to die without knowing how to knit. I’ll
never become domesticated. I’ll never—”

  “Lexi—”

  “We’re going to die, Brad! I lied to you earlier, I’ve never had wild sex. It’s been all this boring vanilla crap, and I don’t understand all the hype about one-night stands.” My eyes fix on him with renewed fear. “What if I die an un-domesticated, un-sexed twenty-something? I don’t even have a car today.”

  The information is too much for Bradley to process. His face isn’t quite working. His mouth opens and closes, and he searches for something to say, but he doesn’t find it.

  “The car was impounded,” I say as an explanation. “Kitty dropped me off this morning after our knitting date. I know, I’m a mess.”

  “You’ve never had good sex?”

  “That?” I raise my hands in frustration. “That’s all you pulled out of this?”

  “Christ, Lexi. Why didn’t you say something? We could’ve fixed that a long time ago.”

  “When, Bradley?” I lean on his name. “Sometime between you very nearly kissing me, and then never speaking to me again?”

  Bradley takes an even breath. Extends his hand with half the burger. “It’s yours for a date.”

  “No. I’ll starve.”

  He takes a gigantic bite in response, and I whimper. My liver slides dangerously close to my stomach-eating insides. At least, that’s what it feels like.

  He swallows, then takes another bite, polishing off the burger. “Sorry. You didn’t seem interested.”

  “You’re cruel.”

  “Have you reconsidered?”

  “I don’t understand you.” I pull myself to my feet, stomp back and forth across the elevator floor. “You don’t talk to me for years—”

  “We’ve talked. I live across the hall from you.”

  “Good morning and... I got your mail? That doesn’t count as a conversation.”

  “Then let’s talk now.”

  “Now you’re offering to take me on a date, amongst other things.” I wave my hands, unable to repeat his offers. “You push me up against the wall, and make me all hot and heart-poundy, and—”

  “Hot and heart-poundy?” He looks impressed with himself. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”