by Aly Martinez
I have no idea how I let Dave guilt me into this. But somehow, I find myself nervously knocking on Adam’s front door. It’s still dark outside but the sun is starting to peek over the horizon. It’s been a really long night.
"What the hell am I doing?" I ask myself. This is ridiculous. He’s probably asleep and I’m going to be the crazy neighbor who wakes him up yet again.
Just as I turn to walk away, I hear the click of his deadbolt.
He opens the door and his eyes quickly check over my body from head to toe. His angry demeanor sends me back a step, but he immediately softens.
"Shit, Riley. Are you okay?" He reaches out to pull me inside, and normally I would be afraid of such a sudden movement, but the tenderness in his voice keeps my fear at bay.
"I’m fine," I say as he closes the door behind me.
"Did he hit you?" he growls, and my head immediately snaps up to his.
"Dave? No way! I promise, Adam. He would never hurt me. You have the wrong idea about him. I swear."
"Well I’m not sure exactly what idea I should have. You’re terrified of everything and he came home wielding a gun. Sorry, that doesn’t exactly scream your normal, average life to me."
"He’s my family."
"So I’ve heard," he replies sarcastically, and I suddenly feel like coming over here was even worse of an idea than I’d originally thought.
"Well, okay then. Here, I took your tape. I wanted to return it and say thanks for putting up with me tonight, including right now. I won’t bother you again," I rush out and turn to bolt.
Before I make it even a step, he asks, "Why’d you put back in your contacts?"
"They’re prescription," I answer with my practiced lie.
"You didn’t wear glasses when we were watching the movie earlier," he quickly responds with apparent disbelief and a surprising amount of attitude.
"What is this, an inquisition?" I snap back at him. "My glasses are broken. You don’t have to be a dick."
He sucks in a breath before running a hand through his hair. "I’m worried about you," he admits, catching me off guard.
"You don’t even know me."
"Which is what makes being worried about you difficult and ridiculous."
"Why do you care?" I inquire when curiosity gets the best of me.
"I told you. You remind me of someone I used to know." He lifts a single muscular arm and grabs the back of his neck. I can’t help but watch the way his bicep flexes.
"Really. I’m okay. I get a little out of sorts when he goes out of town. I’m sorry he almost shot you," I say in all seriousness, but even I can hear how silly and inadequate that apology sounds.
He begins to laugh, and I smile up at him through my lashes.
"Well if that’s how we are doing this…I’m sorry I almost killed him."
"Apology accepted." I finally look up and his smile fades.
"You should really get clear contacts." His eyes flash back and forth over mine as if he is searching for a glimpse of the true color. An unexpected flutter tingles in my stomach, forcing my eyes to the ground.
"Yeah. Anyway…" I try to change the subject. "Here’s your tape." I reach out to hand it to him, but he doesn’t immediately take it. He stands staring at my outstretched arm.
"So not only are you my weird neighbor who forces me to watch ‘80s movies and gets me into life-threatening situations, but you’re also a thief? I know that tape was in the bottom of my bag." He lifts a questioning eyebrow and crosses his thick arms over his chest. He looks pissed, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth gives him away.
"Something like that. I was trying to find some gauze."
"In my bag?"
"Okay fine. I was being a nosy woman and trying to figure out what your deal is," I rush out, embarrassed.
"And did you?" His friendly tone disappears completely.
"No."
"Our good friend Dave didn’t fill you in?"
"Huh?" How does he know that Dave looked into him? We stare at each other, both of us just as confused as the other. "Well, Adam, this was fun," I say awkwardly. "I should go. I just wanted to say thanks for tonight, and I’m sorry about everything—including stealing your tape."
I turn and head for the door when I hear him ask from behind me, "What’s your last name?"
I freeze for a moment, knowing how I want to answer, but instead, I say, "Peterson. Yours?" I question.
"Andrews."
I turn back to face him with a true smile. "Adam Andrews is quite the mouthful. I like the alliteration though."
"Yep," he answers without emotion, and it appears he's lost in thought.
"Okay, well…I’ll see you around."
"Yep," he repeats while staring blankly over my shoulder.
Without another glance, I open the door and head back to my apartment.
No sooner than I walk in does Dave start in with the questions.
"How’d it go?"
"Weird," I answer, perplexed.
"Weird good? Or weird bad?"
"Weird weird," I respond, heading to my room.
I need some sleep and a whole new day. Unfortunately for me, I’ll only be getting one of those tonight. Even if my alarm weren’t scheduled to go off in approximately one hour, there is no way my mind would allow me to fall asleep tonight. Not when there is obsessing to be done. And I have a full twenty-four hours’ worth of things to obsess about—all of which start and end with muscles and golden-brown eyes.
"Wake up, sunshine!" I hear from the other side of my front door, quickly followed by a loud knock.
I pry my eyes open and notice that it’s well past noon. Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I slept this late, though there were a lot of firsts for me last night.
"Oh, Mr. Andrews?" he calls and it sends me rushing toward the door before the asshole on the other side has a chance to repeat it.
I crack the door to find that prick from last night holding a drink carrier containing two large coffees. Before I have a chance to slam the door in his face, he slides a foot inside, braces a hand against the top, and says, "We need to talk, Slate." He says my name as if it were a threat, and it only serves to enrage me. The smile on his swollen face has me wanting to reopen every single wound Riley no doubt closed last night.
"I have nothing to say to you," I respond, looking down at his foot, silently ordering him to remove it or lose it.
He smiles wider while stepping even closer to the door. "Maybe not. But there are a few things you should know about Riley and her past."
I watch him for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I know I should close the fucking door, pack up, and head to my apartment in Chicago. I should chalk this place up as a loss and never look back. But instead, I open the door and usher him inside. Hopefully, I can get some answers about the small woman I can’t seem to stop worrying about.
"Good choice. My next move was calling the tabloids to let them know where you were hiding."
"I’m not paying you off to keep quiet if that’s where you are trying to go with this," I say firmly. I love it here, but not enough to give him a single cent.
He begins to chuckle and shake his head. "I’m not trying to blackmail you. So can you tone it down a notch? Let’s talk."
"Right. Talk." I motion away the coffee he pushes toward me.
With a shrug, he puts the drink on the table then flops down on the couch. "Well okay then," he says, propping his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles, making himself completely at home. Fucking dick. "Riley is my cousin. Our moms were sisters and we were both only children. I think of her like my sister."
"Get to the point," I growl to speed him up so I can kick his ass out and hopefully catch the next flight to Chicago. I can’t imagine that this is going to have a positive ending. A retreat to my apartment in the Windy City is inevitably in my future.
"She’s had a shit past. Her last boyfriend beat the shit out of her. I, in tur
n, beat the shit out of him, which didn’t make him too happy. So we moved here to get away. So yes, Riley is always afraid, but it’s not of me."
"You know, you two are spending an exorbitant amount of time trying to convince me of this. I honestly don’t give a shit anymore. Your life is just that—yours. I’m glad I was there for her last night, but consider that the end of my part in that fucked-up situation." I don’t flat out lie. I would love some answers about what is really going on with them, but I’m not trying to insert myself into their shit. I just want to make sure she’s safe.
I can’t close my eyes without being consumed by the images of her shaking and crying. I need to get out of here, but I sure as hell can’t just walk away without being sure nothing else will harm her. It’s not that I’m on some fucked-up savior mission now. I just want to do for her what I wish someone had done for my mother all those years ago.
"See, that is what I was hoping for too. But I got a phone call this morning from a buddy of mine informing me that someone was looking into my background." He quirks a knowing eyebrow at me. "You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Slate?"
"I have no clue what you are talking about, Leo." I sling his name back at him, and he reacts as if someone lit him on fire.
He flies to his feet and closes the distance between us. "Shut the fuck up!" He steps up into my face with a challenge.
"Oh, so it’s okay for you to toss my name around like a God damn cussword, but I can’t say yours at all?" I grin, leaning in even closer.
"It’s not my fucking name. It’s a nickname she used to call me when we were kids. And it means painful things to both of us now," he explains, and there’s an odd tinge of pleading underneath his angry tone.
I think back on the night before and remember the way she called him Leo when she freaked out initially, but the second she calmed down, she immediately went back to calling him Dave. I'm starting to believe that there might be some truth to his words.
I exhale a frustrated sigh. "What the fuck do you want from me? Why are you here and telling me all of this? I don’t know you. We’re not friends. We just happen to share a wall between our apartments. Can we go back to that?" I step away, just wanting this bullshit to end.
I’m supposed to be here relaxing and winding down after months of rigorous training. I’m supposed to be experiencing my calm, but instead, I’m shoving my nose into places it doesn’t belong all in an effort to be some sort of knight in shining armor to a woman who may or may not need to be rescued. Maybe I’m just making this whole thing harder for her by asking questions. No one wants to relive their abuse, and definitely not in front of a stranger.
"I won’t expose who you are, Slate. Not even to her. But I’m going to need you to back off your little search into our past. I know about your mother." His words have me stepping right back into his face. "So I completely understand where you are coming from with this. But I promise, your digging up the past won’t help her. I’m trying to help her move forward, not backwards."
We stare at each other for a few minutes, neither one of us willing to back down. Finally, he turns on a heel and heads to the door, pausing just before he leaves.
"Oh, and one more thing. This part really is kind of blackmail. Riley feels bad about involving you in all that mess last night, so she wants to cook you dinner at our place tonight."
"She doesn’t have to do that. She already said thank you."
"Yeah, but you know women. They think nothing says thanks like good food, and if you’ve ever tasted her fajitas, you would be inclined to agree."
"I can’t make it. Sorry," I say dismissively. If I’m going to forget about this whole damn rescue mission, I’m going to do it completely.
"Well, figure out how to make it. Riley is really excited. You do this one thing and we go back to being neighbors, Adam." He grins.
I take a deep breath and scrub a hand through my hair. I absolutely don’t want to go over there tonight, and I think he’s just fucking with me about the blackmail part, but the idea of disappointing Riley is really what has me reconsidering. I can go, eat her food, pretend to be social, and then head home early. Maybe then I can really put all of this behind me.
"Sure, yeah. Whatever. What time?" I respond with an exaggerated sigh.
"Six. See ya then! Oh, and don’t let that coffee go to waste. I got it just the way you like—two cream, no sugar." I don’t even have a chance to ask before he answers my unspoken question. "I Googled you." He tosses me a wink and walks out the door.
Of course he did.
"Where are you?" Dave barks over the phone as I pull up in front of our apartment.
"I just got here. I had to stop at the grocery store to get the stuff to quell your sudden craving for fajitas," I smart back at him.
"Well I would have gone myself but you took the car to work, and I wouldn’t have had any clue what the hell you put in that delicious yellow rice."
"It comes in a box. You’ve watched me make it a million times." I laugh, dragging out the bags and heading up the sidewalk.
"Yeah, but don’t you put those little green and red peppers in the rice?"
"Nope, all in the box." I laugh again. "Hey, I’m outside. Can you get the door?" I ask before ending the phone call. He pulls open the door and I suck in a startled breath. "Jesus, you look horrible."
"Pretty burly, huh?" he replies, taking the groceries from my hands.
Using his chin for leverage, I inspect the various cuts and bruises Adam left on his face last night. "Come here. Let me clean that one over your eye again before I start cooking. I got butterfly bandages to hopefully keep it closed a little tighter than just the tape."
"I told you I was okay with a scar."
"Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t leave scars if I can help it."
"I’ll be fine. Besides, you need to get cooking." He looks down at his watch impatiently. "Did you get the stuff for guac too? You want me to get started on that?" he hurries out, causing me to give him a questioning look.
Dave hasn’t offered to help me in the kitchen since the early days. He sometimes cooks, but if I’m in the kitchen, he steers clear.
"You must be starving if you’re offering to help."
"I really am. So hurry up and get to cooking. It’s almost six."
"I know you are getting old, but is this a nursing home? Do we need to start eating dinner at, like, four these days?"
"No, six is more than acceptable." He flops down on the couch, propping up his feet on the coffee table and engrossing himself with whatever is on TV.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock at the door causes me to jump and my pulse to race. I spin around, and Dave must read my fear because he immediately shakes his head.
"I was expecting this one, Riley."
I let out a relieved sigh and watch as he confidently strolls to the door.
Just before he pulls it open, he looks back at me. "Promise you won’t poison my food. You know fajitas are my favorite."
I don’t even have a chance to ask what the hell he is talking about because he opens the door, revealing Adam Andrews standing in the hall.
"Hey," Adam says awkwardly.
"What’s up, man?" Dave replies, extending a hand.
Adam stares for a minute before taking it in a firm shake. "Hey, Riley." He offers me a quick nod.
"Uh. Hi," I stumble out.
"I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought some beer and wine and also some bandages and antiseptic for your face."
"Well aren’t you a gentleman," Dave says humorously, taking the bags from his hands and bringing them to the kitchen.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Adam rocks back and forth on his heels uncomfortably. I’ve never seen him actually dressed before. Every time I’ve had the pleasure of embarrassing myself in front of him, he’s been dressed in some combination of sweats. But tonight, he is wearing perfectly tattered, dark jeans with washed-out thighs and a navy-blue sweater o
ver a white button-down. It stylishly clings to his every curved muscle. If Dave thought I needed a napkin last night to wipe away my drool, I probably need a super-absorbency mop tonight. Jesus, Adam is gorgeous.
"Dave, can you help me for a second? Adam, please make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?" I ask, faking the Suzy Homemaker bit, all the while dabbing at the corner of my mouth just to be sure nothing is actually leaking.
"Just a beer," he answers, looking around the apartment.
"Dave," I warn with an overcompensating smile.
"Excuse me for a minute," he tells Adam before following me down the hall.
"What the motherfucking hell is he doing here?" I snap the moment we get out of hearing range, which is honestly a joke. This apartment is so cheap that you could be standing three doors down and still hear me whisper-yelling.
"Slow your roll, babe," he responds with a wicked grin.
"Slow my roll? Really? What is he doing here, and why didn’t you tell me he was coming over? I loathe surprises. Damn it." I begin to pace back and forth down the hall.
"I invited him over because I wanted to get to know him a little better." He tries to explain, but his words catch me off guard.
"What? I thought you said he wasn’t an issue."
He lets out a frustrated groan. "He isn’t, Riley. I just meant that it wouldn’t hurt for us to know more about our neighbor. I’m talking on a personal level."
"So this is a social call?"
"If it were 1920, yes, it would be a ‘social call.’" He smirks at me. "But since this is 2014, I’m just going to say I invited the neighbor over for dinner."
"Ha, ha. Freaking hysterical. You should have told me, jerk," I whisper and look back over my shoulder to make sure Adam isn’t watching us.
"Understood," he responds with an unapologetic smile.
