Virgin's Lust

by Kayla C. Oliver

  My first thought was yes, finally, a hot neighbor to flirt with. My second thought was that if I wanted to get to know her, I was going to have to make a stellar second impression. Another apology was required.

  I closed my door quietly and locked it.

  The fatigue and agitation I had felt when I first opened the door had totally left my body. Now, I was wide-awake. I couldn’t focus on anything but that woman. The new neighbor down the hallway walked back and forth through my mind. She stirred all kinds of urges. I contemplated a cold shower. Instead, I decided on an intense workout of my upper body and abs. The endorphins helped. I wanted to go talk to her. Who was I kidding? I wanted to do more than talk. But it was late. Or early. The apology would have to wait until morning.

  Chapter Three

  Katy

  “I just can’t see why a girl like you would want to transfer to the West Linn branch of the public library system instead of staying at the hoity-toity Portland branch in the heart of downtown,” Cindy Lutz, my new supervisor, said.

  I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to tell her that I was in hiding because I had a crazy stalker ruining my life.

  “It’s all financial,” I explained. Cindy squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her chin to indicate I didn’t need to say anymore. “Besides, the downtown library isn’t that hoity-toity.”

  Cindy Lutz could have played linebacker for the Seattle Seahawks. I was told she’d been a librarian for over forty years and that she tolerated no shenanigans. That sounded great to me. I liked to keep busy.

  “Well, we certainly aren’t as big,” Cindy continued. “There are the occasional hobos that try to catch forty winks in a quiet corner when it rains. I’ve interrupted the occasional tête-à-tête in the men’s bathroom. Teenagers stick to the Chuck-E-Cheese down the street. If they are up to any shenanigans, I follow them until they leave.”

  “But what if they really want to check out a book?” I asked.

  “What unsupervised teenagers choose to come to the library? One that is up to shenanigans,” Cindy huffed.

  She led me around through the fiction and nonfiction sections on the first floor. The second floor was for children. There were some happy tots flipping through cardboard books of Winnie the Pooh and Thomas the Tank Engine while their mommies stared at their phones.

  I couldn’t understand that. I hated having a cell phone. I didn’t like the idea that people could reach me whenever they wanted, wherever I was.

  “This is the reference area. There is almost no one ever up here.” Cindy motioned. There was a lonely conference table in the middle of the room with a couple of chairs scattered around. Four individual rooms with a desk and chair in each one sat empty. “Every once in a while a person will be in one of the rooms that are even quieter than the rest of the library. Usually, they are studying for the bar exam or something just as heavy.” She winked at me, creating more wrinkles at the corner of her eye.

  I liked the reference area immediately. There was an isolating quiet that I thought was fantastic. Unlike most people, I didn’t need to be entertained constantly. When you are entertained, you become distracted. When you are distracted, tragedy can strike. I liked to be alert and aware of all my surroundings, especially the exits. There was a bright red exit sign at the far right corner of the reference area. It was a habit I had gotten into. Searching for the alternative exits was just a game at first. But after being cornered in a bar and the Laundromat and an art gallery, I started paying attention to where they were.

  The worst was the Laundromat. I just happened to find an empty dryer at the very back of the place. Just looking down and reading my book while my clothes dried put me face-to-face with the man who had been coincidentally showing up everywhere I was.

  “Hey, Katy.” I remember my muscles shrinking inside my skin at the familiar voice. I looked up warily, not smiling, not answering. It was a bad move on my part. “Funny running into you here.” He lied. I knew he was lying. The guy had been following me. There was no way in hell it was coincidental we were in the same place at the same time so often. “Funny finding you here.”

  “Yes. It is,” I mumbled. Did he think I was stupid?

  “Would you like some help with your laundry?”

  I squinted with annoyance.

  “No. Thank you, though.” I was always so damn polite.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll keep you company.”

  I let out a deep sigh.

  “You look really good tonight, Katy. Really good.”

  I looked at the clock, then checked my laundry. It was still tossing and folding up and over itself with about twenty-five minutes left to go. I could feel him looking at me. No. He wasn’t looking at me. Normal people look at you. He wasn’t looking. He was peeling away my clothes, my skin, my muscles, and gawking at my bare bones. I shivered.

  “Maybe you’d like to go for a drink. I remember you liked drinking those screwdrivers that time we ran into each other at…”

  “No. Thank you.” We didn’t just run into each other. He was lying again.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll just stay here and…” He kept talking, but I didn’t hear anything else he had to say. I stopped the dryer and took out my clothes that were still damp as I stuffed them into my laundry bag. Unfortunately, when I swung the bag over my shoulder awkwardly, it was a hundred times heavier than it should have been because the clothes were still on the wet side.

  “Here. Let me carry that for you.” He reached for the bag, and his hand brushed against mine. It was like a black, furry thing with eight eyes and dangling mandibles racing its eight legs across my bare skin. I recoiled instantly.

  “I don’t need any help,” I muttered and headed for the front exit. Had I left through the side exit, I would have been right across from the Alley Cat, a bar with two huge bouncers outside the door looking for anyone to take out their steroid rage on. I could have asked them for help. I could have. But I didn’t realize the second exit was there.

  The front exit led to a practically empty street. All the businesses were closed. There was no light but from the streetlamps every thirty feet. But I stomped out that way anyway. He followed me.

  “Katy? Katy?” Cindy’s voice snapped me out of my flashback. “You still with me, girl?” She was looking right at me.

  “I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I just thought of a bill I was supposed to pay. Nothing that can’t wait until I get home,” I stuttered pathetically.

  “Well, I think I’ve shown you just about everything there is,” Cindy continued as we went back to the main floor. “Time to get into the real nitty-gritty.”

  The day flew by. Before I knew it, it was five o’clock. One nice thing about my new digs was that I could walk home from work. No more public transportation scanning the faces of the passengers and hoping not to recognize anyone.

  A light rain was falling down. That was great, too. I hoisted my hood up, comfortable that no one would know it was me underneath, and strolled the six blocks to my apartment. People hustled past me, but no one stared or gawked or loitered in and out of doorways and alleys trying to be sneaky.

  Against my better judgment, I stopped in front of my apartment. Before yanking the door open, I looked to my left and right. I saw the faces of strangers, scrunched up against the raindrops, paying no attention to me. My breath came out in a burst of relief that I didn’t even realize I was holding in.

  I went into the vestibule, unlocked the security door,, and stepped into the lobby. The elevator door was starting to close. I dashed down the hall, grabbed the door, yanked it open, and saw the man pulling the gate open for me.

  “Hi,” he chirped. It was the gorgeous guy who yelled at me early this morning.

  “Hi,” I mumbled, stepping into the elevator. I didn’t dare look up.

  “You’re going to the fifth floor, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He pressed the button. I watched him out of the corner of my
eye as he rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands in his pockets. He looked like he was trying to remember something.

  “So, you just moved in?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t think of anything smart or witty to say.

  “Well, welcome to the neighborhood. It isn’t the most glamorous part of town, but I like it. Some of the neighbors can get a little noisy, but it’s not so bad.”

  Was he taking a shot at me?

  “I didn’t mean you.” He chuckled. “I’m just saying that once in a while the neighbors play their music a little loud or you might hear an argument. The walls aren’t that thick.”

  His voice sounded nervous but not scary. I peeked at him. He really was handsome. But my eyes didn’t stay on his face. What I saw made my eyes bug, and I gasped. He looked at me.

  “What? Oh, gosh.” He looked down at his shirt. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry. This blood isn’t mine.”

  Chapter Four

  Zac

  “This is really embarrassing.” I fumbled with my shirt like I might be able to brush the blood off. “You know how hard this is to get out of fabric? I ruin more shirts this way.” I chuckled.

  All the color had drained out of her face. She pushed herself into the back corner of the elevator and just stared at me.

  “Ugh. I’m a cop,” I said with my hands up like I was surrendering. “It was a rough day at the office. Did you ever have one of those?”

  She barely nodded her head.

  “It was a bad day, for sure,” I said while I pulled my jacket off and rolled it into a ball. “I split up a fight in the cage today.”

  “The cage?” she muttered.

  “That’s the holding cell at the station. Two guys just decided they didn’t like each other. It was funny because they were the only guys in the cell. They couldn’t figure out how to get along.”

  She didn’t laugh.

  “What do you do?” I asked.

  “I’m a librarian.”

  That was the sexiest answer I ever heard. There were never any librarians who looked like her when I was a kid. I’d have been at the library every day.

  “A librarian. That’s interesting.”

  I could tell by the look on her face that she thought I was bullshitting her. Before I could redeem myself, I felt the familiar lag of the ancient elevator.

  “Uh-oh,” I muttered.

  “What.”

  “Don’t panic.” I tried to sound soothing, but I came across sounding bossy. “This elevator is old and—”

  The machine jerked to a stop. The sound of the cables and gears clicked, whirred, and sputtered.

  “—sometimes it stops in between floors.”

  “It stops in between floors?” she whined. “This is normal?”

  “I’ve lived here almost five years. It’s been doing it the whole time. Believe me, I freaked out the first time it happened. It just needs to reset itself. Believe me.”

  “Believe you? I don’t even know you.” She was mad.

  “I don’t blame you.” I pressed the button for the second floor. The elevator clicked a few times and stubbornly sat there in between floors. “My name is Zac Smith.”

  I reached out my hand. She looked at me like I offered her a claw.

  “This thing will be moving in just a couple minutes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’ve gotten stuck in here a couple times.”

  “So why would you get in if you know it gets stuck between floors? That’s stupid. This is bad. Really bad.” It was like she was afraid to yell but really wanted to. Panic was setting in.

  “No. Trust me.” I had to keep her calm. With blood on my shirt and the elevator not moving, it was going to be kind of hard. “Uhm, okay. Let me tell you a little about myself. My full name is Zachary Michael Smith. I am the only child of Edward and Lizbeth Smith. Mom is still alive and kicking. My dad is deceased.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered nervously.

  “Thank you. He died a couple years ago. Natural causes.”

  She seemed to look relieved when I said that. I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. Did she think I killed him?

  “I love hiking and biking and rock climbing and anything that gets me outdoors. What do you do to unwind?” I asked, listening as the elevator readjusted itself like a grumpy old man.

  “I don’t get out much,” she answered. “Mostly I read.”

  “What’s your favorite book?” I asked. If I got her mind off the situation, I might be able to get her calm enough to see I wasn’t going to hurt her.

  She shook her head and shrugged. She looked up, like she was trying to listen to the gears. I could tell she was nervous. Her cheeks were bright pink.

  “Well, a librarian has to have a favorite book. You’ll get kicked out of the librarian’s union if you don’t, right?”

  She pinched her eyebrows at me. Her hands were clenched into fists. I wasn’t sure if she was just nervous or if she wanted to hit me.

  “Okay. I’m not a comedian.”

  “No, you're not.”

  “My favorite book would have to be...” I stuttered and tried to think. I’d read books. Of course, I had. I had a couple in my apartment. What were they? The dictionary. I thought there might have been a cookbook in there somewhere, too. Think, Zac, think.

  “Gone With the Wind,” she replied.

  “No. I never read that one,” I said back. Then I looked at her face. “Oh, you mean you. Gone With the Wind. Okay. They made a movie of that, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.” She smirked as if I was just dropped down from a flying saucer and didn’t know much of anything. “Vivien Leigh. Clark Gable.” Her voice sounded a little stronger.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.” I pressed the elevator button for the second floor again. Finally, with a jolt, it began its slow descent. “There we go.”

  She let out a huge sigh. Her eyes rolled and she put her hand on her chest. For a second I thought she was going to faint.

  “Now, see. All you had to do was trust me. I told it would start moving again.”

  “You did.” She nodded. She had this sexy way of looking out of the corner of her eye that made her eyebrow arch.

  When the lift finally landed on the second floor, she dove for the gate and yanked it open. I immediately hopped out behind her. I knew what she was doing. She was taking the stairs.

  “That’s a good idea.” I wanted to hang behind and watch her go up the stairs. Just a quick glimpse of her ass was all I was hoping for. But the gentleman in me made me keep up with her. “I really forgot what a hassle that could be.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it as long as I live,” she answered back.

  Finally, at the fifth-floor landing, she stopped and looked at me—well, she sort of looked at me. She looked at the floor. Then at the wall behind me. The ceiling caught her attention. Then she looked at me.

  “Thanks for staying so calm.” She pouted her lips, pulled her purse strap tightly over her shoulder, and headed down to her apartment.

  “No problem,” I called after her. My mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Not a word. Not an idea. A total brain fart if ever there was one. I tried to come up with something.

  She searched in her purse.

  Quick, dummy. She’s almost in her apartment.

  She pulled out her keys.

  Think. Think.

  She was unlocking the door and opening it.

  “Salem’s Lot,” I called out.

  She stopped before stepping into her apartment and looked at me.

  “What?”

  “I read Salem’s Lot. Stephen King? I think it made me sleep with the lights on for about a week.”

  “I don’t like scary stories.” She sounded sad when she said it. Then her door closed. The locks slid into place. She was gone. I couldn’t go knock on her door. Not with blood still on my shirt. I’m sure I smelled by this point. She didn�
�t like the one and only book I could remember reading.

  This sucked.

  I had the perfect opportunity to make a great second impression. What did I do? I choked. I blew it like a high school freshman at his first dance. I was an embarrassment.

  I pulled my keys from my pocket, unlocked my door, and holed up in my own apartment. Yanking off my grimy clothes, I thought about the whole exchange in the elevator.

  “You idiot.” I slapped my forehead. “You didn’t even get her name.”

  I stomped to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I gasped myself. My hair became ridiculously curly when I sweat. Today, I was drenched in it. My hair was a wild, curly mess, half of it still sticking to my forehead. Blood had seeped through to my T-shirt. I had bags under my eyes. A healthy five-o’clock shadow was coming in.

  “You look like a serial killer.” I flipped the shower on. “Or a third-degree crackhead at best. No wonder she didn’t want to talk with you.”

  It was a perfectly bad ending to a bad day.

  But I wasn’t totally out. Once the water washed away the filth of the day, I looked and felt better. I combed my hair, got dressed, and decided to go over some files I had brought home from work.

  Nothing helped me relax like focusing on some grizzly crime that needed to be solved. I had dug into a cold case. A woman was murdered in her own apartment. Strangled. Raped, of course. But the doors were locked from the inside.

  This crime happened five years ago this month. So, I grabbed a glass of milk, sat down on my sofa, and started to read the files. It was a sad case. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about my neighbor. That gorgeous redhead. Her favorite book was Gone With the Wind. I kept seeing her arching her eyebrow as she looked at me from the corner of her eye. She was driving me crazy. I knew I’d be working out tonight. Again.

  Chapter Five

  Katy

  I was practically panting when I finally got the dead bolt locked.