Page 6 of Heavy

“You’ve been together for a year, Gene.” I glance over my shoulder down the dark hall, then back at the disgusting grout between the tiles. Dragging my freshly manicured brown nails across it, I shake my head.

Am I really ready for this?

“Men are disgusting.” I hear a “Hey, I heard that”in the background and let out a light laugh. “I’m serious. At least you kept your filth in your room, Cal, and the rest of the place spotless.”

“ADHD!” I coo. “I can focus on everyone else and their problems but screw my own. I just can’t be bothered. How vile that translates to literallyeverything.”

We both giggle, and once more my head turns down the hall, as if something is lurking there. I don’t hear anything, but—

“You up for a round of drinks this weekend?” It’s Thursday, and while a trip back might be nice, I’d rather stay here a few more days. Something about rushing back to the city doesn’t exactly appeal to me.

“I moved up to Sanderson Pine until we get the insurance money.”

She gasps. “You bitch. And you didn’t even askMEto come with you?!”

“I swore you’d be happy with boytoy!”

“It’s Travis!”

I clap a hand over my mouth, leaning further against the counter, but my laughter slips out anyway. It’s contagious, and soon she’s laughing right along with me.

“You can’t get dick out here as often.” I try to ease the pain I know me not offering her to come with me caused. “You can come up, maybe in a week or so. Let me get things settled.”

Just then, I hear the creak of a door and my heart lurches in my chest. A faint shuffle follows, echoing from the darkness, and a cold prickle creeps up my spine. Every muscle tenses in my body and I am left immobile.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Fear numbs my fingers, causing me to drop my phone. I jerk around, angling my body toward the deep, thunderous voice, scanning the darkness for its source. Which I don’t have to search long to find.

I blink a few times; if it weren’t for the tattoos, I’d swear it was my stepdad, Eamon, stalking down the dimly lit hallway toward me. Thisgladiatorbefore me is dripping wet, with only a towel around his waist.

Holy shit…

His body is chiseled—no, it’s crafted by some long-forgotten god. As he steps into the illuminated living room, both of his hands curl into fists at his sides. Now that the light bounces off his tawny skin, I can see that every inch, from his defined hip bones to his sharp jawline, is covered in tattoos.

“Cal??” I hear Gene’s faint call for me.

The man before me has eyes nearly as blue as the lake outside, and they drift down to the ground. “Hang it up.” He speaks again, and Jesus, I never thought a voice could make my thighs tremble like this.

“Hello? Is the signal fucking shit out there? Never mind, I’m not coming to force myself to live there.”

I can't tear my eyes away from him, caught in a terrified daze. In any horror movie, I’d be the first to die.

The expression he is giving me suggests he’d hurt me for the slightest inconvenience.

“Hang… it… up.” He delivers slowly this time, snapping his fingers and pointing down at the phone.

I scramble, keeping my gaze trained on him as I bend over and grab the phone. “I-I’ll call you back.” Before she can say anything, I hit the button to hang up the call.

That was stupid, wasn’t it? I probably should’ve told her someone was in the house, label him a squatter. She’d call the police right away and send someone here. But I don’t. This is why I need therapy. It’s also why I’m single. Instead of triggering my flight response, the thought of pain sparks a strange eagerness in me.

I should hope he doesn’t want to hurt me, but that’s the last thing I want. Pain helps me forget yesterday and reminds me that I’m unfortunately still alive today.

“I won’t ask again.” He tilts his head. His short, wet black hair slicking down the sides of his face and across his temple where a single tattoo rests just above his eyebrow, reading ‘SIT’.

“Who… thefuckare you?”

4