Page 10

CELINE

A drenaline spiking, I push against the hands holding me and whip my gun out, clicking off the safety. If I’m going down, I’m taking this stalking fuck with me.

“Whoa, Rambo!” A startled baritone voice has me instantly looking up and into a pair of vividly green eyes wide with shock.

I grip my gun tighter and train it on the stranger in front of me who then holds his hands up non-threateningly.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you following me?” I ask accusatorially, my breaths coming out in short pants.

“What? Following you?” His tone makes him sound oddly innocent. “I don’t even know you,” he says in an even tone. “I live on this floor. I take it we’re...” He eyes my gun warily and cocks his head to the side. “Neighbors.”

Giving the hallway another scan for anything that appears off, I look back into his eyes and see nothing malevolent.

You’re paranoid, Celine.

These cases have me feeling a little edgy. Not that the club situation is an actual case, but it’s weighing on me as such.

With a sigh I click the safety back on and pocket my gun. The man slowly lowers his hands and watches me cautiously. I swipe a hand down my face and center myself before untensing my shoulders and allowing myself to relax.

“Look, I’m sorry for pulling a gun on you.

It’s been a weird couple of days.” I give a humorless chuckle and look back up at the stranger.

I burst out laughing when I see a pizza box balanced precariously on his head.

I’m not sure how I missed it. I blame it on the initial shock of thinking I was being attacked.

“Nice hat.”

How he managed to get a pizza box on his head and balance it is beyond me.

Lush pink lips quirk to the side, and he releases me to grab the box.

While he's focused on that, I allow myself to fully examine the man in front of me. My heart races for an entirely different reason as I take him in.

His red hair curls over his forehead boyishly and tapers down the back of his neck.

Rogue strands fall into his eyes, and I resist the urge to swipe them away.

An adorable pair of glasses rest on his nose and act like a window into his oddly vivid green eyes.

He’s dressed in an outfit very similar to mine, a sweater and pants in all black.

A thin silver chain peeks out from the collar of his sweater.

He doesn’t appear outwardly dangerous. He’s fit but lanky and maybe I’m being too confident, but I think I could take him in a hand-to-hand fight if it were necessary. The hours I put into boxing should be good for something. But there’s a sharpness to him, something that makes me wary.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. The pizza had to be protected.” He pats the top of the cardboard pulling me out of my trance.

I shake my head in disgust at myself for checking him out so thoroughly.

His small smile of pure masculine pleasure tells me he didn’t miss it.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going and not grab random women. Then this wouldn’t happen,” I chide, even though it’s probably my fault I wasn’t paying enough attention.

“You ran into me,” he muses, and I make a move to step around him toward my door. A hot shower, my bed, and a book are calling my name after this long day.

His arm shoots out and he grips my forearm. I look down at the muscular, veined hand clutching my wrist, dwarfed under his hold, before flicking my gaze back to his.

“Do you want to eat with me?” It comes out in a rush and a red curl manages to fall fully into his eye.

He flicks it back with a shake of his head while his eyes remain trained on me.

There’s an almost predatory gleam to them, not in a gross way but in an intense way.

Something internally tells me to still under his gaze, I’m not sure what it is but my guard shoots back up.

“Not really. I thought we established we don't know each other.”

His eyes widen and he takes a step back once again letting go of me. “I apologize, where are my manners. I just moved in.” He points to the door of the apartment beside mine and grins like it’s that simple.

“What happened to Cory?” He’s lived here the entire time I have and never made any comments about leaving.

On multiple occasions he tried to flirt with me and failed.

The douchey, frat boy energy wasn’t my type, but we remained cordial and made small talk when we’d pass by each other.

“I just saw him the other day and he didn’t say anything about moving. ”

“Is that who lived here before?” he says in a way that makes me feel like he knows more than he’s letting on.

He shifts the pizza box to his other hand.

“The leasing office called me with a very sudden opening since I was on a waitlist for this building. Said someone had an opportunity arise and they had to jump at the opportunity.” For some reason this makes him smirk.

When I squint my eyes suspiciously, he shrugs his shoulders.

I must be losing my mind because I come to an irrational decision.

The words seem to tumble out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying.

It’s almost like I’m being influenced by a feeling out of my control.

For some reason I’m drawn to the stranger.

I have my gun on me and people would notice if I went missing, so fuck it.

“You know what, I’ve had a shitty day and pizza sounds great, so why not?

” He pumps a fist in the air which makes me laugh.

“Lead the way, Mister?” I drag out the last word, so he knows I’m searching to fill in the blank.

“I’m Zavier. But my friends call me Zav.”

“Hi, Zavier.” I purposely draw a line with the use of his full name. “I’m Celine.” I offer up my hand and he engulfs it with his own. There’s a spark of something when our skin touches, but it could just be my half-hungover and startled state imagining things.

Holding my hand for longer than necessary, he finally lets go. “Come on in.” His keys jingle and I follow through the open door.

I’ve never been inside Cory’s apartment when he lived here so I don’t know what to expect.

Seeing as we live in a generic rental building, I’d assumed the rooms were similar but his is much bigger than mine.

The living room holds a large black couch and a humongous flat screen TV is mounted on the wall.

There's not much decor besides some movie posters and sports memorabilia, particularly hockey based, placed around the room.

“Do you like hockey?” I ask.

“Not particularly.” He sets the box on the counter.

Interesting.

“When did you move in?” My eyes continue to scan the space.

I don’t recall noticing any signs of anyone moving in, but I have been out of it lately.

Sliding my hands in my back pockets. I graze the pocketknife I keep there just in case.

My dad taught me growing up that there’s no such thing as too paranoid.

“Yesterday,” Zavier calls from the bedroom he disappeared into. “I planned to introduce myself then, but you didn’t seem to be home. I went door to door distributing the lemon pound cake I made for all my new neighbors.”

He made lemon pound cake?

I try to imagine the man before me with an apron tied around his waist baking in the kitchen that’s off to the side. I hate to admit the visual of it is appealing.

There are a few boxes stacked by the kitchen bar just waiting to be unpacked.

“I was out with friends.” Making myself comfortable I sit on a stool at the counter. “You actually made the lemon loaf? From scratch?” I need him to clarify so I can determine if my visual is correct or not.

He swaggers back in the room, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep my mouth shut when I see him pull his sweater off. His t-shirt rides up revealing smooth alabaster skin. Divots of muscle showcase his most likely frequent gym visits.

My core clenches.

Slow down. Let’s not go there. Ava’s right, you really do need to have sex, but sex with your neighbor is a big no-no. If it ends terribly you’ll inevitably run into him from time to time.

“I’m full of surprises. Pizza?” Shiny white teeth reveal a perfect smile as he walks toward the box. I nod and try to get my head out of the gutter.

“I hope pepperoni is okay.” Grabbing paper plates out of a cabinet he divvies out two respective slices which I happily take. His large frame looks hilarious as he sits himself on the small stool beside me. Why he’d buy such tiny stools I’m not sure.

“Pepperoni is my favorite. Now if you said something like ham and pineapple then I’d have to kill you.” I pick up the greasy piece and dive in. It’s the best kind of pizza with fresh, stringy cheese and piping hot pepperoni. He laughs and the sound does something funny to my chest.

“Resorting to murder? I like it.” The roguish grin he sports holds a mischievous gleam.

Companionable silence descends, and I find myself enjoying sitting here with Zavier, which is odd given my previous unease, but there’s an aura around him that seems to silence my previous worries. “Where did you move from?” I find myself wanting to know whatever I can about this new neighbor.

He’s already on his second piece and a bit of sauce clings to his lip.

Sensing my stare his tongue flicks out to pull it into his mouth.

“I’m kind of a nomad. Been here. Been there.

” Wiping grease off his fingers onto a napkin he stuffs his face with the last of his slice.

“I find staying in one place rather boring. You?”

“I’m a Chicagoan, born and raised. I used to dream about traveling.

..” His head cocks to the side when I trail off and patiently waits for me to continue.

“...But those dreams died when I took this job and assumed partial care of my dad. He has severe dementia, and my mom is…well, I don’t actually know where she is.

I have a fear of jetting off somewhere and something happening to him.

Even though he’s in good hands at the assisted living facility you can’t help but fear the worst.” Swirling my paper plate on the counter I avoid eye contact.

I’m not sure why I just unloaded all of that on him.

I don’t typically tell people about my dad, let alone someone who’s practically a stranger.

I find myself rubbing my lips, wishing there was some way to stuff my word vomit back inside.

A strong hand folds over mine, pulling my fingers away from my mouth and I look up. The sympathy is his gaze holds me hostage and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

“It sounds like you've done more than enough. You can’t hold yourself back for the sake of others, Celine.” A seriousness settles over our conversation and I’m in awe I’m opening up this way. Something about him invites me in and encourages me to say all the things that weigh heavily on my mind.

Clearing my throat, I gather our empty plates and crumpled up napkins. A stainless-steel trash can sits next to the fridge and I usher our garbage into it. Wiping my hands on my jeans I turn back to Zavier.

“Well, it was nice to meet you.” I force a smile and slowly make my way toward the front door.

My shoes remained on the whole visit, so it makes for an easy escape.

“Thank you very much for the pizza and I guess I’ll see you around?

” Even though I say it, I secretly hope I don’t see him too much.

I fear my intrigue of Zavier could become dangerous to my productivity and I can’t have an attachment like this distracting me.

Zavier walks toward me with the stealth of a jaguar and I gulp.

The air feels too thick, and I back up into the entryway.

He prowls closer and closer until I’m backed up against the door.

He doesn’t hold me against it but instead leaves a small breadth of space.

I can break away if I want to, but I'm frozen in place.

“You definitely will.” Soft lips brush the shell of my ear. “It was nice to finally meet you, Celine.” His intensity is electric, and I fear if I don’t leave something might happen.

“Goodnight,” I squeak, extracting my body out from underneath him. As quickly as humanly possible I open the door and slip out not risking a glance behind me knowing he’ll still be watching.