She scoffed. “Oh please, like you don’t know you’re hot.”
I wasn’t blind, I was aware of the effect I had on women. But I wasn’t an egotistical asshole. “Just so we’re clear, I think you’re hot too, sweetheart. Beautiful, actually. Stole my breath the first time I laid eyes on you.”
I knew she liked that from the way that pink grew even brighter, and I relished the sight of it in the dim, watery light coming from the moon.
Just then, her dildo of an ex-boyfriend did his best Stanley Kowalski impression, and shouted “Stella,” so loud it would have been a miracle if he didn’t wake every one of her neighbors.
“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her face in my neck in humiliation. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think I could get a restraining order on someone simply for being annoying?”
“Doubtful, but I’m happy to punch him again for you,” I said just as we reached her front door, stepping into darkness since the outside light wasn’t on.
“I might take you up on that,” she said on a mumble, then started to squirm in my arms. “You can put me down now.” Her voice dropping a few octaves, like she’d suddenly grown shy. I didn’t want to let her down, but when she kept trying to escape, I was left with no choice. The last thing I wanted to do was hold on while she struggled and risked one of those tons of injuries flaring to life.
Grudgingly, I put her on her feet and looked around at the dark, cramped space. “You know, you really should leave the porch light on if you’re going to be out late. Anyone could be waiting up here, and you’d never know.” She let out a short, thready laugh that had me raising my eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, first off, the light’s burned out, just like three quarters of the lights in this damn complex, and my joke of a landlord refuses to get off his fat, lazy ass and fix it. I tried doing it myself, but I think something’s wrong with the wiring, because every time I put a new bulb in, it blows the moment I flip the switch. And that whole lurking in the dark thing you just described is basically how I met the asshole who worked me over tonight the first time. I got home from that hotel where I ran into you, and he was waiting for me with a message.”
My nails dug into my palms, I was squeezing my fist so tight. “And what was the message?”
She lifted her arm out to her side, the other one with the wrist brace cradling her middle to keep pressure off her ribs. “Basically, what you see here.” Before I had a chance to lose my cool completely, she spoke again. “Um, the spare key is under that pot right there.” She gave me an almost bashful smile. “Would you mind? It’s kind of hard for me to bend over at the moment.”
I moved to the one and only pot on the front stoop that contained what was once an ivy, but was long since dead. Tilting the orange clay back, I spotted the key beneath it and picked it up, turning back to her with a dry look, I held it up and stated, “You realize this isn’t safe, right? That pot’s the first place a person would look if they’re set on breaking in.”
She let out a snort and rolled her eyes as she snatched the small silver key from my grip. “If someone wanted to break in, one kick to that cheap-ass door would do it. The damn thing is only two steps up from cardboard.”
I hadn’t even gone inside, and already, I hated this fucking place, and even more, I hated the idea that she lived here.
She inserted the key into the lock, but before giving it a twist, she reached up and ran her fingers along the door jamb. “Oh good. It’s still here.” When she pulled back, she held a toothpick between her fingers. She tossed it aside and finished unlocking her door.
“What was the toothpick for?” I asked, already knowing I was going to dread the answer.
“So I could see if anyone came in while I was gone. My landlord likes to make himself at home in my place when I’m not here.”
Fuck me, and I was seeing red again. I pulled in a deep breath as she threw the door open and stepped in, flipping on the light as she moved deeper inside. She headed for the small counter that separated her tiny kitchen from the rest of the apartment and tossed the spare key down before turning to face me. “Well, thanks again for, you know . . . everything. I appreciate you helping me tonight.”
Ignoring her obvious attempt to politely kick me out, I looked around and took everything in. It was obvious she’d tried her best to make this place as comfortable and cute as she could manage, even if that wasn’t possible in a shithole like this. The bed pressed against the wall opposite the kitchen was covered in a mess of bright colors, from the comforter that was designed to look like it had been splashed with paint to the million pillows in all different shapes and sizes that took up half the bed.
The place was visibly clean, free of dust and clutter. I could even see the tracks around a fuzzy red rug where she’d vacuumed, but no amount of hoovering was going to get the stains out of the threadbare, decades-old carpet. There were spots on the ceiling where there’d been obvious water damage, and the pot on the floor in the corner told me that not all of them had been repaired yet.
I pulled in a breath, trying to locate the source of the weird, musty odor that filled her place. “Jesus Christ,” I grunted as I returned my attention to her. “What’s that smell?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve searched the whole damn place. I think it might be coming from the air ducts or behind the walls.”
I blinked, unable to do anything else for several seconds as everything she’d just told me sunk in. Twenty seconds later, I snapped out of it long enough to order, “Grab a bag,” as I moved to the particle board dresser pressed up against the wall between her closet and bathroom.
She followed after me as I ripped the top drawer open and scooped up everything inside before tossing it onto the bed. “What? Why? Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
“You aren’t staying here,” I clipped, that tension returning to my neck and shoulders, only this time, it radiated all the way down my back and had my stomach tied into an elaborate chain of knots.
“Have you lost your mind?” she cried, trying to catch up to me as I moved on to the next drawer. “Stop that!” She snatched up one of the nightgowns I’d just thrown onto the bed and held it to her chest. “Quit messing with all my stuff! Now I have to refold all of this, you jerk.”
“No need to refold when you’re just stuffing it into a bag,” I told her.
Her hand shot out as fast as it could, snatching up what looked like a few pairs of lacy panties, and those joined the nighty at her chest. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she insisted, her tone pained, but not from anything that had happened to her body. “I can’t exactly afford a hotel room right now. Did you forget about that crushing debt to the bad guy I told you about earlier? And on top of that, the bills I’ll be getting from the hospital are going to break me. This is all I’ve got, West, and I’m not going to let you make me feel bad about that.” She finished with a huff, throwing the articles of clothes she was holding onto the floor and giving her foot a stomp for good measure.
Temporarily abandoning my task of emptying Stella’s drawers, I moved to her and took her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look at me. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it, sweetheart,” I said softly. “But in the handful of minutes I’ve been here, it’s plain to see this place is not safe. If someone wanted in here, there would be no stopping them. And given what’s happened to you already, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take, so you’re coming home with me.”