She’s waiting at the bottom, her eyes the size of guitar picks as she fires optical venom at me.
“Look, I’m sorry. Like I said, I tripped and—”
“Did it ever occur to you to—I don’t know—not break into someone’s apartment in the first place?”
I study her livid form, trying so hard to keep a straight face. But come on, the broom? Her small clenched fists that look ready to pound my face? Her self-righteous love of this old theater… it’s all too much. She reminds me of a young, cute version of my Great Aunt Mabel. Except Aunt Mabel probably doesn’t prance around in a skimpy sleep top and underwear. I shudder at the thought and focus back on the much more enticing image in front of me.
“It’s fine,” I say in a calm voice. “Just grab the key or whatever, and I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll even wait over here.” I cross to an old ratty chair and drop onto the decayed cushion.
Her attention follows me in disbelief, her cute lips hanging slightly open. I think I do an admirable job of not acknowledging her sexy sleep outfit that I really have no right to be seeing.
“Oh, sure. Let me just go grab that hundred-year-old key I don’t have and shove it in the hundred-year-old lock on the other side of the door.”
I flinch and straighten in the chair. “Wait, you mean…”
“That’s right, genius. We’re stuck down here!” she finishes for me.
I blow out my breath and collapse back against the cushion. Also, she needs to stop glaring at me like I’m the idiot. She’s the one who lives in an apartment that doesn’t have a legit fucking door.
“Okaaay,” I draw out, trying to keep my own temper in check. Lashing out gets us nowhere. I lift my hips to pull my phone from my pocket.
“Won’t work,” she quips.
“What won’t?”
“Your phone. No service down here.”
I shake my head. No. Because. No. I glance down at my screen and—shit.
“Told you.” She wedges her fists on her almost-bare hips, channeling the sexy version of Aunt Mabel again as she glares at me. She really needs to put pants on because this is getting difficult and so freaking confusing. But her facial expression screws into curious more than furious the longer she stares at me. Hopefully it’s not because she suspects I keep picturing her as a hot old lady.
“How are you so calm right now?” she snaps. Nope. Thank god.
I shrug. “What do you want me to do? Tell you it’s incredibly stupid and unsafe to live in a place that can so easily be locked from the outside? Because it is. This?”—I wave my hand around the room—“Total fire hazard.” Her eyes widen, flaring hot again. “Yep, and now that that’s out, so what?” I continue quickly, my voice steady despite the small embers of panic emerging deep in my gut. I force them away. “We’re still stuck. Upsetting you by pointing out the obvious doesn’t help me at all.”
“Oh, it doesn’t help you. I see. So now this is all about you?”
“Isn’t it?” I push up from the chair and swipe my bag off the floor. “Well, if we’re going to be here for a while, mind if I clean up a bit? That looks like a bathroom over there.”
“It is… but!”
I stall my retreat, waiting for the rest of whatever she’s got firing in that cute old lady brain. My smile ticks up further when nothing comes out. Yep, that’s what I thought. I continue to the bathroom while she tracks my every movement with her narrowed stare. But she doesn’t stop me this time. Probably because she realized there’s no reason for her to deny me this tiny indulgence except to be ornery. I wouldn’t put it past her. Gonna be a super-fun day locked up with this one.
The bathroom itself looks about what you’d expect in the seedy basement of an old haunted theater. Probably built when indoor plumbing first became a thing. Its old tiles and fixtures make me picture a dead mob boss or something splayed out in the clawfoot tub. The fact that there is even a bathroom down here has my blood running cold. Let’s see, an old creepy door that locks from the outside? A bathroom and small living space below? This isn’t an apartment. It’s the scene of every true crime kidnapping show. Will there be camera crews packed in here in a year or so? Some overzealous voiceover reciting details the investigators pulled together from the grisly remains they found a week after Eli Blake went missing. Hopefully, they think I was held at gunpoint, not broom-point. Sweeny would never stop laughing if that fact came out. Man, I’m gonna haunt his ass so hard.
I take my time with my cleanup. Rinsing my face with handfuls of cold water. Brushing my teeth with extra precision. There’s no shower in here, but the tub has one of those long sprayer things. So far I haven’t seen any evidence of warm water, however, so I opt for some deodorant and a spray of cologne from my bag instead. If this thing spreads into documentary level imprisonment, maybe I’ll brave the shower at a later time.
Feeling refreshed, I push open the door, half-expecting that to be locked as well. I look up and flinch.
“Whoa. Hey,” I say, stepping back, my hands raised.
She holds the knife out in front of her. “Take off your hoodie,” she snaps.
“What?”
“Take it off. Show me you’re not armed. And don’t have drugs. And...”
I squint at her, noticing she also has shorts and a bra on now. “And… what?”
“Um…” She shakes her head. “A bomb.” She must like her answer when her gaze hardens and her stance grows more confident.
A bomb? She thinks I may have come down here with a bomb tucked under my hoodie? Okay, fine. I get it. She’s freaked out. I am too, but I still can’t help the smile as I stare at her in disbelief. She doesn’t budge, though, and I let out a resigned sigh.
“Fine,” I mutter, ripping my hoodie over my head. It’s fucking a hundred degrees down here anyway. I toss it onto the chair and lift my shirt as well. “No weapons, see?” I twist so she can get a full view of my bare torso, even shoving my shorts down enough to show her the naked band of my boxer-briefs. Except her glare has become more of a stare. Her rage melting into a different kind of flame. Wait, is she checking me out? She lowers the knife as I lower my shirt, her cheeks flushing in the silence. I know I shouldn’t, even as it slips out, but how can I not smile at what just happened. Part of me wants to take my shirt off again just to earn another annoyed-covetous glare infusion. I can tell she’s not thrilled about the fact that she likes what she just saw.
“I’m Eli, by the way,” I say, lifting my hand in a conciliatory gesture.
She follows the movement of my palm, her eyes then tracing me again before landing on my face. Something works its way through her head before her shoulders finally relax. The knife is now hanging at her side. “I’m Marina,” she says. “Also, we won’t be stuck here forever. When the manager arrives, he’ll notice I’m not in the main building and will come looking for me.”
See? Things are already looking up. “Great. And when will that be?”
It’s her turn for a snarky smile. “Let’s see, on a non-event day? Probably around noon.”