Run With Me

1. Bindi

ONE

BINDI

I feel the barrel press into my back before I hear the click of the hammer.

My hand in the dresser, fingers curled around a men’s T-shirt. My heart doesn’t even skip. “Oh, Jordyn,” I purr. “Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?”

There’s a pause, then the mechanical click of the safety being flicked back on—the pressure lifting.

I finally turn to find him standing there, the six-foot-something, brooding gay menace, built like he could take on a small militia, locs hanging low over his forehead. His mouth is a scowl, but his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—soften just a little when I smile up at him.

He steps back, lowering the Glock. “I could’ve shot you, Bindi.”

I yank the shirt free and stretch it between my fists. “Would’ve saved me a hell of a lot of bullshit.” I shrug, then nudge the drawer shut with my hip. “But then, who’d steal your clothes and eat all your snacks?”

“You’re not my fucking roommate. ”

“No,” I say, already heading for the bathroom, stripping as I go. “I’d like to think I’m somewhat of a step above roommate.”

The sequined blue dress slides off my hips and hits the tile in a sad little puddle of glitter. Now, fully naked, I step into the shower and turn the water up as hot as it’ll go. The steam rushes around me instantly, curling against the mirror, wrapping me in a veil of warmth.

Jordyn leans against the doorframe, scrolling through his phone, his thumb flicking lazy circles over the screen. He doesn’t even bother to look at me through the glass shower walls.

“Why are you still living in that closet with the haunted sink? You can afford nicer, Bindi.”

I scrub shampoo into my scalp. “The sink isn’t haunted. It’s the toilet. You’re the one who keeps inviting me over here—feeding me like I’m some sort of stray cat.”

“You keep breaking in.”

“I’m not breaking in. I know the code, but you keep changing it. Not my fault I’m good at guessing. That’s on you, baby.”

He groans and walks off.

What I won’t admit is that my apartment is too quiet some nights, and truthfully, I’d rather be in someone’s space than be alone.

While others may feel like their space means something—that it’s sacred and personal—I’ve never felt that way.

I have been an invader in other worlds since I was six.

Group homes, foster homes, shitty apartments, couches, beds that I never got to fully claim as mine.

But Jordyn, he scooped me up like a foster puppy when he started working for my boss. He was the first man in my entire adult life to not look at me like I was something transactional. Over the past year we have grown close and I think if I knew what friends truly were, he’d be my best friend.

I rinse off, kill the water, and towel off .

I put on Jordyn’s shirt—oversized, faded, black, with some indie band logo I’ve never bothered to ask about—and a pair of mesh shorts from the pile in his closet. They hang off my hips so I tie the drawstring extra tight so they stay on.

When I walk barefoot into the kitchen, the smell of butter and cheese grabs me by the throat. I follow it like a bloodhound.

Jordyn slides a grilled cheese onto a chipped plate and hands it to me without looking up. “You’re welcome.”

I sit on the counter and tear into it. Cheese stretches between the slices of bread until they almost break in half. My fingers go slick with grease.

I moan around a mouthful. “This is what heaven tastes like.”

Jordyn rolls his eyes, leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed. Watching me like I’m some sort of anomaly to his universe. Does he truly not understand women? Feed us. Fuck us. Buy us whatever we want. They call us complex, but I’d say it’s pretty simple to satisfy me.

“You eat like a raccoon.”

“You feed me like one.” I swallow. “Honestly, I could live off this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”

“And it’s true every time.”

He’s quiet for a beat, watching me.

Then. “Is Anthony still giving you problems?”

I look down at the sandwich. “No.”

It’s a lie, but I don’t need to tell him about how Anthony, my ex-situationship, corners me during my shift at the club. He tries to pretend to have some claim over me. Never letting me forget that he “saved” me.

Maybe I do owe him something, but another part of me knows that the debt will never be truly paid.

So, instead of telling Jordyn the truth, I eat, letting the silence carry the rest of my answer until Jordyn’s phone buzzes. He picks it up off the counter and frowns.

“I gotta head out for a few days. Dimitri’s sending me to Chicago.”

I arch a brow. “What’s he need a bodyguard for? Man’s built like he bench-presses cars.”

He snorts. “He just likes having a shadow. Plus, his new bodyguard will be joining us because I’m being reassigned to work solely for Miss Alina.”

I finish the sandwich, licking cheese off my thumb. “You gonna miss me?”

“Not even a little.”

He’s lying. He always misses me, in his own grumpy way.

“You want me to watch Bigsy?”

The sleek black cat with a permanent side-eye perks up from the armchair near us. He looks like he’s considering murder for us speaking his name so I walk over and give him a few scratches behind his ear which soothes his violent tendencies.

“Yeah,” Jordyn says. “You’ll feed him, right?”

“He feeds himself. I’ve seen him steal a rotisserie chicken.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Does this mean I finally get a key?” I ask, giving Jordyn a shit-eating grin.

“You’re doing just fine breaking in like a damn criminal.”

“Hard to explain to my lovers why I have to scale a balcony every time I wanna sleep over.”

He glares. “You are not bringing men into my apartment.”

“One of us has to, Jordy.”

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I don’t actually date—he knows this. I have no desire to ever be in a relationship, but Jordyn is a stick-in-the-mud when it comes to any sort of affection.

I think that part of him is broken. Despite his ability to crack a joke at any given moment, he’s protective.

But it always feels more like a duty than a desire and I only hope one day he can find that person he longs to keep safe.

I move closer to Jordyn and lift my heels up until I can just barely reach his cheek, planting a quick peck on his tanned face.

“I’m gonna crash in your bed. There’s no way I can go home tonight.

It’s half past four in the morning.” As I head down the hall, I toss a wink over my shoulder. “Love you!”

“Not reciprocated. Don’t think for a second I’m sleeping on my couch. I will build a pillow wall between us.”

I catch the smile in his tone. I think, despite his gruff attitude toward me, he enjoys having a little stray to care for.