3. Chapter
Samantha
M y heart is trying to rip itself out of my chest and play on the trampoline down the street. Oh my God. I don’t even know what to think. Mom always warns me about the dangers of living alone as a single woman, and I watch plenty—plenty, trust me—of hours of true crime documentary television.
So, yes. I do, in fact, know that, in theory, there are bad people in this world who break into the homes of women across our country and do horrible things that shouldn’t be printed for nice people to know about. Yes. I know this happens. And I know when someone breaks into your fucking house, you are supposed to do something smart. Like call the police.
Instead, I stand on my couch gaping at him like a fish until my dog pees on his shoe.
Good for you, Milo!
“Who the fuck are you?” I shriek, throwing my controller—the closest weapon at hand. My heart hurts a little because I love that pink controller, but my life is way more important.
Next, I frantically try to recall where my phone is. Might have fallen under one of the cushions at some point. Fuck.
But the intruder out to unalive me seems unimpressed with my feats of self-defense and pulls a phone out of his pocket while he swats at Milo with his pee-foot. Milo must have grown a third brain cell, because he decides to lift his leg over the other foot. What a good fucking dog.
“Sorry to take up your time,” he says into the phone, sounding almost bored. “There is no intruder. My neighbor was apparently a little too excited while playing a video game. I don’t think any officers will be needed on scene after all.”
I can feel the slow churning of my brain to process this information.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll stay on the line. You mind if I unlock the front door? Miss? Hey?”
I blink when he snaps his fingers in front of my face. Oh, he is talking to me. “The front door?” I repeat, feeling very… something. I feel something.
“For the police,” he supplies, with a slow, encouraging smile that makes my insides melt.
Wait, what?
Hold on. Rewind.
I blink several times, willing the motion to kick in my brain function. It's still circling around he’s going to unalive me, and I’ve been in the middle of composing my dying voicemail to my mother. “Yes?”
But he stops waiting for my answer and walks to the front door anyway, still discussing something with the person on the other end of the phone. I think at one point he even holds the phone out to me, but I am just so damn confused and—
“You broke my door,” I say. Brilliant, I know.
He pauses in his conversation to look at me. There are police officers there now, right in the door, ready to keep me safe, looking all staunch and no-nonsense and shit. The clock says it is 12:07 a.m.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I kind of thought you were being murdered at the time. I’ll fix it. You okay? I don’t think you heard me earlier, but hi. I’m Asher, your new neighbor. Got home late and heard some screaming through your wall when I was going upstairs.”
I nod. Yes, okay. Asher. My neighbor. I made him cookies. “Did you like the cookies?”
“Cook—oh, that must have been that Christmas thing? I haven’t had a chance to even look inside yet. You okay, sweetheart?”
I shake my head this time. The officers are saying something, but I can’t keep my eyes off his face. Asher. His name is Asher, and he isn’t here to do torturous things to me. He came in to save me.
And his face is doing all kinds of unholy things to my insides, thanks to all that slutty Bailey’s I’ve ingested earlier. Seriously, what the hell? Who has any business being so ridiculously tall? And why do I want to rub all of me— all of me, you understand—against that bristly, prickly stubble all over his jaw? And his eyes are so fucking blue, or maybe grey, I don't know, and his hair is fantastic, and his body…
“Ma’am?” The officer is peering at me like he's worried I am in some sort of mental state. Maybe I am.
“Um, yes. Hi. I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I thought—he tried to save me. I was playing my game. Oh. I think my dog just peed on your shoe.”
“He’s been doing that. It’s okay. Ma’am, I need to verify that you’re in no imminent danger, that this man isn’t a danger to you, and that no one has been doing anything—”
“No, no.” I shake my head, finally feeling my brain kick online. I wave my hand toward the TV in a vague sort of gesture. “I had a few drinks and was playing this. I get a little… uh, I tend to scream? And maybe overreact a little when I play.”
“Mr. Sinclair said he heard a lot of loud noises, some thuds, the sound of something being dragged around—”
“Oh. Yeah. My couch is usually over there, but I moved it up here—closer to the TV. So I could see better. My old neighbors always told me they could hear when Milo knocks over his planters—” I point at them, where he is now cowering again, apparently having used what little bravery he had to pee on everyone’s shoes. “He’s kind of a dingbat, and doesn’t realize that he can’t just use them as a dog bed, so they knock over all the time. I don’t even notice it anymore. When I see it, I clean it up.”
“And the yelling, ‘Don’t shoot me’, ‘stop slicing me’, ‘ow’?”
“I get really into my game,” I mumble, focusing somewhere around the tip of the police officer’s ear. He is so nice, so friendly, so soothing when he questions these embarrassing details, but—Lord, who the hell gets the cops called on them for being too dramatic while playing one of the most popular games in the world? Me. Max and Amy are going to have a field day over this.
“And again, I’ll pay for the door,” my new neighbor calls from across the room. “I already got into contact with someone who can be here in the morning, and I messaged the landlord.”
Oh, right. The door. I glance toward the back, in time to see Milo sneaking over to try to bite something glittering off the ground.
“Milo! No!” Horrified, I lurch forward to grab him. The police officer shoves me back while simultaneously somehow flying toward my little furry dunce, snatching him away from his dubious prize. Large, warm hands grab my shoulders before I fall unceremoniously onto my ass.
“Got him,” the officer shouts, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “Buddy, you can’t eat glass. I don’t think your mama would enjoy that vet bill.”
Relief sags my shoulders as I watch Milo pretend to swim in slow motion, his go-to move whenever anyone picks him up. I always joke that in his mind, he is always one step from being tossed into the ocean.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Asher says from somewhere above my head, and I realize he is still holding me up.
I let him usher me to the couch, where he places me like a fragile doll, before the police officer whose name I can’t remember for the life of me deposits Milo into my lap.
I yawn. Exhaustion is starting to creep up on me. I can’t remember everything that happens next—the police chat with me here and there, writing things into their little note pads. They tell me I'm fine and congratulate me for placing top five (thank you, I worked hard for that), and after this, that, and the other thing, I realize I am now alone.
With Asher.
Who has swept up all the glass, taken Milo for a potty break in the front yard until we can get the back patio cleaned of all glass (which he is also going to take care of), and is now talking on the phone to my mom, of all people, because at some point during the debacle I call my mom to blurt out that the police are at my home because I’ve scared my neighbor into thinking I am being murdered over a video game.
I'm not making amazing choices tonight, but my brain has slowly morphed from offline to online, because I'm finally horrified as I realize what's happening and tune in.
“Of course not, ma’am. I’ll make sure she’s safe tonight. I already have a room reserved at the hotel off—yeah, that’s the one. And you have my phone number? You can call or text it at any time. No, no, there shouldn’t be any issues, but I know it must be odd to entrust your daughter to a strange man in this situation.”
I blink, alarms blaring in my head. I am missing something. I am very, very big missing something. “Um, Asher?”
He sits beside me on the couch, holding up one finger in my direction. “Yes, of course. That’s not a problem. She still seems a bit out of it. I’m sure she’d like to—oh, okay. Yes, ma’am. Good night.” He pulls my phone away from his ear and blinks at my phone once. Twice. Then he hands it to me with a slight shrug. “Sorry, she hung up. Said something about going back to bed and to call her in the morning since everything was handled.”
“Oh.” I take my phone back, not sure what else to say. Honestly, that is pretty typical of my mom. “Hotel?”
“Well, you can’t sleep here tonight, can you? With your back door open to anyone?”
I shake my head, then nod, then shake it again. “But all my things—”
“Aren’t as important as your life,” he rebuts, pulling me from the couch. “Also, you’re still drunk, and still confused. I’m not sure how much you drank, but I think it’s fair to say you went past your tolerance level.”
I nod. “I don’t normally drink, but Bailey’s is really good in a cup of cocoa.”
“Duly noted. Why don’t you pack yourself a bag? I’ll take you to the hotel.” He nudges me gently in the direction of the stairs. “I’m going to see if I can tape something across this door for tonight.”
“Milo doesn’t like hotels. Too much noise. Screams the entire time. Will they let him stay?” Though, it is pretty late now. He’ll probably be okay, right?
Asher pauses. “Oh. Huh. I forgot about the dog. I don’t even know what their pet policy is there, but I’m sure we can find a pet-friendly one nearby.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay here. I’ll lock my bedroom door.”
“Absolutely not. Look, I just moved in and the only food in my house are those cookies you sent me, but you can stay on my side tonight. I can set a grocery delivery for morning, and I’ll stay in the hotel. All you have to do is make sure to not let the dog pee on my boxes.”
I squint at him. “Asher, right?”
He nods.
“Wouldn’t it be weird if I stayed at your place? Are you even unpacked?”
“I’m pretty sure this entire situation is weird, Ms. James. But no, it wouldn’t even hit my top ten of weird shit that’s happened to me if you were to stay at my place.” He sits back on my couch, stretching out those long, long legs and draping his arms over the back of it. “Don’t even worry about it, and pack yourself a bag. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, and your mama says not to let you back into the house until it is perfectly secure again.”
I stand in front of my closet, trying to decide what to pack for the night. My hands hover over my usual comfy pajamas and practical underwear before I inexplicably decide to toss a few black, lacy lingerie sets into the weekender bag I grab. I feel a small flutter of excitement, then remember that it isn't like I’m packing for some sort of date.
Jesus Christ, Sam. Get a grip.
But the lingerie stays.
Feeling a little silly, I go practical and add a few basic toiletries and a change of clothes before sealing the bag with a sigh. I throw off my oversized sweater, feeling way too hot with it on, and consider my reflection. Tank and tiny shorts might be a little inappropriate on their own—so I add a silk kimono robe. There. Decent again. No point in getting fully dressed when I'm just walking next door.
Next on the agenda is to text Amy. I give her a quick rundown in a few paragraphs of texts. After a second, I send one more.
Samantha:
Anyway, long story short, Asher thought I was getting murdered while playing BAbr. Staying at his place tonight while he goes to a hotel, because… You know, Milo. Letting you know, just in case he turns out to be a serial unaliver.
As I hit send, another notification pops up on my phone. A message from Mom. I open it to find her usual mix of love and meddling advice.
Mom:
Sweetheart, go for it! Asher sounds divine. Does he look as heavenly as he sounds? How wonderful to have a strong man try to rescue you. Live a little!
I can't help but roll my eyes. My mom is something else—always loving and supportive but also completely out of touch with reality. Trying to set me up with a stranger who may or may not be an ax murderer? Classic Mom move.
With everything sorted, I make my way downstairs to find Asher finishing up a conversation on the phone. He is holding Milo in his arms, looking every bit the rugged hero with a tiny dog.
As he hangs up, he turns to me, offering his hand. “Ready, then?”
I nod, feeling a strange mix of nerves and gratitude as I place my hand in his.