Chapter 5
DAMIEN
Two weeks since Doug destroyed that box, and I can't stop smirking every time I think about it. Who would've thought that a silicone dick would be the thing to finally break the ice between us?
Alyssa sleeps deeply beside me, one leg thrown over mine, her breathing steady and peaceful. I trace my finger along her bare shoulder, wondering how the hell I got so lucky.
For too long, I watched her from across the hall. Now she's in my bed nearly every night, and I'm learning all the little things that make her who she is.
Alyssa stirs beside me, stretching like a cat before her eyes flutter open.
"Morning," she says, voice raspy with sleep.
"Morning." I brush a curl from her face, struck again by how beautiful she is first thing in the morning. No makeup, hair a mess, pillow lines on her cheek and I've never wanted anyone more.
She rolls toward me, pressing a kiss to my chest. "What time is it?"
"Early. A little after six."
She groans dramatically. "Why are you even awake? It's Saturday."
"Some of us have actual work to do," I tease, earning a light smack on my arm.
"Excuse you, I have three custom orders to finish this weekend." She props herself up on an elbow, already looking more alert. "Including that baby blanket for the woman in California who's paying triple my usual rate for rush delivery."
I raise an eyebrow. "Triple?"
"Yep." Her smile turns smug. "People will pay a lot for handmade items, especially when they're gifts for special occasions."
I pull her closer, enjoying her warmth against me. "Still can't believe people pay that much for blankets."
"Says the man who charges $4,000 for a custom dining table."
"That's different. That's—"
"Craftsmanship? Skill developed over years? Unique design? Materials selected with care?"
I grunt in acknowledgment. "Fair point."
She kisses me quickly before sitting up. "I need coffee before I film today's tutorial."
"Tutorial?" I follow her out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the floor.
"The chunky blanket I've been planning all week. Should bring in about five thousand new views, if the analytics from my last tutorial are anything to go by. People love all things cozy."
I watch her pull on my discarded t-shirt from last night.
Something primal stirs in my chest seeing her in my clothes (whoever said that quote about a man's shirt on a woman is like a flag on a conquered fortress is absolutely right).
In my space. How quickly she's become a fixture here, her presence transforming my apartment from just a place I live in to something that feels like a real home.
In the kitchen, I start the coffee while Alyssa feeds Doug, who dances excitedly around her feet. The little traitor now treats her like she's the one who rescued him from that parking lot three years ago.
"He loves you more than me now," I say, measuring coffee grounds.
"That's because I don't make him eat that terrible dry food." She scratches behind Doug's ears as he attacks his breakfast. "And I knitted him a sweater."
"He's a dog. He has fur."
"He gets cold! He shivers!"
"He's manipulating you." I pour water into the machine. "He shivers when he wants attention."
"Well, it works." She stands and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, resting her cheek against my back. "Works on you too."
I can't argue with that. The first time I found Doug, a tiny shivering ball of fur and attitude in the parking lot, I intended to take him to the shelter. Then he looked at me with those big eyes, trembling pathetically, and next thing I knew I was buying dog food and a bed.
We move around the kitchen with an ease that feels like we've been doing this for years instead of weeks. She pulls out mugs while I grab the cream. I reach for plates as she opens the refrigerator. No words needed, just the comfortable rhythm of two people learning to occupy the same space.
After breakfast, Alyssa heads back to her apartment to set up for filming.
I spend the morning sanding down a headboard commission, but find myself drifting across the hall more than once.
I tell myself it's to check on Doug, who's decided Alyssa's apartment is his second home, but really, I just like watching her work.
Whatever obsession I had before has snowballed into something deeper and more intense. I'm so screwed, and I fucking love it.
I'm about to suggest we take a longer break when Doug starts barking by the terrace.
"What's his problem?" Alyssa asks as I set her aside to investigate.
I peer down at the street below. A delivery guy in a brown uniform stands near the entrance, checking something on his phone. Something about him seems off, but I can't place what.
"Delivery," I say, frowning. "Though Doug usually only barks at the ones who actually ring the buzzer."
Alyssa joins me at the window. "That's weird. I'm not expecting anything today."
I watch as the guy paces a small circle, repeatedly glancing up at the building. His uniform doesn't quite fit right—too loose in the shoulders, too short in the sleeves. And he's been there for several minutes without approaching the door.
That's when I realize something. "Third time I've seen this guy this week."
"Really?" Alyssa squints down. "I haven't noticed him."
"Because you don't usually keep an eye on non-tenants entering and leaving the building." I keep my eyes on the man as he steps closer to our building entrance, then backs away again. "He keeps looking up at the windows."
"Maybe he's just checking the address?"
"For five minutes straight?" I shake my head. "Something's not right."
"Damien..." Alyssa's voice holds a note of concern.
"I'm going down there." I'm already moving toward the door, instincts on high alert. "Stay up here."
"Be careful."
I take the stairs two at a time, a knot of tension forming between my shoulder blades. Maybe I'm overreacting, but something about this guy feels wrong. The way he's hovering, watching, like he's waiting for something. Or someone.
By the time I reach the building entrance, he's still there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I push through the door, stepping directly into his line of sight.
"Help you with something?" I keep my voice neutral, but my body language isn't. I stand at my full height, shoulders squared.
The guy startles, almost dropping the small package in his hands. Up close, the uniform looks even more ill-fitting. The logo on his shirt is slightly crooked, like it was ironed on rather than professionally embroidered.
"Uh, delivery." His voice cracks. He's younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties, with a twitchy energy that immediately puts me on edge.
"For who?" I ask, not moving from my position blocking the entrance.
"Alyssa James." His eyes dart up to the windows above, then back to me. "Apartment 4B."
My jaw tightens. I don't like the way he says her name. Actually, I don't like anything about him.
I hold out my hand for the package. "I'll take it up to her."
He clutches it tighter. "I'm supposed to deliver it personally. Signature required."
Bullshit. I've signed for enough of Alyssa's packages to know this small envelope wouldn't need a signature.
I take a step closer. "I live right across from her. I'll make sure she gets it."
He backs up slightly. "Are you her boyfriend or something?"
The question raises every red flag. Delivery guys don't ask that kind of thing. They don't even usually have time for small talk. They just drop the package and go.
"Yes, I am."
His face changes, just for a moment—a flash of something dark before he schools his expression. Well that's interesting.
"I still need to deliver it personally. Company policy."
"What company is that exactly?" I gesture to his uniform with no clear logo. "Because that's not UPS, FedEx, or ."
He blinks rapidly. "It's a specialized courier service."
"For what? What's so special about this delivery that you need to hand it directly to her?"
"I don't ask questions, man. I just deliver."
I back him toward the corner of the entrance, not touching him but close enough that he has to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact.
"Let me make something clear. Alyssa lives in my building. She's under my protection. Whatever game you're playing, it stops now."
"I'm just delivering a package." He tries to protest, but there's a tremor in his voice. "I'm not doing anything wrong."
"Then you won't mind showing me some ID that proves you work for this 'specialized courier service.'"
His eyes dart sideways, looking for an escape route. "Look, I don't have to prove anything to you."
"Actually, you do." I plant a hand on the wall beside his head, not touching him but boxing him in. "This is private property. And I own it."
He stands straighter, attempting to reclaim some dignity. "I'm just doing my job, delivering orders. You can't stop me from delivering to customers."
"Watch me." I smile, but there's nothing friendly in it. "My fucks to give is in short supply. You either leave now in one piece, or I'll let my dog deal with you. I'm telling you, though. He's not nice to strangers."
This guy doesn't have to know my dog is so tiny I can pick him up with one arm. The mental image of Doug charging at this guy's ankles almost breaks my serious expression, but I maintain my stare.
For a moment, he looks like he might argue further. Then his shoulders slump.
"Fine. Whatever." He shoves the package into my chest. "Just make sure she gets it."
I take the package without looking at it, my eyes never leaving his face. "Don't come back here."
"You can't stop her from getting deliveries."
"I can stop you specifically. Remember that." I step back, giving him space to leave. "Now get the fuck off my property."
He slinks away, throwing one last glance up at the windows before hurrying down the street. I watch until he's out of sight, the package heavy in my hand despite its small size.
Something's not right about any of this. Normal delivery guys don't act like that, don't insist on personal delivery, don't ask if you're someone's boyfriend. And they definitely don't look at a building like they're memorizing every detail.
I turn the package over in my hands. It's lightweight, about the size of a small book, with Alyssa's name and address printed on a label. No return address.
I head back inside, and Doug meets me at the top of the stairs, barking excitedly as if asking for a report.
"Good instincts, buddy," I tell him, scratching behind his ears. "You knew something was off about that guy."
Alyssa's waiting in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest. "What happened? You look murderous."
"We need to talk." I hold up the package. "About this, and about the guy who was trying to deliver it."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Is something wrong?"
I glance down the empty hallway, then back to her. "I don't know yet. But I don't think that was a real delivery guy, and I don't think this is a normal package."