Chapter 10
Killian
She’s everywhere, and it’s fucking me up. When I wake up, the first thing that comes to mind is that she’s right downstairs. I walk down, and her scent lingers in the living room.
I make coffee, and I automatically reach for the second cup. I already know how she takes her coffee; with a little bit of sugar and cream, just enough that it’s not plain black, not so much that she can taste either the sugar or cream.
She’s been here for about two weeks.
It’s concerning.
Almost as concerning as my inability to focus on my client.
“I keep telling her to throw out the damn plant,” she’s saying. “The woman doesn’t listen to me. I get it, it was given to you by your ex while you were still madly in love. But babe, that was five years ago and he’s since remarried.”
The buzz of the needle is the only soothing sound in my workspace. I don’t know how Eve manages to do this, but somehow all our most talkative clients end up with me. Eve swears it’s because I don’t talk back, and that’s why they feel free to say whatever’s on their mind.
They seem to forget that they pay me to poke them with tiny needles and leave behind paint, rather than listen to their relationship troubles.
The issue with Anna, my current client, is she’s getting a big, intricate tattoo on the back of her leg that’s going to take twenty hours and five sittings over the course of three months.
So, I’m going to be listening to this tale again in the near future.
Hopefully, her friend has thrown away the evil plant by then.
Around hour three, Anna decides she needs a smoke break and lumbers off my chair. I straighten with effort and try not to wince like an old man.
“Where’s Anna?”
I turn around to look at Eve, who’s standing at the entrance of my work station.
“Outside.”
Eve nods. “When do you think her friend is getting rid of the plant?”
Shrugging in response, I get up to get some blood flowing to my legs and stretch. Is it possible I’m getting too old for this at thirty-three?
“So…” Eve says. “How are things?”
“Fine.”
“The sun’s finally out, feels nice, doesn’t it?”
I narrow my eyes at her. Why is she talking to me about false spring? The sun is out right now, but we have rain predicted for the rest of this week.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Lilith and I have already started planning our summer vacation. We’ve got that Catskill trip coming up in a couple of months, but we were also thinking of going somewhere else.”
“Good.”
These are all things I don’t need to know.
As my employee and even as my friend, I’ve never been interested in Eve and Lilith’s vacation plans.
She books out her vacation months in advance and doesn’t feel the need to get my approval.
It’s not something which bothers me because I know Eve is responsible for notifying her clients on time.
Eve opens her mouth again, no doubt to ask me another question, and I stop her.
“We don’t need to make awkward small talk,” I say. “Just say or ask whatever you want to.”
“How’s the new roommate working out?” Eve asks, her eyes glinting at the possibility of gossip.
I grunt in response, turning away before I catch her grin. Of course, she wants to know. I haven’t brought Caroline here with me since that first day, and I’m not planning on bringing her back.
I can’t believe I’ve invited her to live with me like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do with your brother’s fiancée. There’s a part of me that almost wants to call Beckett and ask him to come get her.
I’m not going to do that to Caroline, though. I’m definitely not going to force myself to talk to Beckett.
“That good, huh?” Eve muses. She’s enjoying this too much.
“It’s fine.”
“Yeesh. From the sound of your voice, it literally cannot be worse,” she says.
“How would you feel if your brother’s fiancée unexpectedly showed up to stay at your apartment?”
“I don’t have a brother, but Lilith does and she happens to like her brother’s fiancée. After all, she’s family.”
I’m sure it’s obvious by my reaction that I don’t think of Caroline as family. She’ll always be Caroline. Not my family, definitely not my sister.
Growing up, every day was a reminder that Caroline was meant for my brother. Her choice didn’t matter. And my feelings about it were nothing more than a nuisance.
“I wish you’d tell me all the juicy goss,” Eve says.
“Don’t you have a client coming in?”
Eve grins at me. “Not for another ten minutes.”
I’m saved from continuing this conversation by Anna’s reappearance.
“Eve! Oh my god, I was hoping to run into you!”
They take another ten minutes to talk about the best massage place which Eve recommended to Anna, while I plug in my AirPods and zone out. I’m not listening to Anna talk about her friend’s relationship mistakes for another two hours.
After Anna leaves, I sit in the tiny back office and finish processing the payroll. Since Eve is the only one who works here, I’m done in ten minutes. I take the time to organize the office, filing and refiling the paperwork. Is it too soon to start on next year’s taxes?
“You can’t avoid her forever. She lives in your apartment,” Eve says, appearing at the office door.
“I have work to do.”
Eve rolls her eyes. “You can’t seriously be scared of her. She’s the sweetest.”
“You’ve met her twice.”
Not that Caroline isn’t the sweetest. That might be part of the problem. I can’t ignore her like I do everyone else and even being slightly rude to her feels inhumane.
“If you say she’s horrible, then I’ll believe you.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. Closing my laptop, I sit back in my chair.
“I’m going home now,” Eve says. “Unlike you, I happen to like my roommate.”
I don’t say that her roommate is her wife and therefore, the woman she loves.
Once Eve is gone, the shop falls into an eerie silence. Usually, her sounds are still there after we’ve closed. She’s stomping around her work space, humming under her breath or trying to engage me in conversation.
With Eve gone, I only have my thoughts to keep me company. Even though I try to work, my thoughts are drawn back to the apartment and what’s waiting for me. Rather, who’s waiting for me.
You invited her to stay, you can’t ignore her forever.
I know that, but I also know how much I loved seeing the spark in her eyes when she ordered food for the first time. That small bit of freedom and choice meant so much to her, and yet she’s still marrying my brother. If she’s marrying my brother.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that neither her or my grandmother confirmed there’s going to be a wedding.
With nothing left to do, and no possible reason to avoid going home, I lock up and start walking back.
The sun is just starting to set and it’s about seventy degrees out.
Probably the only thing I miss about California is the constant sunshine and the surfing.
A couple of years ago I went to Los Angeles just to surf for the weekend.
To delay my time, I take the stairs up to the eighth floor, climbing slower than I usually do.
As soon as I get to the door, I hear loud music playing inside. I can’t make out the lyrics, but it sounds like Spanish or Portuguese.
Slotting my key through the door, I unlock it and walk into the apartment, completely unprepared for what’s waiting for me.
“Fuck,” I groan quietly.
Caroline has her back to me as she dances and sings along to Bad Bunny, her hips gyrating to the music. She’s wearing a little blue dress with white flowers on it that just about covers her ass, leaving her long, golden legs bare.
What will they look like wrapped around my waist?
The thought isn’t as unexpected as I’d like.
It takes me a minute to realize she’s pushing a vacuum back and forth on the rug.
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms as I watch her. I should announce myself. At the same time, I’m probably never going to get the opportunity to see her this free again.
She dances around the vacuum, plugging in the part to get the corner spots. When she spins around, she finally sees me and screams. I barely catch the sound over the music.
Scrambling for her phone, she pauses the music and the song cuts off.
“You scared me!” She accuses, resting a hand against her chest.
I shrug. “I was just enjoying the show.”
Her hand goes to her waist as she gives me a flat look. “It wasn’t for you.”
“Too bad. I can get used to the entertainment.”
Caroline’s cheeks flush the faintest pink.
“Two weeks ago you wanted me out of the apartment,” she says cuttingly.
“Two weeks ago I didn’t know how talented you are,” I say.
“Leave it to a man to think of cleaning as a talent,” she quips, turning away. Unplugging the vacuum, she wraps the cord on the back.
“I didn’t know you knew how to clean.” I straighten, walking to the fridge to get a bottle of water. We both seem to be ignoring her wedding card stuck to the door. It’s a cold reminder of what’s coming and that I shouldn’t be bantering with her.
“What am I, an ‘alpha male’ who can’t figure out how to plug in a vacuum and push it back and forth?”
I nearly choke on my water. “The men are really catching strays tonight.”
“Do you know how many incel podcasts there are talking shit about women?” Caroline asks.
“I don’t listen to podcasts, but based on the number of incels in real life, I’m guessing a lot.”
“So many! And all of them are talking shit about how women should be taking care of the house and kids all the while remaining a size two because otherwise they won’t be able to keep a man.”
Caroline slams her hands on the countertop, her eyes flashing. “The only thing we should be doing is letting men live because there’s no skincare in prison, and kicking you out of our beds.”
I cap the bottle and set it on the counter. “Did you listen to an incel podcast?”
She gives a sharp nod, her grey eyes bright with anger. “While I was doing the laundry.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’m not walking around without underwear, Killer. This isn’t Paris.”
I nearly choke on my own breath at the thought of Caroline walking around the apartment without underwear. It’s bad enough seeing her in tiny dresses. I already feel like I’m seeing more of her than I should be.
“Why were you listening to an incel podcast?”
“I couldn’t focus on my book so I thought I’d try a podcast,” she says. “When I searched, it came up as a popular one and I thought it was going to be innocent. Boy, was I wrong. Why do men have to ruin everything?”
“I don’t know, but the next time we have a meeting, I’ll ask.”
Caroline crosses her arms, which causes her tits to push up. What sins have I committed in a past life to be subjected to this torture?
“Are you making fun of me?”
“As if I ever could.”
She narrows her eyes, gauging my sincerity. Once she realizes that I’m not making fun of her, she breaks out into the brightest smile.
“Okay, good, because I think you should do one.”
“Do what?”
“A podcast,” she says, like it should be obvious.
“An incel podcast,” I say flatly.
“Ew, no.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “You can talk about art or tattoos. How do people choose to adorn themselves? Teaching people about art. That kind of thing. Like Bob Ross, except grumpier.”
“I can’t imagine anything I’d hate more,” I say.
“That’s because you’re not giving it enough thought,” she says. Pushing back her hair, she leans across the counter. The only thing keeping my eyes from dropping down to her tits is her animated face.
“I don’t have to, the idea is enough to make me hate it.”
“You hated the idea of me living here,” Caroline counters.
I nod. “Can’t say I’m not regretting changing my mind.”
Sticking her tongue out at me, she walks around to the fridge and grabs a pitcher of lemonade.
She moves to grab a glass and I shift out of her way. In the process, I bump against her and since the pitcher is almost full, the lemonade splashes over onto the floor and my shirt.
Caroline gasps. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who bumped into you. Let me clean this up.”
Removing my sticky and wet shirt, I put it aside before taking the pitcher from Caroline’s hand. Taking her hand, I pull her away from the spilled lemonade so she doesn’t accidentally slip and hurt herself.
“Wait, I can clean it,” Caroline protests.
“I’m not going to make you clean up my mess,” I say.
Taking a roll of paper towel, I crouch down to clean up the spill. I stand once it’s all cleaned up and throw the wet towels into the trash before washing my hands. Glancing at her, I see the tips of her ears are bright red.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice squeaky. She clears her throat and tries again. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you for cleaning that up.”
I nod, drying my hands. It doesn’t escape my notice that she’s not looking at me.
“Do you want to order in or go out for dinner?”
She shrugs. “We can order in. Either way. Whatever works for you.”
I throw the dishtowel on the counter and take a step towards her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, you just asked,” she says, her voice strangely high pitched.
Bracing a hand on the counter, I lean in towards her. Her eyes flutter to me before dropping down to my hand, throat bobbing as she swallows.
“Then why are you blushing and refusing to look at me?” I ask.
She scoffs. “I’m just…admiring the tile pattern.”
“The tile pattern?” I ask. I look at the white backsplash which has faint cream color designs on it.
“Yes.” She gives one firm nod, her face flaming.
I lean in a little more and her wide eyes flash to me before looking away again. I can feel the heat coming off her body.
I should step back. Nothing good is going to come of being this close to her.
“Are you refusing to look at me because I’m not wearing a shirt?”
Those beautiful grey eyes swing back to me, wide in surprise. “Oh, you’re shirtless? I didn’t even notice.”
Fuck, she’s adorable.
“Hmm, good to know it doesn’t bother you.”
“Of course, it doesn’t.” She laughs, or tries to. It sounds fake and like it’s stuck in her throat. “Why would it bother me if you’re shirtless in your own apartment?”
“Maybe because you’re worried you’ll like what you see.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not for her eyes to drop down to my torso. I feel her gaze along my body. Fucking hell, she really shouldn’t be looking at me like that.
“Do you, Caroline?” Why am I asking this question? We’re both going to get burned by the answer.
Her eyes move back to mine, wide and guileless. The grey of them is so clear they’re like glass.
“If you were ready for the answer, you wouldn’t ask,” she says. “You’d already know.”
Her answer sends me reeling. Here I thought I was playing with her, and she played me.
With a wide smile, she steps back and walks towards her room. “Let’s order some of that famous New York pizza,” she calls over her shoulder.
The door closes behind her with a soft thud and I exhale, thrusting a hand through my hair.
Having her here is a bad fucking idea.