6. Cupid
CHAPTER SIX
CUPID
The apartment building Vanessa lives in looks exactly like every other housing complex on this block—cookie cutter, bland concrete buildings with zero character and even less security. The front door into the building has a broken lock, allowing anyone entry if they wanted to.
Unbelievable. I shake my head in disappointment, entering the complex.
Before coming back to Fort Collins, I removed my leather cut, opting to drive my pickup truck instead. The Mercy Ravens got a good look at me earlier today. Riding back into town with my club vest would be unwise, at least until I have a chat with their club president.
I take the steps to the second floor, passing two chatting college-aged women. They stop speaking when they see me, mouths dropping open as I pass. I have that effect on women. They like the idea of having a bad boy until they find out I’m as rough as I look.
Too bad, so sad for them. I’m off the market—at least I hope to be as long as I can convince Vanessa to get on board.
When I reach Vanessa’s apartment door, I knock, keen on being face-to-face with her again. She doesn’t answer. I take a quick glance around the hall to make sure no one is watching before pressing my ear to the door. No sound comes from the other side.
Maybe she stepped out.
Miffed that I’ve missed her, I turn to leave, but stop. She may not be home, but I still have an opportunity to learn more about her.
The locks on these doors are a simple spring-latch mechanism, typical of the time this complex was built and cheap compared to modern-day, high-security locks.
I reach into my back pocket, yanking out my wallet to retrieve my credit card. I wedge the plastic between the lock and the doorframe, shifting it up against the latch. The door pops open with little effort, and I slip inside, closing the door behind me.
Interesting. This is not what I expected when entering a college student’s private space. I half expected everything to be girly, full of pastel colors and a shit ton of pillows or whatever. Yet, Vanessa once again proves she’s unlike any woman I’ve encountered before.
Her efficiency apartment is tiny, but spotless.
The walls are painted a muted black, and plants of various shades of green hang from the ceiling, draped over windowsills, and covering nearly every available surface.
Vintage posters of pinup girls from the 50s decorate the walls in various ornate frames. Her furniture is modest but practical.
The whole vide is moody, intimate. Way classier than your typical college apartment. Her space is simplistic, yet it feels familiar with how similar her style is with mine.
My chest feels oddly warm upon learning our tastes would mesh well. In my head, I can see us living together in my apartment above the bar. She could move right in, and it would look like she had always been there.
I shake my head, having no clue why my mind jumped there. I barely know the woman.
And yet…I like the idea a lot more than I should, considering Vanessa wasn’t exactly thrilled with me tagging along with her a few hours ago.
From the threshold, I can see the entire open layout of the apartment. A small kitchen is to my right, and a couch and rows of bookshelves are on my left. A bedroom is toward the back wall of windows and one closed-off area, which I assume is the bathroom.
There is a rack of shoes next to the door. I take off my boots, setting them on the rack with hers. I may have broken into her place, but I’ll respect how she likes to keep it.
The bookshelves are stocked with books and other personal items. I beeline for the shelves, eager to learn everything about my little baddie.
My fingers run along the spines of her books.
Lots of psych textbooks. Perhaps this is her major.
I open one, finding the entire book is covered in annotations and highlighted areas of interest. Her handwritten notes are slight but detailed.
Most of her psych books are specific to addiction counseling, a subject that is clearly a passion of hers.
Did she know someone who was an addict?
A dated picture of a little girl in grease stain overalls with wild hair and a toothless grin captures my attention.
I pick up the picture frame to examine it closer.
It’s obviously Vanessa, younger but with the same button nose and pointed chin she still has today.
An older gentleman in mechanic’s coveralls stands beside her with his arm over her shoulder.
His smile is familiar—the same one Vanessa gave me as she cruised by on her bike at Buck’s garage.
He must be family, perhaps a grandfather.
Another picture displayed shows the same older man with graying hair standing beside the cherry-red Street Glide Vanessa was riding today. In the image, a gangly high-school age Vanessa straddles the bike with the biggest grin on her face, matching smiles with the old man.
Further down the shelf, another photo of Vanessa shows her in CSU graduation robes with all the fancy ropes draped over her shoulders to signify top honors. She shows off her undergraduate diploma with the old man beaming with pride next to her.
Does this mean she’s staying near campus to pursue a graduate degree?
I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s obviously book-smart. Academia suits her.
I can’t help but smile at each photo, getting a tiny glimpse into the life of the woman I met today. Whoever the man in the photos is, he means a great deal to Vanessa.
What’s interesting is that there are no other personal photos. No siblings, friends, or parents’ candid shots. Not even a photo of a boyfriend—thank fuck.
Having exhausted the bookshelf, I look at the rest of the space.
A burgundy couch faces the bookshelf, but the throw pillows lie scattered on the ground, surrounding the coffee table where various spiraled notebooks display lots of handwritten notes.
Textbooks lie open with sticky tabs poking out from the edges.
Pens and highlighters are scattered around the table as if she were in a rush to get to whatever was next on her agenda.
Perhaps Vanessa prefers to study on the floor over the couch? It wouldn’t be my first choice, but to each their own.
Quietly, I move to the kitchen. A splash of red catches my attention. There, sticking out of the garbage can against the wall, is a bunch of red roses—fresh ones, from the look of it.
My brows pinch together. Why would Vanessa throw away a perfectly fine bouquet of roses?
I scratch my chin, trying to make sense of it when it hits me. Perhaps the flowers were unwanted, as in someone she doesn’t like gave them to her.
Is it some guy with a crush? An ex? A stalker?
My mind spins with culprits, and I don’t like any of the options. Whoever is bothering her, it ends now.
Needing more clues who could have given her the roses, I rummage through the rest of the trash but find nothing. After I quickly wash my hands in the kitchen sink, I keep looking.
I move around the small island of her kitchen, noticing a stack of mail. I quickly glance through the pile of mostly open envelopes. A credit card bill, a clipper coupon leaflet, and a torn-in-half envelope with her name scribbled across the front.
Curious, I pull out the torn paper halves, placing them together to read the letter.
Vanessa,
What can I say? I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry for straying and for how you found out. You know Riley meant nothing. She is nothing. I don’t know why I did it.
You know how I’ve been stressed with finances and paying for school? Well, a few months back, Riley introduced me to this guy she knows who could help me make a ton of money fast. Unfortunately, I got involved in something way over my head, and I’m not sure how long I can keep doing it.
Between work and struggling to keep up in classes, I guess I fell into a depression. You’ve been so busy with classes, clinic hours, and work, I didn’t feel like I could burden you with my shit.
So I started venting to Riley. She was there and easy to talk to.
I know you told me not to blame you for my fuckups, but I needed someone and you wouldn’t understand what I was going through.
It’s no excuse for what I did, but I swear what you saw was a one-off.
My boss gave me an impossible assignment, and I was stressed.
I went to your place, and Riley followed me because she was worried about me.
I let myself into your apartment, hoping you were back from your exam and you weren’t.
Riley stayed with me, waiting for you to come before leaving me alone.
Well, we started talking and one thing led to another…I regret all of it. I never meant for you to walk in on us because it was never planned to begin with.
The stress got to me, and it led me to the biggest screw-up of my life. I love you, Vanessa. I understand you hate me and never want to speak with me again, but I’m begging you to give me another chance. If you say yes, I swear I’ll never stray again.
I’ll buy you a new couch, just give me a chance.
XOXO
Boden
An ex—I fucking called it. He’s probably the one who gave her the roses. Her studying on the floor instead of the couch makes a lot more sense if he fucked another woman on it. The nerve of this asshole screwing another in her sanctuary is astounding.
My nose scrunches as I read his name again. What kind of Gen Z name is Boden? It just sounds weak.
Hmm, on second thought, it’s a fitting name for the fool. He had a dream girl and threw her away for an easy lay. Pathetic.
At least now I know who to look out for and who I’ll fuck up if he continues to harass Vanessa.
Setting the torn letter aside, I move past the kitchen into the bedroom end of the studio apartment. She has a platform bed with a burgundy duvet. And there in the center of her bed, like a forgotten item left out, is a…what the hell is it?
Curious, I tilt my head and step closer.
The item looks like one of those facial pore suction thingies I see all the time in ads on social media. But I don’t have the first clue why it would be in the middle of her bed.
I pick up the item, turning it over in my hands, before hitting the button on the back.
The thing immediately revs, pulsing and shaking in hands like it’s about to rocket off.
My, my, my! Vanessa is a dirty girl, and I’m more than thrilled about it.
I chuckle, turning off the vibrator as I sit down on her bed.
When did she last use this? Today? Before I arrived?
I groan, adjusting the tent forming in my jeans as I picture Vanessa on her back and pleasuring herself.
Who was she thinking of while she used it? Was it me?
Bringing the hollowed-out silicon notch of the vibrator to my nose, I inhale deeply, desperate to catch a whiff of her arousal. It’s there, faint, but there, and it’s causing my hardening dick to ache like no other.
The images play out in my head like a porno made specifically with me in mind.
Vanessa lies naked on the bed with her wild hair fanned out around her.
Her nipples are stiff peaks, begging for attention.
She spreads her firm thighs, exposing her dripping pussy.
Her hand snakes between her breasts, sliding over her torso, before moving lover between her legs.
She toys with her clit using her vibrator, whispering my name on her sweet lips.
Fuuuck!
I hiss, fisting myself through my jeans and ready to explode if I travel down this fantasy a second longer. With how ramped up I am over a few fleeting thoughts of Vanessa pleasuring herself, you’d think I was a virgin experiencing sex for the first time.
Groaning, I will myself to calm down. If I’m coming at all tonight, it will be with her, not my hand.
Whelp. That settles it. With Vanessa gone, I had every intention of leaving here after snooping around, but now I’m staying put.
Psyche will have to come back to her apartment eventually, and I’ll be here to welcome her home when she does.