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39
Amber
Stacks of files stare up from my desk, but I can’t concentrate. Pulling on a strand of my hair, I dial the number for the property manager of my apartment. Maybe I’m being a bitch, but I really think I should follow up on the guys.
“This is Cherise.”
“Hi Cherise, Amber Drake calling. I’m in apartment 4F?”
“Of course. Hi, Amber.”
“Listen, I’m wondering about the guys in 4G. What’s the scoop?”
A pause. “I’m sorry?”
“I met the guys in 4G. They looked really rough. I’m a little nervous about having them as neighbors. Have you had any complaints about them or anything?”
Cherise barks a laugh. “No, I can’t say that we have.”
“So, they’re not partiers or anything? No loud noises or too many motorcycles out front?”
“Do you have a specific complaint?” Cherise’s voice turns cold.
Okay, maybe I’m being a suspicious bitch. “No, nothing specific. I just wanted to be sure. You know, they don’t look like the most upstanding guys.”
“I wouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Cherise seems downright annoyed now.
“Right, I’m sorry. I just thought I would check in. You’ve relieved my mind. Thank you.”
Cherise hangs up without a goodbye. Oops. Someone’s pissy. But I’m a single woman, looking out for myself. She should understand.
Maybe I was too quick to judge.
I rub my temples. My head throbs, tension radiating from the base of my skull, the way it does when I’m about to enter a bad spell. I felt it coming on from the moment I met those guys in the elevator. My instincts tell me something’s up with them.
Unfortunately, my instincts are never wrong.
I drag my palm over the back of my neck, willing the ache away. The nausea is already growing.
Today’s gonna suck.
~.~
I check out of work early, stuffing a few files into my giant purse. I probably should call Foxfire to take me home because this headache is affecting my vision. But I prefer to handle my problems solo. I learned as a child never to depend on others or you just wind up disappointed. I don’t need anybody. I can handle this on my own, is my mantra.
So I creep through traffic, squinting in agony. As soon as I reach the elevator, the migraine hits me. My vision tunnels. My heavy purse hits the floor, and I lean against the wall, finding the button for my floor by feel.
“Are you okay?”
That voice. Even totally out of it with pain, I’d recognize the deep resonant timbre anywhere. God, I’m not up to talking to him right now. Not at all.
It hurts to turn my head to look at him, to focus on his face.
Garrett bends close, peering at me. Concern creases his features. “Amber?”
I sway, and everything goes black.
When my eyes flutter open again, the room spins. No, wait. I’m on the elevator. With Garrett. And I’m in his arms with my head lolling on his shoulder.
He gazes down at me, a little line between his brows. “Are you back with me? I lost you for a moment there. Are you sick?”
I shake my head. Bad move. Closing my eyes, I grunt, “Migraine.”
“Gotcha.” His chest rumbles under my ear.
The elevator dings, and Garrett carries me out into the hall, striding as if I weigh no more than a feather pillow.
“My purse,” I mumble.
“I’ve got it.”
Automatically I relax against him, breathing in his masculine scent. His unshaven jaw brushes against my cheek. Just being in his arms calms the storm of pain raging in me.
By the time we reach my door, I feel almost human again. “Thank you, Mr. ah… Garrett. You can put me down now.”
He frowns at the door, still holding me as if in no hurry to put me down. I’m in no hurry, either. For the first time in my life, all the noise in the world, all that distraction I fight to constantly shut out, has faded, leaving only Garrett and me. My hand rests on one granite biceps, feeling the strength in his arms, the controlled power.
I stare at my door, too, wishing it would open itself.
He eases me down and keeps an arm around my waist as I fumble for my keys. Once I have them, I point them towards the door, hoping I’ve grabbed the right one. I’m still shaky, my body weak from an afternoon spent fighting off the migraine.
Garrett’s large hand closes over mine, guiding the key into the lock and turning it. He pushes it open for me.
Quite the gentleman for a guy who looks like a thug.
To my dismay-or maybe delight-he swings me back into his arms and carries me inside.
“Thanks,” I tell him, hoping he’ll set me back down in the little living room. No such luck.
He carries me straight to the bedroom. I cling to him, wishing I’d stuffed my laundry back into the hamper this morning after upending it all over the floor to find a missing bra. At least the bra is safely hidden under my clothes.
My panties, however, are smack dab in the middle of the floor.
Forget the headache. Now I’m hot all over from blushing. Garrett in my bedroom? I have to admit, it crossed my mind. I never thought it would actually happen.
My room was a lot cleaner in my fantasies.
Garrett sets me on the bed, and bends over me. Before I can say anything, he pulls my pumps off. “Do you take something? Ibuprofen?”
I start to shake my head. Ouch. Bad plan. Noise rushes past my ears. It returned as soon as Garrett put me down. “No, nothing helps but sleep.” The nausea makes talking a chore.
Garrett touches me, his huge palm covering my forehead. The agony recedes again. “What can I get you? A glass of water? A wet washcloth?”
Tears prick my eyes, but not from pain. I’ve never, ever had someone take care of me. “Yes, please,” I whisper.
He removes his hand, and I immediately miss it. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I curl up on the bed, leaning into the throb. My skin tingles as Garrett bends over me again. A wet cloth drapes on my forehead. Heaven.
A clunk as he sets down a glass of water.
“Do you need anything else?” His brows are drawn down low as his face hovers close.
Who are you, and what did you do with Garrett the Thug? I want to ask. And what did I do to deserve this kindness? I know the answer to that: not a damn thing.
“Thanks,” I croak. I’m sorry I judged you.
“Want me to leave or stay?”
Stay. God, please stay. “I’ll be okay. You can go.”
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“Thanks again.”
He touches my shoulder. “I’ll be next door if you need anything. I have excellent hearing, so just shout if you’re going to pass out again.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
His rugged face splits into a grin. It somehow melts every defense I ever erected against men, in general, and him, specifically. “I intended to hunt you down and give you shit today. Cherise told me all the horrible things you said about me.”
Oh God.
The throb in my head intensifies, as if he drove an icepick through my temples. Killing me with kindness. “I’m sorry-”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just rest that head of yours. I’ll punish you for it later.” He winks. A wink that could bring a girl to her knees.
Not me, of course. But I can see the appeal. Wait, did he just say punish? It takes my body a moment to register the threat, but when it does, heat floods between my legs, a welcome diversion from my aching head. I wonder, vaguely, if masturbating would cure a migraine. I’m probably too far gone.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks, and my heart melts a bit more. His fingers stir in my hair, butterfly-light touch brushing back a few fallen tendrils.
Just like that, a vision rushes in. Garrett’s face changes, elongates into canine features. A wolf stares at me, white markings around silver eyes.
“Amber?” The wolf image swims away, leaving Garrett’s handsome face. Same eye shape as the wolf. His hand rests on my head again, grounding me.
“I’m okay. Please. Just leave.” Disappointment rushes through me, but I can’t risk him being here while I hallucinate. I want to be nice normal Neighbor Amber. Not Crazy Amber, who mutters strange things while she has her headaches.
What I don’t understand is why I feel perfectly comfortable in Garrett’s presence, like I finally belong.
I wince as he pulls his hand away. A few seconds later, he closes my bedroom door softly, and I ignore the rush of agony and disappointment, and swallow the words to call him back.