You Own Me (Owned 1)

“Vic’s the landlord,” Lance finally volunteered.

I stared at Lance, waiting for him to say “Gotcha!” I recalled the recent temper tantrum I threw at Vic, my landlord, in slow motion. It was not good.

“He’s good because he works in security,” Claire offered blandly.

Tom added, “Yeah, he’s a little aloof, but it’s nice knowing a good guy has your back.”

I nodded along, dumbfounded that Hottie McAsshole held the roof over my head, and could pull it out from me anytime he wanted.

Zoe came out, shirt wet, wiping her hands on her pants. “Sorry guys, but I’m going to have to cut the night short. Vic is on his way, but I don’t foresee this being an easy fix.”

“Do you need any help?” I asked. I didn’t know what I could do, but it never hurt to offer.

Zoe shook her head, “Not unless you’re a plumber.”

“Unfortunately, no,” I replied. From my vantage point in the living room, I could see water spilling out from the sink and to the floor. Someone, I think Lance, mentioned the growing pool of water. Zoe cursed and ran back into the kitchen.

My key was stuck. Again. This historic apartment building was beautiful but it was historic. Historic means old. Old means broken. So, here I was again, key stuck. I kept wiggling the key and jangling the knob, but it wouldn’t budge from the damn lock.

“Lennox.”

I jumped. What kind of person just sneaks up and says your name? Serial killers, that’s who. The Hannibal Lectors of the world. I turned around and saw: Vic.

“Sorry if I scared you.” Vic eyed me. “I wanted to give you something.”

I nodded for him to continue, trying to get my heart rate under control.

“You dropped this while yelling at me in the elevator earlier.” Vic reached out and took my hand. He unfurled my fingers and placed something cold on my palm. He closed my fingers against the cold object and, when my grasp was tight, he let go of my hand. Vic smiled and, without another word, walked away.

“Wait!” I called after him. He stopped and turned around. “Were you just at Zoe’s?”

I’d meant to check in on Zoe and make sure everything was fixed, but when I left her apartment to go home I couldn’t get my lock to work. Shocking, I know. So I went out to explore a little of late-night Santa Barbara (making sure to stay on the busy well-lit streets). I found this really delicious taqueria that served tacos made up of the weird parts of the cow like the cheek, head, tongue, and eyes. I figured I was trying something new so I might as well try an eye, right?

It was actually freaking delicious.

Now I was home and trying my fucking doorknob again. I don’t know what I was thinking… That because I’d given my old doorknob more time it would suddenly work? Yeah, actually, that’s what I thought.

“Yes,” Vic replied, pulling me out of my brain.

“Oh, um . . .” Shit. Where was I going with this? “Is everything fixed?”

Vic smiled. Wow, okay, I think my knees just buckled. I wasn’t aware that was even possible outside of romance novels.

“Yes,” he replied.

“That’s good . . .” I trailed off, my eyes trying to look anywhere but his gorgeous, smiling face. For an undeniable ass, he really was handsome. I hated that. Usually when a person is an ass, it’s not important if they’re Brad Pitt because I’ll still find them unattractive. For some reason, with Vic, despite his douchebaggery, I was still completely and utterly drawn to him.

Vic raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something more. When I didn’t, he started to walk away. “Why didn’t you tell me you were my landlord?” I sputtered.

“I assumed you knew,” he replied, amused.

“How? Because I’m a mind reader?”

“Or just a reader. My name is on your lease.”

“Oh.” I deflated.

“You did move in rather quickly,” Vic mused. I jumped, starting to feel like a rabbit with all the hopping I was doing. Suddenly he was so close he was practically pushing me against my door.