“Yeah, so?” I said, refusing to give up any more ground.
He shrugged. “Just an observation.” His breath was hot against my cheek. “You know,” Vic said, pressing closer, “I’d do anything to make my tenants more… comfortable.” Vic reached up and moved a stray strand of hair that had fallen into my face.
I shivered involuntarily. His eyes were locked on mine. Like a black hole, they were sucking and turning me into something new.
“Um . . .” I struggled for words as his fingers played with my hair. “Well, I could use some new locks. The keys work with them only fifty percent of the time.”
“Is that so? Someone you’re trying to keep out?” His words jolted me back to reality and I jerked away from his touch.
“What? No!” I denied his question a little too vehemently, and I’m pretty sure he could tell. The less people who knew about Dean, the better.
Vic narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me. I didn’t back down and eventually he stepped back.
“Alright Lenny, you’ll have new locks within the week.”
“Thank you, Vic.”
Vic nodded and walked off. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t watch him walk away.
I frowned. That was weird. It was almost like he was hitting on me. It didn’t feel like a come-on, it felt like ownership. He was controlling me, and I let him. I wanted him to. If he hadn’t asked who I was trying to keep out with my locks, I don’t know how far it would have gone. I touched my chest, my heart was practically beating out of my ribcage.
When Vic rounded the corner, I realized I’d been clenching the hand Vic had closed. I opened it up and gasped. It was my mother’s locket. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known it was missing. In the years that I’d been wearing it, I’d never once lost it. Only a couple of days in Santa Barbara and it vanished without my knowledge.
I hurriedly clasped the locket around my neck, putting it back in its place. When everything was where it should be, I frowned again, staring at the spot where Vic had been standing.
I slid my back down my doorframe and sat on the floor. I was in way over my head. My landlord, my ex, my landlord, my ex . . . when was life going to stop being so damn complicated?
“Here’s to Lennox! Or should I say . . . mazel tov!”
I clinked my glass against Lissie’s. I was out for drinks with my coworker celebrating the fact that I had just been granted my first solo-planning event: a bar mitzvah for some rich guy’s brat. I was elated.
“Who’s that guy? He’s staring at you.”
I followed Lissie’s gaze across the bar. It took me a moment to find who she was talking about. The area he was sitting in was shadowed and sinister looking. Once again, I wondered why Lissie had chosen this bar. She seemed more a fruity martini and Sex-on-the-Beach type person than hard-bourbon-and-scars type of chick, which was what this bar offered in spades. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see clearly who it was. How could I have missed it?
Vic.
Why was he here? And why was he staring at me?
“I don’t know,” I responded to Lissie, without thinking.
“Oh, well he seems to know you,” Lissie mused, sipping her drink.
I nodded, taking a drink of my Seven and Seven. I turned my attention back to Lissie, ignoring Vic’s presence.
“How long have you been at SSB?” I asked Lissie.
“Not long. Although it feels like forever sometimes, I can’t stand Bethany,” Lissie said, laughing and then lowering her voice to Bethany’s trademark, monotone chill droned, “‘Lissie!’”
I choked on my bourbon, stifling a laugh. I liked Lissie. She wasn’t as airheaded as her appearance made it seem. I guess that’s on me. Don’t judge a book by its cover, even if the cover has fake tits, fake hair, and wears six-inch stilettos. See? There I go again. Lissie is hot and I’m just jelly.
The Black Angel’s “Manipulation” came on over the speakers. I loved this bar. It had great music and great drinks, and the clientele looked like I felt: angry old sailors. I was glad Lissie wasn’t as she appeared to be and chose this bar to drink. I would much rather swap old war stories than get hit on by douchebags wearing designer jeans.
“How did you—” I was about to ask Lissie how or why she chose this place when I was interrupted.
“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. I looked up to say “no” to the loser asking me to dance in a bar where there is no dancing, when my words got stuck in my throat like taffy. Vic.
“What do you want?” I asked, rather rudely. And drunkenly. I think I slurred my words.