At least the night was nice. The gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and ocean with it, camouflaging the smell of the dumpster I walked past. It calmed me down and helped me forget about the still-persistent throbs that came from the places I’d been hit. Hotels stretched up toward the starry night sky, as if they were going to break through the few heavy clouds that threatened a random shower.
It wasn’t that I hated any kind of touching. I just… needed time. I had to build up that trust. And when Rocky reached out for my hand, I realized that there had been zero time to build trust in the steamy detective. Going home with him would only invite disaster.
I sighed. Wondering why the hell I was so messed up over something that had happened years ago.
My phone started to ring. I dug it from my pocket and answered, Hazel on the other end.
“Hey, girl.”
“Sam, are you still out, or are you home by any chance?”
“I’m out but heading home, why? What’s up? Jesse didn—”
“Everything’s fine. I just need to pick up my laptop but don’t want to be the only one in the apartment with Jesse around.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be home in like fifteen.”
“Perfect, same here.” I heard Hazel getting into her car and starting it, the engine coughing to life. “How are you feeling?”
“All right. I’m sure I’ll feel it more tomorrow when I wake up. The bruises aren’t too bad.” I looked down at my purple forearm.
“Did you get to talk any more with the detective?”
“Actually…” I didn’t waste a beat. “We went out on, I dunno, a date? I guess. I think. Anyway, yeah, we talked some more. Well, mainly I did the talking while he did the listening and emotional blockading, but whatever. It was still a nice night.”
“Ohh, interesting. Very interesting. And this was the detective you were calling a ‘sniveling and spineless worm’ the other day?”
“Yeah so about that: let’s just agree I never said that.”
“Mhmmm.” Hazel’s bubbly laugh filled my ear. “He does have that broody, mysterious kind of quality to him. And you felt like you two hit it off?”
“I think so. I mean, when I say ‘date’ I’m using that term very loosely. I’d love to get to know him better, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know…”
“You’re scared of getting hurt?”
“Very.” I looked both ways before crossing the street. “And he looks like someone who could absolutely devastate me.”
“Yeah, with his di—damn it!” A honk cut through my phone. “Ugh, Miami drivers. I swear. I think I’d rather drive through an active war zone than here.”
I laughed. “All right, I’ll let you focus on the road. See you soon.”
“Byyyyye!”
The call ended and I slipped my phone back into my pocket. A high-end clothing store was closing for the day, the employee giving me a friendly smile as I walked by while she locked the door, the bright white display lights staying on, shining on four chic mannequins wearing peacock-inspired body wraps. One of the mannequins was a man, wearing a tiny teal blue Speedo.
I wonder how Rocky would look in those…
Jesus.
I need Jesus.
Without Hazel to occupy my mind, my thoughts boomeranged right back to Rocky. He had not only managed to save my life and take me out on an impromptu date, but he’d also managed to implant himself directly into the center of my brain, making it impossible for me to push him out. He was like a splinter. A very annoying splinter that I couldn’t pull out, even if I wanted to.
Which… weirdly, I didn’t.
For the rest of the walk home, I allowed my imagination to drift off, painting all kinds of scenes in my head, mainly of Rocky in various states of undress, but there were also other scenes. Us on the beach, listening to music and laughing over dumb stories. Us taking our first trip together, Rocky and I buying those silly airport coloring books and finishing all the pages before the flight landed. I imagined a hell of a lot, and, for the most part, it kept the negative thoughts at bay.
Until I was about three streets away from the apartment. I passed a two-story house, all the doors and windows thrown open, music drifting out into the street, a group of drunken college kids yelling loudly as one of their friends had apparently just arrived.
It drew my attention. But it wasn’t the happy group of frat guys that sent me on a spiral. It was the girl behind them, sitting on the stairs leading up to the house. She wore a black dress and a pair of black Vans, with a jean jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her mascara was running down her face as she cried. A friend of hers sat down on the step. He put an arm around her, but she pushed him back. She stood up and yelled, loudly, “Fuck all of you!” before storming off, leaving the house and disappearing down the street.