Wild Collision (Us 4)

I have to agree. It’s small, so small the bathroom is practically in the kitchen. I don’t even see room for a bed, let alone anything else.

We turn around, saying an apologetic goodbye, before heading to the next one on my list.

After seeing three more places I’m beginning to give up hope.

“This is pointless,” I whine to Hollis, exiting yet another building that smelled moldy and I’m certain I saw a mouse tail disappearing around a corner. “If I’m going to live on my own in a decent place I’m going to have to let my dad help me,” I groan.

“Is that such a bad thing?” he inquires.

“No,” I frown. “It’s not but…” I wanted to do this on my own, I finish in my head.

He stops walking and presses a finger to my lips, forcing me to stop too.

“Stop right there,” he says. “You’re thinking too much. Do you want to move into your own place?”

I nod. “I do,” I admit.

“Okay,” he lets his finger drop, “then we keep looking. The right place is out there.”

His words reassure me and I square my shoulders. He grins at the motion, clearly amused.

“I have two more places on my list for today. If these don’t work out, I’ll have to search elsewhere.”

“One of them is going to work,” he says confidently.

We fall into step side by side. My heart stutters when his fingers brush mine. I itch to reach out and grab his hand, to hold it in mine, but I know we can’t dare. Not when there are loads of people in this town who know my dad and would unknowingly let something slip.

I look up at Hollis, his strong jaw shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble, his floppy hair and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his ass and a shirt I’m pretty sure is glued on, he commands the attention of all nearby women. I can’t blame them for looking. I would too if I saw him on the street of some random town. There’s something about his presence, too, that draws people in. It’s some sort of spark I know will help him and his band go far in this world.

I stall at the thought.

Whatever we are, whatever this is, is just starting. It’s new, with no definition, but if it continues it could become something. Then what? He won’t stay here forever. He’ll go back to L.A., to his real life, to promoting and concerts, to clubs and other venues, while I’ll be here doing what I always do.

I push those thoughts from my mind, refusing to dwell on them now.

Finally we make it to the next apartment building. It’s nicer from the outside, brick, freshly painted door and shutters, even the steps leading to the front are clean as if someone has dusted off leaves and debris.

As we walk up the steps I feel Hollis’s hand press lightly against my waist and I smile to myself.

I open the door and the foyer is lined with old black and white tile. It shines like new even though it’s not. There’s a door to my left, one straight ahead, and another on the right with a sweeping staircase also on the left leading to the upstairs apartment. I’m sure before this was turned into apartments it was a beautiful, large, family home.

“It’s upstairs on the right,” I tell Hollis and we begin to climb the stairs. “The landlord said he’d leave the door unlocked for us and he’s downstairs in apartment two if we need him.”

We reach the landing and I turn to the apartment on the right. There’s another beside it, two across, and another on the end. With so many apartments on one level I have a hard time believing it’ll be large enough or to my liking, but we’ll see.

I try the door and it’s unlocked like the landlord promised.

We step inside and I’m pleasantly surprised by what I find. Original hardwood floors worn with age, but in good shape, cover the floors. There are windows facing the street and an alleyway, which isn’t the greatest thing to look at, but it does let in a lot of natural light.

There are exposed brick walls through the apartment, and the kitchen and bathroom have been recently remodeled with granite countertops and new cabinets. The bedroom is small, but it has enough room for me to make do.

Hollis follows me through the space, not saying anything, instead letting me think through on my own.

I finally turn toward him and he stops. His black boots nearly touch my sneakers we stand so close.

“I think it’s perfect.”

He smiles at my words. “You sure?” I love how he doesn’t give me his opinion, not yet, instead wanting to hear what I have to say.