A Favor for a Favor (All In 2)

I don’t have to look down the hole to know my card is gone. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, my body covered in sweat, and breathe through the nausea.

This really isn’t my day. For a moment I think about my neighbor and the state she was in the first time I caught her out here in the hallway, with her broke-down suitcase and disheveled, slightly manic expression. I imagine I must look a lot like she did.

Eventually I drag myself into a sitting position. I arrange my crutches and slowly pull my body upright. Then I hobble pathetically over to my door. “Fuck,” I say to the sock hanging from the knob.

My brother has company, and this is his very sophisticated Bat-Signal. I rest my head against the door and knock. I’m unsurprised when he doesn’t answer. I also text but get no response. Usually on game nights I’m out pretty late, and I assume Nolan has decided to take advantage of that, despite my having talked to him about slowing down on the number of randoms he brings back here.

I need the key card to get in, and to obtain a new one I have to go back to the lobby. I don’t think I’m capable of making the trip at the moment, so I decide to wait out my brother’s company by taking a nap against the door.CHAPTER 8

COUCH GUEST

Stevie

I don’t get back to my apartment until almost midnight. The dessert place we went to after the pub was licensed, so we drank spiked coffee and ate cake on the outdoor patio. I don’t have a client until ten tomorrow, so technically I can sleep in.

I’m greeted by an interesting sight when I reach the penthouse foyer. My jerkwad neighbor is propped against the door, a set of crutches lying next to him, head lolled awkwardly to the side. Maybe he lipped off to someone bigger than him and finally got the payback he deserves for being an ass. I smile at the thought.

The ding of the elevator doors doesn’t rouse him, so he must be out cold. I note the white tube sock dangling from the doorknob as I pass. In college, it was the universal symbol for Do Not Disturb. I thought he lived alone. Other than the endless stream of women, he’s the only person I’ve seen coming and going from his apartment.

I creep closer and grimace at the line of drool on his chin. I also notice what looks like a bruise on his left cheek. Maybe I’m right, and he did get into a fight. I consider leaving him out here, but if he has a concussion and dies as a result of a brain aneurysm, I’ll feel guilty. Also, I’ve never seen a dead body, and I don’t want to start now.

I knock on his door, hoping someone will hear me. No one answers after a full thirty seconds, so I try again, but still nothing. I kick Jerkwad’s foot, which in hindsight probably isn’t the best idea, considering the crutches.

He sucks in a gasping breath, and his lids flip open on a deep groan.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

He blinks a bunch of times and looks around, apparently confused. He groans again and touches the side of his face where the bruise is.

“You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Fine. Took a nap.” He grabs the edge of the doorframe and tries to hoist himself up. Half a second later he’s back on the floor, this time lying on his side, one leg completely straight and the other one pulled up closer to his chest as he groans.

“You don’t seem fine.” As far as observations go, it’s a pretty obvious one.

It takes him a good minute of deep breathing, during which he breaks out in the sweats, before he can manage to right himself.

It’s getting awkward with how long it takes him to recover, so I do what anyone else would do in such a situation, despite his having been a huge asshole to me. “Can I help you get into your apartment? It might be more comfortable than sleeping out here in the hall.”

He clears his throat, but it doesn’t do anything to help with the gravelly quality of his voice. “I’m waiting for my brother’s company to leave.” He motions to the sock on the door.

“Is your place the sex pad or something?”

“Only when Nolan’s on a roll.”

Nolan must be the brother. “So he uses your apartment for sex?” That seems . . . awkward. More awkward than our underwear battle.

“He lives with me.”

“Oh.” Huh. Maybe I’m wrong about him being a womanizing douche. Maybe he just has the douche part covered.

“I’ll wait out here until his flavor of the night leaves, which will hopefully be soon.” He leans his head against the door and closes his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”