Pulling into the driveway of the apartment building, my window is down, and I can hear the faint sound of a guitar.
Climbing out, I glance up at the building. The music grows louder the closer I get to the building. Walking down the side of the building, I come around the corner and see Heather sitting on the fire escape of her apartment.
She's singing to herself, her voice just as stunning as it was last night. I'm watching her for a few seconds, then she spots me. Stopping what she's doing, she waves at me.
“Hey,” she says with a smile.
My heart thuds in my chest, faster and louder than ever before.
Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?
She adjusts herself on the small platform, and it sways side to side making me nervous as hell.
“You shouldn't be on there! It's a piece of shit and could crumble any second. You could break your neck!”
Her brows dip in hard, smile flattening. I sound like an asshole. I didn't need to be so harsh. I suddenly feel protective of her. The thought of anything happening to her makes me sick to my stomach, like I want to throw up.
Forcing a smile, I squint as I look up at her. “It's been a long day.”
“I get it.” Heather's mouth instantly rolls up into another smile. “Then you must be hungry. Let me make you dinner,” she calls down to me as she starts to climb back inside her apartment.
“Sorry, I don't do dinner.” Quickly shutting her down, I slice the air with my hand. “It can make things messy, and blur lines that don't need to be crossed.”
Dinner is a big no-fucking-way in my book. I don't do dinner and I don't date. I fuck and have a good time. It's simpler that way, easier to keep fun where it belongs, and my life straight and narrow.
“That's too bad, I make some pretty mean spaghetti,” she says, lowering herself into the window. Reaching out to grab her guitar, she gives me one last smile, then disappears inside.
I'm such an asshole.
I'm not trying to be rude to her, but I need to shut this down before it turns into something I can't control. Right now, her pull is weak, it's brand new, it hasn't had the chance to really dig its talons in yet.
These feelings I have, they just don't belong. And I can't let them in. No matter how badly I might want to. She's a good girl. She doesn't deserve to see what I have to offer. Because she'll be sadly disappointed.
I'm not boyfriend material.
Except, I fucked her and I want more. . . Doesn't that mean something?
No. It means nothing.
Sure, it was great, it felt really fucking good in the moment, and I'll remember it forever. But that's all it can ever be. One good fuck.
Heather is a memory, one of many.
Good girls don't really want bad boys. Not in real life. In books and movies it might work out. But not here, and not with a guy like me. I'm damaged, unwilling to allow anything mildly resembling an actual relationship to take shape.
She came here to be a singer, and that's what she needs to do.
7
Heather
He's not a dinner date kind of guy. . .
Pursing my lips, I sit on my couch. The front door creaks open and slams shut, and I hear his feet as they stomp up the stairs.
Looking over at my front door, I tap my fingertips against the top of my thighs.
He's almost at the top. The walls in this building are paper thin, making it easy to hear what's going on outside your own apartment. I can hear the old lady downstairs talking to her cats during the day, and even the guy under Ian when he's arguing with his roommate.
Ian's heavy boots create an echo in the hallway. My eyes are on the door, and I have this urge to see him. Standing up, I move to the door and rest my palms against it as I press my eye to the peephole.
I'm able to see through it clearly now because I cleaned it the day after I moved in, along with every cupboard, floor, and rug in this place.
Ian is filthy. There are dirt smears all over his jeans, and his boots have a thick layer of dried mud up around the toes.
He stands at his door, fumbling with his keys. Lifting his head straight, he's still. With my eye firmly against the tiny window, he cocks his head over his shoulder and looks back at my door.
Jerking away quickly, I take a small step back. I'm breathing fast and my heart is racing.
Does he know I'm watching him?
Slowing down my breathing, I don't hear his door open or close. Leaning forward, I push my eye against the peephole again.