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Eight
Briar
“He seems nice,” I say as I pull the throw pillows off our bed.
Caleb lifts his gaze to my face and tilts his head to the side skeptically. “Nice? I don’t know if I’d call him that.”
My brows furrow inward. Sure, I was just making simple conversation, and Dean does seem, at best, mysterious, but I sense some real contempt in Caleb’s reaction, too.
“What would you call him?” I ask.
He tosses one of the pillows on the floor. “Suspicious.”
“His house just burned down, Caleb. I didn’t really expect him to show up with a smile on his face.”
“He could have at least been gracious. There’s something about him that I don’t trust. I want you and Abby to stay away from him while I’m gone. Keep the doors locked.”
I let out a scoff. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being protective,” he replies defensively.
I level a glare at him, and after a moment, he relents with a sigh. “I’ll give him a chance, but for now, let’s just be on the safe side.”
“Fine,” I mutter as I climb under the covers.
We go through our normal routine. He pulls out his laptop. I pretend to read my book. He makes a comment about the weather or dinner or the house. He rolls over with an expression of disappointment. At least tonight, we can skip the lifeless sex since I won’t be ovulating for a few more weeks.
I toss and turn for what feels like an hour. Caleb is fast asleep next to me, and the space between us might only be inches, but it feels like miles. It’s so prominent that I can’t stand to even be in the bed anymore.
Careful not to wake my husband, I crawl out from under the covers. It’s practically a nightly ritual at this point—like I have a secret second life that takes place when everyone else is asleep.
Normally I’ll watch TV and eat all the snacks in the kitchen. Sometimes, I’ll scour anything interesting on the internet that I can find, or I’ll start up a conversation in one of my online art forums. But tonight, none of that interests me.
Instead, I stand near the window of our bedroom on the second floor, and I stare at the illuminated window over the garage. Our new tenant is awake, the young, handsome stranger who's renting the apartment.
As I’m staring out the window, it suddenly dawns on me that I forgot to give Dean the key to the apartment.
I mean, sure, he could lock it from the inside, but if he needed to go anywhere, he wouldn’t be able to lock it from the outside. And while I’m sure he doesn’t really need it in the middle of the night, I figure he’s up. I’m up. I might as well take it out to him now.
I guess I could also check to see if he needs anything while over there. I just want to be a good host.
Quietly tiptoeing through the house, I sneak out the back door by the kitchen, grabbing the apartment keys on my way. About halfway across the yard, I realize how crazy this is, but I’ve always been a night owl, and I assume he is, too, so maybe he won’t think it’s too odd.
I walk lightly up the stairs until I reach his apartment. Through the door, I can hear the TV playing. It’s a laugh track to something that must be a sitcom.
Gently, I knock, and it only takes him a few moments before he opens the door.
Dean is standing in the narrow opening in the same loose jeans and weathered gray tee he had on earlier. Colorful tattoos peek out from the sleeves of his shirt, and I notice what seems to be nipple piercings poking through the fabric.
Something I did not notice earlier. Suddenly, I’m wondering if he has anything else pierced.
My eyes catch on his chest before I lift them to his face.
“Sorry to bother you,” I mumble. “I just realized I hadn’t given you the keys, and I saw you were up.”
I jingle them between us, and he glances down with a small nod.
“Thanks,” he replies, reaching out and taking them from me.
