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I don’t think Whitney hears me because she’s laughing so hard.
The elevator door opens on the 3rd floor, but she doesn’t make an attempt to leave.
“What else does he know?”
“Enough to make a sailor blush,” I confess, my own mouth beginning to transform into a small smile.
Would she go out with me today if I ask her right here? Would she accept an invite to hang out at my apartment while my foul-mouthed bird ran through his extensive vocabulary?
I jostle the carrier, trying to move it so I can be the one closest to her, but it only serves to irritate Puff.
“Put your dick away!”
Whitney laughs again as the elevator doors close behind her. I know she’s going to have to get off eventually. We both will, but I’m not going to be the one to inform her.
Puff bounces his head back and forth like he hears music no one else can.
“Come give Daddy a kiss!”
“Is he always this flirtatious?”
“Only with very beautiful women.” I swallow thickly, beginning to regret the words until I see the blush begin to form on her cheeks.
“Quit being a cockblocker!” Puff screeches before making kissing noises.
Our fun is cut off when the elevator moves again, stopping on the fifth floor. Whitney looks around, a little confused, realizing she missed her chance to get off. I quickly zip up the carrier and press myself against the back of the car. Whitney does the same, looking at me in her periphery with a secret-sharing smile.
A little old lady scuttles in, pressing the ground floor button, making me realize when I got on this morning, I never pressed it for myself. If I had, I would’ve missed this interaction with Whitney. Floors ten and above are prime real estate in this building, meaning that they shoot directly to the location we select, bypassing all other floors. Had I pressed the button, Whitney would’ve had to wait until I got off in the parking lot before the car arrived for her.
“This place smells like death!”
“Shit,” I mutter. Hiding him is usually easy because I know I’m going to ride the car alone.
The old lady scoffs but doesn’t turn around. Whitney chuckles, hiding her laugh behind her hand, and I can’t help the grin that shows up on my own face. We share one last conspiratorial look as she begins to follow the old lady off the elevator.
“Oh.” She laughs again. “This isn’t the gym.”
She climbs back on the car, brushing her arm against mine as I begin to leave.
“Have a nice day,” I tell her, opting to head out front instead of riding down another floor to the parking garage.
“You, too.” She’s still smiling when the elevator closes between us.
***
“Have a nice day!”
“I’m going to fucking cook you with olive oil,” I threaten.
He’s been taunting me since we got in my car. I could’ve said a million things to Whitney, but have a nice day is what I decided to go with? Jesus, I’m such a spaz.
Now I know how Deacon feels. Each time my boss walks into my office, Puff Daddy spits some ridiculous shit in his direction. I know the guy hates my bird, and I’m beginning to understand why.
“Have a nice day!”
“I see he’s finally learning some manners,” my boss says as he walks into my office.
“This motherfucker!” Puff squawks.
“Not really,” I complain. “What can I do for you, boss man?”
“Do you have plans this evening?”
“I am at your disposal,” I tell him, even though I already know where this is going.
“I need you to go see Anna.”
“Same as always?”
“Just from work to home.”
“You got it.”
See? I’m not the only guy up here with a penchant for stalking.
Even my boss is doing it.
Annalise Grimaldi, a long-time frenemy of his, needed help a couple months ago, and his ass ended up falling for her, but he’s too much of a coward to go tell her. So instead, when he isn’t available, he asks one of us to go keep an eye on her. Go see Anna translates into watch her leave work and make sure she gets into her building with no trouble.
The only excuse he has that makes his stalking just a little saner than what I’m doing is that she’s not a stranger and she and her best friend had some problems with some very bad Russians. He’s watching her “to keep her safe.”
“You know she has that thing coming up soon.”
“Thing?” he asks, but he doesn’t look the least bit impressed that I’m bringing her up out of the scope of agreeing to track her for half an hour.
“That gala or whatever. I still have her calendar linked up.”
“Just,” he scrubs his hand over the top of his head, “just go see Anna tonight for me.”
I give him a quick salute as he leaves, then spin back around and pull up the camera focused on Whitney jogging on the treadmill.
