“Dax?” I call out, choking back my discomfort. “Dax? Are you awake? It’s me, Millie.”
Another breeze blows by, mussing my already messy hair. I tamp it down with a shaking hand. Only a few minutes have goneby, but my unease is growing. I knock again, pounding harder this time.
“Dax?” My voice sounds panicked, unless I’m imagining it. The hair on my neck is standing on end, so I quickly skirt my gaze around the parking lot behind me. There’s nothing there, not at first glance.
What the fuck?
There’s someone at the bottom of the stairs. I crane my neck to get a better look, but they move out of my line of sight. Then, the sound of their shoes hitting the steps jars me out of my curiosity, which turns immediately to fear. My heart pounds in my ears as I bang on Dax’s door with everything I’ve got left in me.
Did my attacker escape? How is that even possible?I can hear his feet on the grates of the metal, one-by-one. It’s a slow and teasing pace, just like last night. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
“Dax!” I screech, hammering harder, desperate..
The door swings open, and I tumble forward into Dax’s chest.
“Fuck me, Millie! What are you doing here so goddamn early?” His hands cover my shoulders as he rights me. He looks tousled, like I just pulled him out of bed. I’m thinking right then and there that I should have called ahead.
Too late for that now. I steal a glance behind me and listen for footsteps. Nothing. Not a single thing.
“You’re pale as shit, girl.” He hustles me inside and closes the door firmly behind us. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He’s not far off. I’m definitely seeing things that aren’t there!
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, shaking off his comment. Instead, I hold up the now crushed bag of goodies and force a smile. “Apple fritters?”
The look Dax gives me is wearying, but he takes the bag, anyway. Before he walks away, a little smile tugs at his lips. “These from that bakery down the road?”
“Yup. Picked them up on my way over,” I say, taking off my coat and hanging it on the rack.
He doesn’t say anything more as he digs one out. With a satisfied bite, he heads to the kitchenette. Just like everything else in his apartment, it’s sleek and modern, playing into the industrial brick walls and exposed pipes. Gray, white, and other dark tones accent his choice of furniture and decor. When I first saw it, I couldn’t help but note how unlike a bachelor pad it was. A typical one, anyway. Previous flings, before our arrangement, had me in places with milk cartons out from two weeks ago and sinks full of dirty dishes and old food.
Not Dax, though. He’s a neat-freak,andhe has a PhD in Engineering Physics. When I first met him, it blew my mind that a hot, young guy would skip out on a degree to open up a strip club.
“College sucked, and I wanted to have fun,” he had said when I asked him why. String Theory was his fun way of having an inside joke with himself, and those of us who knew about his education.
“So, is this the start of your apology tour?” Dax asks as he sets the bag on the counter, pulling me back to the present. He looks at me expectantly, dark hair falling around his face and highlighting the stubble growing in from his last shave. I like it when he grows it out, though. Feeling it against my skin when he’s kissing me gives me goosebumps.
“Less of an apology and more like a thank you for last night,” I say, leaning against the breakfast bar.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says, taking another bite. A little bit of the glaze sits on his lips and he licks it away. “Just being a decent person.”
“Sure, but it isn’t like I can’t reward you for being so nice to me,” I say, moving away some stray papers as I hoist myselfup onto the countertop. I can feel the coolness of the hardwood through my leggings.
Dax takes another bite, finishing the first fritter. He pats the flat plane of his stomach with a hum of approval. “That was delicious.”
“Glad you liked it.” I smile.
“I’m gonna put on some coffee.” He turns to the pot behind him and sets to work.
While he does, I take a moment to admire his morning glow. I’ve never seen him so disheveled. It’s always been my rule to leave after a hook-up, no exceptions. I’m kicking myself for last night. I was going to break my rule for one night only, just to experience what the next day would be like.
It’s not like you didn’t see any action, says the little voice inside my head.
“So,” he starts as he replaces the filter, “feeling better? Still upset?”
“About what?” I blink, crossing my ankles in an attempt to keep myself from lunging at him. He looks so good. Sometimes it isn’t the fit or the flirting, it’s the way someone moves in their own way, doing the most mundane thing that drives me crazy. The firm, yet careful pour after he measures each scoop of grounds makes me shiver. I know what those hands can do.
“About Ronnie,” he deadpans. “Are you okay?”
