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I drop onto the bed and let my little Chihuahua hop from the laundry and climb into my lap. She makes a little purring noise as I run my hands through her short brown hair, opening her mouth to give me the cutest grin imaginable.
“Potty, girl?” I say. “Wanna go onto the balcony?”
I’ll take her for a proper walk tomorrow morning, but right now I’m ready to collapse into bed. I walk across the room, Rebel leaping from the mattress and trotting along next to me. The apartment is tiny, all the rooms huddled close together, but at least I have my own bedroom and living room and bathroom and kitchen, and even better, a tiny balcony area where Rebel can do her business.
I wait just beyond the open door, the city wintry-blue with the February moonlight, the cold whispering in and tickling over me. Rebel is over the cold as much as I am and quickly returns to the warmth of the apartment after a quick squat and leg-lift.
We walk inside and I feed her, sitting on the living room floor with her bowl in my hand and her small, delicate body in the other. She moans contentedly as she feeds, just a small meal, enough to satiate her until breakfast. I gave her a proper one before I left.
Maybe it’s funny, or maybe it’s just sad, that I’m so much more diligent with my dog’s diet than my own.
After feeding her, I return to the bedroom and lie on the bed, atop the covers, closing my eyes and trying not to think of Jett.
After his disappearing act, I didn’t spot him again all night. I kept waiting for him to appear, the memory of his strong, hot hands on my hips almost too much to take. I’m glad that Rebel is curled up against me now because it stops me from sliding my hand into my trousers and stroking my hand along my tingling sex.
I shouldn’t indulge in these crazy fantasies.
They lead nowhere.
A man like him, with his silver hair and his ripped-as-hell body, would never be interested in an inexperienced girl like me.
He was just being nice.
But what about his unfinished sentence?
I’ve never …
Met a girl like me? Felt this way before? Been so attracted to a woman?
Fine, it could be that, but it could also be, I’ve never been so disgusted. Do you really think I’d want you, you silly girl? Grow up. Life isn’t a book.
I lie back, waiting for the heating to warm up. I think I’ll drift off to sleep in my clothes, but images of Jett keep tugging me back awake.
Rebel moans and leaps onto my chest, lapping at my face with her tiny tongue, as though she knows that something is wrong.
I giggle and sit up, running my hands through her fur. She yaps and starts to run in circles around the bed, tail wagging like crazy.
“Wanna play, girl? Hmm? Wanna play?”
I get her favorite stuffed animal from the box under the bed, tossing it around the apartment for the next fifteen minutes, trying to focus on Rebel and nothing else, nobody else.
But Jett keeps intruding into all the little moments, his voice loud and gruff in my hand, his touch burning a phantom tattoo into my hips even now.
I imagine him grabbing me and carrying me from the ballroom into the hotel, throwing me onto a bed, and then …
And then what?
And then he finds out that I have nothing to offer him. I’ve got no idea what to do. I’m just a silly naïve—
Rebel drops her toy and barks when two loud knocks come at the door. Nobody ever knocks on the door, which is why she lets her barks fly. If people need me, they text, call or press the apartment buzzer.
I stand up from the couch and walk toward the door, muttering soothing words to Rebel as she growls protectively from the floor, making her voice deep as though she wants to trick the knockers into thinking she’s a Rottweiler.
“Who is it?” I say.
The crazy idea that it’s Jett has my heart hammering in my chest, heartbeat thundering through me, touching every part of me and setting my skin alight.
“It’s the super,” a gruff voice says. “We need you to come out here, ma’am. We’ve had reports of a gas leak.”
My blood runs cold for a moment at the lie. The super-attendant for the building is a woman named Rose. She’s the one who helped me unclog the garbage disposal a few weeks ago. But then again, maybe it’s not a lie, just a confusing way to state something. Maybe Rose is on a break or something.
“A gas leak?” I murmur, sniffing the air, smelling nothing but the vanilla scented candles with which I fill the apartment with. “That’s terrible.”
