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My complex is an upscale building with a gym and laundromat provided.
I park my bike in the garage and then head over to the elevator. Just as the doors are about to close behind me, I hear a woman cry out, “Hold the door!”
Without thinking, I use my foot to block the door and the doors automatically open.
A short red-haired girl darts in, holding a large cardboard box that is two sizes too big for her.
I step aside to give her space and she sinks onto the floor, panting. “Oh God. I was sure that I wouldn’t make it.”
I glance down at her, uneasily, and my eyes widen slightly at her attire. She’s clad in fuzzy slippers, neon pink shorts that are so tiny that they’re practically riding up her ass and a yellow tank top that’s so tight, it looks like it’s painted on.
I blush in discomfort and stick my hands in the pockets of my pants, looking away. But the fact that she’s not moved or pressed any buttons, makes me a little concerned, “Which floor are you on?”
She glances up at me, suspicion in her gaze. “Why do you want to know? Are you one of those perverts?”
Without letting me chime in to my horror, she continues, her eyes wide now, “My uncle warned me about people like you!”
I gape at her. “What, no! I was going to press the button for you!”
When she continues staring at me as if I’m some piece of slime, I say snidely, “I was just trying to be helpful! Suit yourself.” With a derisive sniff, I hear the bell go off as my floor arrives, and without a second thought, I march out, insulted beyond measure.
I hear the doors close behind me on the teenager, who looks like she belongs at a club, and I scurry to my own apartment, incensed at the sheer rudeness.
Locking the door behind me, I stare at myself in the hallway mirror for a full minute, taking in my rich brown eyes, my slicked back hair and my sharp cheekbones, everything giving me a stern appearance. My frame is lean and slightly muscular from my daily gym routine.
Peering at myself, I tilt my head at a couple of angles before I snort, disdainfully.
There is no way I look like a pervert.
Taking off my tie, I toss it aside and make my way into the kitchen to see if there are any leftovers from Tracy’s lasagna.
All thoughts of the girl are gone from my mind as I happily warm up the food.
Kendall’s best friend, Tracy, is an angel, I think to myself. I have lived on takeout since Mom passed away but ever since I met Tracy, I’ve never gone a day without a home-cooked meal. Her husband, Duke, Caleb’s friend, helped her set up a catering business a few months ago but I managed to convince her to provide me a week’s worth of frozen food at least four times a month.
Stuffing my face till I can’t eat another bite, I give the remaining food a rueful look before putting it back in the container.
Dragging myself to bed, I put all thoughts of laundry out of my head and wonder whether I will be able to make use of Raymond’s niece.
I usually enjoy the weekend, but I find myself staring gloomily at the pile of dirty laundry that I have to take down to the basement.
Sighing, I shrug out of my shirt, and into my gym gear.
Making my way to the laundromat, I throw in my clothes for half an hour and head to the gym on the top floor.
It’s usually empty, so I’m surprised to see a woman getting
off the treadmill.
Her red hair should be a dead giveaway but I fail in recognizing her till she turns around and lets out a shocked sound. “You!”
The horror in her voice startles me, making me step back in alarm. “Y-Yes?”
She puts her hands on her hips.
I can’t help but notice the way her top stretches across her generous breasts and I force my eyes to her face. What is with this woman and her lack of normal clothes?
“Are you following me?” She demands.
