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“I-I’ve never done anything like this.”
“It’s hard sometimes to ask for help.” I paused. “I don’t know what to tell you since I don’t know why you’re here, but I can’t help if you don’t at least share your story.”
“My story?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Everyone has a story that brings them through those doors. I’ll do my best to help you. To fight for you. But you have to take that next step. Otherwise, I need to help one of those other
women sitting out there.” I looked over her shoulder to the waiting area.
“I understand,” she whispered.
I thought she was going to stand to leave, but instead she cleared her throat and
started her story from the beginning.
My second night after work the stairs to the rooftop apartment didn’t seem so treacherous. I credited the Keds.
I turned the key in the lock and let myself in. It was quiet inside. It seemed unlikely Greer would be home early two nights in a row.
I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, a glass, and walked onto the patio. It was nice out here. Greer had hung a few strands of lights overhead. I bent to plug them in, and noticed a radio splattered with paint in the back corner. It was under a small overhang. I turned it on and smiled when I heard the song.
From what she’d told me, this apartment never officially went on the market. Greer found out from one of her analyst friends that it was available. That was how things worked in D.C. There was an unspoken real estate market where houses and apartments were traded among friends and co-workers.
I sat under the twinkle of the lights and watched the sun set over Adams Morgan while I sipped my chilled glass of wine. I kicked one ankle over the other and relaxed into the chaise lounge.
I was two sips in when my phone started to ring. I winced thinking it could be my mother again with another false emergency, or worse, my brother calling to rant about what happened today.
I didn’t recognize the number and then I realized who it was. Vaughn. I had never added his name to my contacts.
“Hello?”
“Is this the pretty girl I met last night?” The deep timbre in his voice made me smile.
“Depends on how many girls you met, I guess.”
“Oh yeah, this is the one. The smartass.” He chuckled.
I leaned into my chair. “Hey, there.”
“It’s not Friday, and I know a lot of idiots wait for that three-day calling rule, but you’ll learn quickly I don’t play by those rules.”
I sat forward in my chair. He had my full attention.
“I’m coming to pick you up,” he reported.
“You are?” I almost choked on my wine.
“Text me your address and I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Where are we going?” I hadn’t agreed, but he hadn’t asked either.
“It’s a surprise.”
I twisted my lips together. I liked this kind of game. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see.” He paused. “And wear something short. I like your legs.”
My eyes widened. Had he been checking out my legs last night? I knew I should say something about how objectified that made me feel, but it didn’t. I was turned on.
