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“Yes, thanks.”
“See you tomorrow,” I say.
“Yep.” He’s a man of few words.
After I lock the camera in the safe, I lock the front door. Quinn will most likely fall asleep at his desk and forget. I’m sure he sleeps in his office often.
The best thing about my apartment is that it’s only a few blocks away. I save so much money on gas. Today I had to drive my car since I was following the cheater. Quinn usually lets me borrow his car for stakeouts, but it’s in the shop. It’s good to switch up the vehicles I use anyway; I don’t want someone to catch on to me as I trail them. I hope he gets his back soon—I miss the heated seats.
I park in an available space, lock it and trudge up the stairs. I frown at the ugly brown color. Everything is brown: the stairs, the walls, and everything in between. It’s depressing.
I live by myself in a tiny three-room apartment. The kitchen, living room, and dining room are one room. My dining room consists of a two-seater table next to the couch. My bedroom has a bed and not much else, with the bathroom connected to it. It’s run-down and cheap. If we continue to get cases that pay well, I hope to find something bigger—at least something with working heat more than sixty percent of the time.
I’ve given up the dream of being successful, living in a large home, meeting the man of my dreams, and living in loving bliss. Life has shattered that dream.
I lock the door behind me. I added two more locks when I saw the cheap one they had installed. I pull out my phone as I sit down on the couch. I always leave my ringer off when on a case. A ringing phone isn’t stealthy. I see Ava called me five times and left three voicemails. I shake my head and listen to her messages.
“Marie, we are going for some drinks. Want to join us?” Her sultry voice echoes through the room.
Ava is a turned wolf. She met her two mates, was turned into a wolf, and now lives her best life. She hasn’t given up on including me in that life.
“Marie, please come out. Where are you? Call me.” Her second message is firmer.
If only the kids in my high school could see me now. These unique, beautiful women are eager to include me. I’m not sure why. Ava and her friends don’t know me well, and it’s not like I’m an open book. I’ve always kept to myself. I’m quiet and not the best conversationalist. They are outgoing, fun, and stunning. Plus, they are shifters with advanced senses and gifts—the only gift I have is a good memory.
I don’t think I’m ugly. I have a pretty face. I’m skinny; my curves are very subtle. My boobs grew until they almost got to a B-cup, then thought,‘Hold up, that’s enough.’I don’t have issues with it much. They dress in classy, stylish clothes that bring out their best. The only stylish clothes I have are underwear and bras. The good thing about being so small is the many sexy sets they sell. When I’m wearing lacey high-cut lingerie, it makes me feel like I have a secret no one knows. I mean, no one. How long has it been since a man has seen me in them? Years. Tyler didn’t get the opportunity. The farthest we went was heavy kissing.
I listen to the last message. “Marie. What the hell? Call a friend back. Why do you have a night job? You are never able to hang out with us. Come to think of it, I don’t know where you are working now. We’re at the club. Get that cute ass into some cute clothes and come. I wanted to introduce you to Logan and Bishop. Damn, are you sleeping? Maybe you have a secret lover.” She laughs. “I want to meet him. If you’re getting your sexy on, ignore this; if not, get here.” I hear the loud music before she hangs up.
If only I had a secret lover. I may have to invest in batteries as much as I’ve had to use my toys. They do the job, but there's nothing like the real thing.
I want to have a man. Someone that I can count on, talk to, share my life with, and have sexy times with regularly. I can’t blame anyone but myself. With Tyler, he had to be the aggressor. It’s not like I was encouraging. I don’t go anywhere to meet men. I don’t show off anything about myself, even a little bit. But I like my comfy clothes and sitting down and watching movies. I don’t want to go out for a night on the town with loud music and tons of people. If men walked past the apartment with their likes and hobbies on a sign for me, it would help me out big time.
It’s after eleven, and I’m ready to shower and go to bed. Men don’t usually cheat in the morning, so I have lots of late nights. I sent her a message, gently turning down her generous offer and claiming that the phone woke me up.
When someone knocks on the door a few minutes later, my first thought is that she found out where I live. That’s another thing they don’t know.
I look through the peephole to see my annoying neighbor. He’s in his thirties and finds excuses to knock on my door. He seems pretty harmless but usually doesn’t come this late at night. Just in case, I grab my can of mace and hide my hand behind my back.
“Clint, what’s up?” I ask, keeping the door halfway closed. I’ve lived on my own too long to be trusting.
“Marie, sweets,” he oozes. “I saw you come home. Do you have any tequila?”
“Fresh out,” I say.
“Damn. My friends came over for a drink. Do you want to join us?” he asks.
“How can I? You're out of alcohol.”
He gives me a strained smile. “I didn’t say we were out of other drinks, just tequila,” he says. Clint is thin and always wearing ripped and dirty jeans. I don’t want to meet his friends.
“I’ll pass. I was just going to sleep,” I say.
“Maybe next time,” he says, hopeful. He’s never done anything wrong, but you know those guys you meet that you think they could flip at any time? That’s Clint.
“Sure,” I mumble. “Have fun.”
“Always,” he says, touching his fingers to his head and giving me a salute.
