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I jump a mile into the air when he hits my door again, though with less force than before. Then I watch him stumble across the hall and reach for the door of my neighbor. He manages a tap I barely hear, and then he sways back this way, looking drunk or some—
—no, wait.
He’s got both hands at his throat now, and even through the peephole, I can see his face has turned an unnatural color.
He’s choking on somethingand he’s been banging on doors trying to get help.
“Holy God!” I rush out.
I’m in the hallway in a flash. His eyes meet mine before I spin him around and haul myself up against his back. It registers somewhere in my brain that he’s the guy who lives at the end of our hall—the handsome one with the arm tattoos and the vibe that’s almost as warm as Rae’s. Although we exchange polite smiles anytime we happen to make eye contact around here, I’ve only really spoken to him to thank him for holding doors for me. I don’t even know what his name is.
I’m sure talking to him now as I start on the Heimlich maneuver: “Hold on! Try to relax! It’s okay! Hold on!”
Of course, he says nothing back. He’s making awful little noises as I perform the maneuver on him, and in the back of my mind, I feel idiotic. I’m smaller than he is, dressed in old and mismatched pajamas, chattering while I try to dislodge whatever’s stuck in his airway. I can only hope to God he doesn’t die this way: in the hall of his cheap apartment building, trusting a girl who’s never actually tried to use the Heimlich on anyone.
He gives a sudden jerk, then gasps violently.
My heart skips a beat.Did I do it?
Strong and grasping, one of his hands closes over where both of mine are fisted against his stomach. He stumbles toward the nearest wall and I have no choice but to trip after him—when his free hand shoots out to keep him from slamming into the wall, I knock gracelessly into him. Then we come to a standstill.
All along the front of me, I can feel wild breaths flying in and out of his shaking body.
He’s breathing.
Oh my God, he’s really breathing! I did it! I saved him!
Holy—wow. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling that’s flaring up in me. Oh, wow.Wow.
“Fuck,” I hear him say hoarsely. “Oh, God, thank you. Holy fuck. I thought I was going to—” A strange sound cuts off his words before he whirls around to face me.
“You’re wel—mmf!”
He’skissingme.
He’s switched his fierce hold from my hands to my face and he’s kissing meso keenly that his torso is forcing mine to dip backward.
The surprise of this happening for the first time since I was a teenager—happening withthisguy—is so overwhelming that I can only blink.
Even after he drags his mouth away from mine, only some of my brain seems to want to work. I hear the quick breaths that are now leaving both of us. My gaze is hung on his parted lips. My sense of touch tells me we’re still very close; he’s still holding my tipped-up face and I’ve still got my arms around him, hands fisted low on his back instead of his stomach. Aside from the insane tingling in my lips, everything else is weirdly dulled.
Shortly, though, I come back to myself.
I can’t care about a kiss, can’t afford to bother with romance these days, plus this guy was blue in the face not sixty seconds ago. I need to make sure he’s actually okay and not about to go into shock or something.
I pull my hands around, put them between us, and push until he straightens us and releases me.
“Okay, uh….” I say breathlessly, glancing over him. Yeah, he’s still shaking, and he looks a little unsteady. “Oh, no. Okay. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” I look up into green eyes that are wide and bright.
He shakes his head, causing his once-styled mess of black hair to brush along his forehead.
I think he must be thinking more clearly, too, when he rasps, “No. No ambulance. Just—water? Can I…?” He lifts a hand to rub at his throat.
“Oh. Yeah, come on. You need to sit down.” I don’t feel comfortable sending him to his own apartment for water. I want to make sure he’s all right first. I take one of his arms and carefully lead him to my door. “Please try to be quiet, though. My niece is asleep.”
He gives his own nod and palms the wall as we step through my doorway. I watch him closely to make sure he’s not about to topple over. To my relief, even though he’s clearly shaken, he doesn’t necessarily look weak.
In the kitchen, I get him into a chair at the table. Then I walk away to fix his drink.
