Danube Adele: Quicksilver Dreams

Hearing my voice speaking calmly was comforting, though I couldn’t fool myself. I’ve never known Reggie to be merciful. I would likely need to start looking for a new job immediately, since I’d probably managed to freak his boyfriend out. The security gate was propped open again, and I was sure it was the guys from downstairs just being lazy about buzzing their friends in, so I shoved the brick that was holding it open out of the way. Just the act of doing something so normal led me to feeling marginally better. No way should the rest of us be in danger because of those beer-guzzling wannabe frat boys whose train long ago left the station of age-appropriate behavior.

I’ve had my fill of being smirked at and ogled by the gut-growing, hair-receding juvenile thirty-five-year-olds that live in the apartment under me (and trust me when I tell you they’ve made many jokes about the positioning of our apartments). I gain a secret source of pleasure in thwarting their joys.

Just as the gate was closing with a satisfying clang, I turned to head for my apartment and ran smack into a hard, muscular, T-shirt-clad chest with a sound that was something like “Oomph.” Large rough hands gripped my arms, as though to steady me, and I looked all the way up into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Veins of gold jumped out from their depths, and I found myself mesmerized.

Wow. Such beautiful eyes.

It was all I could think until I realized I was staring. At the same time, I also realized he was still holding my arms, and that my hands had come to rest on his hard pecs during our mild collision. And they were nice pecs. Really, really nice. His eyes did a sharp inventory south of my neck, and I was suddenly glad I had some decent cleavage. Then they lingered on my lips a brief moment before returning to my face. Desire teased me delicately, spreading warm tingles through my stomach, before I came to my senses.

“Jeez. I’m sorry,” I sputtered, pushing back a few steps, though at this point I still couldn’t look away from his compelling, pale green eyes. They jumped out at me, set off by his black hair and sun-bronzed skin.

He had one of those square jaws that razor commercials love to use for advertising. Tough. Masculine. Definitely not a pretty boy, but super sexy. And he smelled good too. His scent baited me, but I was locked on the shock value of his eyes. Talk about a commanding presence.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbled, not even a trace of a smile evident. If anything, he was giving me this sort of steely-eyed gaze. His eyes were lasered in on me like they were analyzing me, able to hear what I was thinking. I felt myself blush at the thought. Silly. Of course he couldn’t hear me.

I realized he was waiting for me to say something, which flustered me because I couldn’t think of what he’d asked. Christ, I needed to stop staring at his eyes and keep up with the program. What was wrong with me?

Instead, I took a deep breath and asked my own question. “Are you moving in to 8D?”

“I did. Day before yesterday.”

“Then we’ll be neighbors.” I smiled, sticking my hand out. “My name’s Taylor Lane.”

“Ryder,” he replied, and he shook my hand with his rough, calloused one.

My hand disappeared inside his, and I swear a ripple of sensation went up my arm, giving me goose bumps the moment we touched. No kidding. It was so surprising, I sort of gasped. I went with my first instinct and snatched my hand back with an overly bright smile to cover my discomfort at feeling out of control. I couldn’t hide the flush that crept up my neck.

He scowled. I didn’t pay attention. Today had been just too weird already. For my own sanity, I needed the comfort of my sofa, some bad reality TV and maybe even a short nap. Everything always felt better after a nap.

“See you around, neighbor. Let me know if you need anything.” I did a quick retreat and made it to my apartment without encountering anyone else.

“You ran? A gorgeous, muscular guy that gets you all hot and bothered is talking to you, and your next move is to run? Why do I bother?” Cynthia scowled at me and grabbed a bottle of water from our fridge. Taking the cap off, she took a deep swish, having just come across town through the hot sludge of traffic.

“Maybe you should go for him. He’s tall.”

“Yeah, right. My best friend tells me how he makes her heart flutter and then tells me with this martyred look that I should go for him? Get real.”

“No, really...”

“I’m waiting for Shep, remember?”

“Mr. Grunge. You’re too classy for him.”

“So maybe I’ll lower my standards for a night.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“You’re probably right. You look ready for work.” She gave me a once-over.

I’d exchanged my pastel blue pencil skirt and cute, sleeveless fitted blouse with tiny ruffles at the neck (cost me more than I like to remember, but it was worth it) for my standard-issue black mini and black tank, with a cheap, fitted cotton button-up that I tie the tails of around my waist. I wear black strappy heels that have a slight platform, giving me added height and making my legs look miles long.

I’m a bartender, not a waitress. I’ve been working at the club, Johnny’s Spot, long enough that I finally got off the floor and behind the bar. It has saved me some black-and-blue pinch marks on my ass, I can tell you that.

“You coming to the club?”

“Maybe for a little while.”

“I’ll tell Charlie to expect you.” He was the doorman. I’m pretty sure he had a crush on Cynthia, a side effect of which is that he goes from being this total tough-looking brute to being a stuttering dolt when she’s around, though he won’t admit it. Not even to me, and we’re pretty tight. He probably knows it’s never going to happen, so in the long run, he’s saving himself a lot of grief.

He’s a good guy, though. I can count on him to look out for me and eject the drunken rowdies that ruin everyone’s good buzz.

“You kind of brushed off the whole Frank episode. Are you sure you were just imagining things? I haven’t known you to be jumpy or paranoid.”

“Yeah. I think I probably freaked him out more than anything. Imagine if you thought you were alone in the house and you heard noises or saw someone moving around who didn’t belong there. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel stupid for running, so I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“All right, then.”

I didn’t have to leave for work for a little while and managed to watch some bad reality TV with Cyn at the same time that I kept an ear tuned for movement next door. I was getting a charge thinking that the wall we shared with Ryder was my bedroom wall. And if the layout of his apartment was at all like ours, then the other side of my bedroom wall was his bedroom. Maybe. Like it mattered.

I could already feel myself withdrawing, because honestly, I’m really uncomfortable with anyone who could maybe potentially fuck me up. I joke about needing therapy, but the truth is, I know what’s wrong with me. Every adult who was supposed to take care of me blew me off like I didn’t matter and it hurt a lot, the result of which was that I learned that I just needed to take care of myself. What that means, to me, is making sure not to be emotionally invested in anyone because they get power over me that way. Period. I stopped giving up my power a long time ago.

Johnny’s Spot was quiet when I arrived, and I began working my chores behind the bar. Lemons needed to be sliced and various bottled and canned fruits—cherries and pineapples, specifically—needed to be stocked in the easy-access dispenser behind the bar for the more froufrou drinks that customers liked to order. I made sure menus were clean and the bar was wiped down. I did a quick sweepup behind the bar and wiped down visible bottles and shelves with a moist rag. I checked levels on the bottles of alcohol and the different mixes I would need, reporting what was low to Johnny himself.