Misty Simon - Wicked Ink

She tucked a strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear, glancing up at him through the lenses of her rectangular glasses. “If you’re sure.”

“Absolutely. Now I really have to go so I can wash this grime off. See you in an hour.” She had the classic look of the good girl next door. If he had been anyone but the worst guy in the neighborhood, he might have entertained thoughts of pursuing her. But he would never taint anyone with all that he was and would always be.

“Okay, Garrett, bye,” she said, waving as she popped back into her apartment. He waved back and then stepped inside his own door, collapsing against it with an exhale that sounded more like choking.

He crawled up the secret staircase he’d built into the coat closet and climbed out onto the floor in apartment 4B. No one knew he owned this apartment, as well. He preferred to keep it that way. After a few deep breaths, he dragged himself over to the custom-made wooden chair that resembled an electric chair from old prison movies. He fought the urge to kill, maim, wreak havoc on this world he had spent the past eighteen years protecting. As he strapped himself in, his thoughts flashed to tearing out Dory’s throat, slicing up the college student he’d just saved and bathing in their fear and horror. He prepared to purge the darkness that was fast taking over his soul. Again.

* * *

Precisely an hour later, Dory Miller straightened her top and smoothed a hand down her pants. She hadn’t changed from work yet, but that was okay. She would much rather have Garrett see her pressed and presentable from work than in her comfy sweats that had lost all elasticity about two years ago. Impressions were everything to her now that she had turned her life around.

Her stew would warm him after the long day he’d put in at work on the construction site downtown. He’d looked more worn out than usual, and it definitely wasn’t like him to pass up a meal. Her own work had been stressful lately, and the more stressed she was, the more she cooked. After only recently discovering the joys of cooking, she’d realized that most recipes were geared toward feeding multiple people. Though she took food to almost everyone in the building, she got the most satisfaction out of feeding her very hot neighbor.

Raising a hand to knock on his door, she first used it to pat the French twist she’d fixed before coming over. She’d see him for only a minute when he opened the door to thank her for her offering, but it wouldn’t do to be sloppy. Besides, he was just about the hottest man she had ever come across, not to mention that he positively radiated with the need for someone to take care of him. She might not be that person, but she would do until someone else came along.

The sound of a heavy tread echoed through his apartment. Thank goodness she had a hot bowl in her hands or she would have started fidgeting.

He opened the door, wearing fresh jeans that still looked worn and a different T-shirt—this one bright white. His hair was wet, as though he had just stepped out of the shower. An image of him in a towel flashed through her poor brain, making her almost bobble the bowl of stew.

“He-here…here you go, Garrett,” she managed to stutter.

“Thanks.” He took the bowl, blocking her view of his apartment with his body, his forearm leaning against the top of the door frame. She knew better than to try to sneak a peek around him. She’d done that once, and he’d almost immediately excused himself. It hadn’t been worth losing the extra minute of his company.

“I heated it back up for you. It’s a pretty cold night out there, so I figured this might help warm you up.” Now that the bowl was out of her hands, she did start fidgeting. She wrapped her hands around each other, then knotted them at her waist.

“Thanks. It smells delicious. I’m sure it will go down fine.”

“Okay.” She frantically searched her mind for something more to talk about. They weren’t exactly friends, but she didn’t feel like he was just marking time by talking to her. He always had a kind word for her. She knew little about his past, but there was an aura about him that said he was rebuilding himself, too.

“Um, did you hear anything about those two muggings in the neighborhood?” she asked. “I heard they were both women from the building. One was a single mother and the other a stripper. They had nothing in common besides living here, the paper said, but they were both okay when the guy ran off without getting anything from them. I thought this was a safe neighborhood. That’s why I moved here.” She clamped her mouth shut. His hunter-green eyes were getting darker and darker with every word she uttered. She knew she was saying too much, but she tended to have diarrhea of the mouth when she was nervous.

“Yeah, be careful out there.”

“You don’t think the guy would come back to the same place again after being thwarted twice, do you? At least I get home every day by four, so there’s not much chance I’ll be caught out after dark. But still, I don’t like feeling trapped, and it’s getting dark earlier and earlier now that winter’s on its way.” Shut up, Dory!

“If you’re out after dark, just make sure you have someone with you, okay? I should go eat this before it gets cold. I’ll see you later. Thank you.” He closed the door before she could squeak out another word, sending her back to her apartment with a flutter in her stomach and one near her heart.

Interacting with Garrett always made her fluttery. She knew she was not the kind of person he would see as more than a neighbor, but that was okay. She was just testing out her romantic wings after years of ugliness. She was a plain mouse to Garrett’s magnificent hawk, so he was safe to be dreamy over. And dreaming was all she would do. For now that made her content.

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