After I’d finished reading, highlighting more lines than I hadn’t, I worked on the statistics problems assigned and then made myself a chicken Caesar salad as I finished a few chapters for my history class tomorrow.
By the time I was done, the sun had set, and I’d repacked my school bag for tomorrow’s classes and hooked up my iPad to charge. Walking to the windows, I dialed my mother again and gazed outside, the city glittering with life.
The call went immediately to voicemail again, and I clicked End, dialing Mrs. Crist right after.
But she didn’t answer, either. I left a message, asking her to call me and tossed the phone on a chair in defeat. Why couldn’t I reach my mom? She called nearly every day when I was away at Brown last year.
I glanced up, doing a double-take and noticing Michael’s apartment all lit up. He was home.
I twisted my lips to the side, thinking. I couldn’t reach Mrs. Crist, and her husband was a busy man. I hated bothering him or even dealing with him if I had to. Michael was slightly less frustrating, and he probably had the number to Pithom’s satellite phone.
Spinning around, I headed out the front door in my bare feet and took the elevator down to the lobby.
I wasn’t calling him. He’d just brush me off. I had a better chance if I asked him in person.
Stepping out of the elevator, I spotted Richard, the doorman, standing outside, and I quickly glanced around, looking for a desk clerk. It was after hours, so the lobby rarely had an attendant, but I was sure I needed a card key to get me into Michael’s elevator.
I jogged toward the front doors, ready to sweet-talk Richard into giving me access, but then an elevator dinged behind me, and I turned around, seeing a two tall gentlemen stroll out of Michael’s elevator. They were huge, at least four inches taller than him, and even he was big. They half-laughed together and half-played on their phones as they walked through the lobby, one of them giving me a smile as he passed.
They had to be basketball players. Probably teammates of Michael’s.
Shooting my gaze over the elevator, I saw that it was still open, and I didn’t wait. I hurried over, dived inside, and pressed the button for the doors to close. I didn’t even check to see if Richard had spotted me, too scared I’d look like I was doing something wrong.
The doors closed, the elevator immediately began ascending, and I locked my hands behind my back, breaking out in a smile at the rush.
It felt like forever, my stomach flipping and my heart racing, but when the elevator finally stopped, it was like no time at all. I was here.
The doors opened, and I raised my eyes, steeling myself.
It was dim. Like a cave.
A gray wall sat just ahead, and despite the drumming in my chest, I stepped out onto the black hardwood floors and crept slowly to the left, the only way I could go.
It smells like him. Spice and wood and leather and something else that I could never pin down. Something that was just him.
Slowly walking down the small hallway, I heard Godsmack’s Inside Yourself echoing through the penthouse, and I stepped into a large living area, taking in the beauty and the darkness all around me.
There were only dim lights on, and blue neon glowed from behind the black boards mounted along the walls. The living room dipped, and he had a whole wall of windows just like mine, but his was twice the length of my entire apartment. The thousands of lights of the city spread before me, and with the elevation, I could see more and more in the distance. It went on forever.
Everything inside was black and gray, and everything shined.
I walked into the living room, grazing my fingertips over a long, black glass table he had sitting against a wall, feeling something tingle deep in my body.
But I stopped, hearing the pounding of a basketball. The sound heated my blood, bringing back so many memories. Michael was always dribbling a ball growing up. You could hear it echoing throughout the house.
I followed the sound as it led me to the railing off the side of the living room.
Of course.
A private, indoor basketball court sat below in a sunken room, and while it wasn’t as large as an average court or his court at home, I was sure it served its purpose anyway. There were two hoops, a pristine, shiny hardwood floor, and plenty of basketballs on racks.
It was state-of-the-art, like everything else in the apartment, and I didn’t know why I wouldn’t think Michael would have a court in his apartment. When he wasn’t playing basketball, he was almost always carrying one. Playing was the only time he ever really smiled.
My eyes fell on him as he jogged and dribbled and then shot the ball, landing it right in the hoop. He wore long black mesh shorts and no shirt, sweat shining across his broad, toned chest and tight abs, and I watched as he spun around, grabbed another ball off the cart close by, and continued his drills.
The muscles in his long back flexed, and I watched his arms tighten, every thick cord defined as he raised his arms again and shot the ball, sending it flying through the air.
A ding went off behind me, and I tore my eyes away from him, casting a nervous glance over my shoulder as I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be here.
Shit.
I tensed my legs, ready to run…but it was too late. Kai, Will, and Damon strolled in, immediately slowing when they spotted me. Their eyes locked on mine, and my heart dived into my stomach.
“You okay, Rika?” Kai asked, his gentle eyes from three years now cold and hard.
I swallowed. “I’m fine.”
But his lips tilted in a knowing way. “You don’t look fine.”
He continued to approach me, and I watched as Damon and Will took seats on the couch, relaxing as they hooked their arms around the back. Damon blew out a cloud of smoke, and I recoiled into the railing, suddenly feeling caged.