I’d all but fallen against my door and blown out a large breath I’d been holding when he walked out of sight, and had to sit there trying to catch my breath from one of the more intense interactions I’d ever had with him. And there hadn’t even been any words.
Since then, we’d crossed paths a few more times as we came and left the apartments; each time the looks got longer, and the air got thicker. But I was still being a pussy. I was afraid of what I’d done while I was drunk that he’d want to talk to me about. At least yesterday I’d gone back to work, so I was able to have a legitimate excuse for not being able to talk to him.
My alarm went off again, and I groaned as I tapped the screen on my phone to shut it off. I’d already snoozed it twice to try to stay in the dream I’d been having of the intense blue-eyed man next door . . . but I needed to get to work before my brothers came busting down my door looking for my “boyfriend.”
With a heavy exhale, I practically fell out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I wanted to go back to sleep so I could be in a place where I could stare at those blue eyes whenever I wanted. Where I could imagine the way his lips would feel against my neck as he pressed me against a wall. I wonder if I can get away with saying I have cramps today so I don’t have to go to—oh wait, shit, I did that last—
“Oh my God! Holy shit, what the fuck?” I screamed and jumped back off my toilet when it popped like gunfire underneath me. Thank God I hadn’t started peeing yet. But, seriously, what . . . the hell . . . had just happened?
My hand cautiously reached for the toilet seat, like the inanimate object might jump out and bite me. And with a determined huff, I grabbed it and threw it up.
“Connor!” I screeched and ripped the bubble wrap off the toilet bowl. “You son of a bitch, I know you can hear me!”
Pulling up my underwear and sweats, I stormed through my apartment, unlocked my door, and flung it open. A scream tore through my chest, and I jumped away as a trash can filled with water fell into my apartment as my door swung open. Mouth and eyes wide open, I just stared at the water-covered entrance and living room for long seconds before my mind started working, and I took off running for my bathroom again. Almost going into the splits on the way there from running on the wet hardwood.
“I will kill you for this! You flooded my apartment!” I yelled, knowing full well he could hear me.
Grabbing all the towels in the bathroom and linen closet, I ran back to my living room and started throwing towels everywhere as I continued to scream and curse Connor Green. Not five minutes into trying to dry everything so there wouldn’t be permanent damage, two different neighbors stopped by because of my screaming, and graciously lent me piles of their towels too.
“What happened?” an older guy who lived across the hall from Connor asked. “And what’s with the trash can?”
I gritted my teeth as I gathered soaked towels to take them to my laundry room. “All I’m saying is this, if you hear my neighbor yelling tonight . . . just know that he’s getting what he deserves.”
The guy jerked his head back before continuing to pat dry my throw rug. “The guy I’m across from?”
“The very one,” I hissed.
He shook his head and huffed. “You’re saying this is because of him? I don’t buy it. That guy is the quietest neighbor I’ve ever had, and isn’t he law enforcement?”
My face drained of expression as I stared at him. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean for me right now? I grew up with him. Pranks are kind of a phase we go through every now and then.”
He just continued with shaking his head. “Just doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.”
I wanted the guy to leave, but he was helping me dry my apartment. So instead of responding again and being snotty, I just walked back to the laundry room and threw the towels into the washer.
Once we were done, I went to Connor’s apartment, but wasn’t surprised to find him gone. I figured he was at work, with how long he’d been off. Part of me was happy that there had been a prank at all. A very. Very. Small part, mind you. Because that meant that whatever weirdness had been going on between us was, hopefully, ending. But I was absolutely livid that he almost gave me a heart attack as I’d sat on my toilet, and then flooded my apartment.
Shit just got real, Connor Green. I’m going to enjoy pissing you off.
Connor
PICKING UP MY phone off the desk, I glanced at the screen and didn’t give it a second thought when I saw PRIVATE NUMBER. I always had informants calling from blocked numbers, and since my partner, Detective Sanders, and I were getting nowhere fast with a homicide that wasn’t adding up from two nights ago, they were expected and wanted.
“This is Detective Green.”
“I’m interested,” the deep voice said.
“Excuse me?” I grabbed for a pen and pad of paper, and waited for the voice to start up again.
“I’ll call you ‘Daddy.’ ”
The hell? “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.” I pressed END and stared at the screen for a few seconds before shaking my head and putting the phone back on my desk.
“Who was that?”
I looked over at Sanders and shrugged. “No clue. Okay, every lead we’ve gotten has been a dead end. Let’s review the footage from the store again, look at all the people who entered after him and left before or right after he did. Let’s get all the cars we can see from the outer cameras, and make sure they all match people who were accounted for in the store.” I loosened my tie and ran a hand through my hair. “I need more coffee first, want some?”
Sanders looked over at me like I was stupid. “We’ve been at this for almost thirty hours. What do you think?”
“That you need to get your own damn coffee if you’re going to be a bastard, gramps. I got called in same time you did, I’m just as tired as you are, and I’m just as lost about this case as you are. Don’t be a dick to me because we’re not getting anywhere,” I snapped and walked over to the coffee station.
Sanders and I were complete opposites, but when we worked together, we were damn good. To have a case that left us completely clueless was frustrating for both of us. We needed to go home and get some fucking sleep before we tore into each other.
The victim had been shot three times as he’d exited a store in a nice part of the city. He lived alone, and nothing had been stolen or happened to his house before or after the shooting; he still had his wallet with all his money and credit cards on him, and he had no ties to gangs or drug trafficking. No witnesses saw him get shot, but the way it was done was like someone was getting revenge, or sending a sign. And where he’d been standing was out of range of the outside cameras. All his immediate and extended family lived in the Midwest and couldn’t believe what had happened when we’d called. According to them, and everyone he worked with, he was the nicest guy and kept to himself. I’d been sure we’d find something when we tore apart his apartment, but there’d been nothing. We’d just finished going over his phone records when my phone rang. Other than work and family . . . there was nothing. Murder was what I faced with my job; more often that not, it was gang or drug related. But these cases where the victims were completely innocent were something that just tore you apart. The need to solve them intensified, so you could give the family some kind of peace.
After getting both Sanders’s coffee and mine, I walked back over to our desks and handed him his. “Come on, let’s go review the footage again.”
Two and a half hours later, Sanders and I were more frustrated than we’d been before. There was nothing, and in the large gap between outdoor cameras, there were multiple lanes the shooter’s car could have gone down, but none had gone through both cameras at the right timing. We were getting ready to do a press briefing with news outlets about what had happened, asking for help and any information, before we called it a night, when my phone rang again.
I practically lunged for my desk, hoping for some kind of information. But it was a call much like the one I’d received after we’d finished going over the phone records. Different voice—this one actually had a number—and, unfortunately, he tried to keep the conversation going as he kept calling me Daddy. When I ran the number through the system, it came back as a pay phone, and I was left even more confused . . . and seriously fucking disturbed. But I was so drained, discouraged from the case, and pissed off for the victim and his family that I couldn’t muster the energy to want to figure out what was going on with the phone calls.
When I got home, taped to my door was an envelope with the words “Bro, have you seen this? They’re everywhere!” scrawled across it. I pulled out the brightly colored paper as I looked up and down the hall for anyone who might have left the note, unfolded it, and did a double take when I saw my picture blown up on it. Across the top in large, bold writing was SWM LOOKING FOR SBM WHO WILL CALL ME DADDY. IF INTERESTED, CALL ME! SMOOCHES.
Honest to God, below my picture was my cell number.
Too far. Too far. Too fucking far. I wasn’t breathing, and the hall was spinning around me. My hand shot out in front of me to grip the frame of my door as I took deep breaths in and out until I felt like I could stay standing again.
When I hadn’t been at work, or when I’d taken breaks to clear my head from the case, I’d been miserable thinking about how Maci and I still hadn’t talked. I hated thinking about her marrying that self-entitled douche, and yet, I still couldn’t make myself do anything about it, because I knew I should leave her alone. Cassidy had ruined me for half a year, and even she hadn’t consumed me like Maci was.
I don’t know why everything suddenly changed between us, and I don’t know why I’d never noticed her. It’d been a week since she’d brought me out of the Cassidy-haze. And it didn’t matter that it’d only been a week, or that half that time had been us pissed at each other. Those seven days had somehow felt like years of torture as I kept myself from her. But then she goes and pulls this shit? I flipped through my keys until I found hers and stormed into her apartment, already yelling before I even found her back in her bedroom.