“Susan. Hi.” I let the front door swing closed as I faced her. Plastering on a smile as I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Someone’s a little jumpy,” she said, smiling thinly.
"Yeah, I didn't sleep well last night." I wasn't exactly lying.
"I don't think anyone did after those gunshots." She huffed as she locked her letter box and moved closer, looking around as if expecting someone to be eavesdropping. "You know, I met Marcus once. Knew instantly he was a dodgy character from the moment I saw him."
I nodded and pretended to be completely engrossed by her psychic abilities while I moved toward the elevator. She moved with me as she spoke quietly, clutching her mail to her chest.
"Who knew that a humble apartment block like ours could attract such filth," she tutted as we stepped into the elevator.
"It's shocking." I pressed our floor number and anxiously watched the numbers above the door go up. Tapping my thighs until finally the doors slid open.
Susan talked the entire time, but it was the kind of one-sided conversation I only had to pretend to listen to. Usually, I would’ve listened. Years of being dubbed the wallflower meant I was used to sitting back and listening. It was easier than being spoken over. But today, my mind was elsewhere, thinking about the tattooed Italian in my apartment, to be exact.
"You got in late last night.”
I shouldn’t be surprised she knew this, but my pulse spiked regardless.
“Yeah. Kira and I went clubbing.” I faked another smile and drew my attention to the end of the hallway we walked.
"Oh, how nice. Where'd you go?"
"Uh, I can't really remember the name," I lied with a shrug.
I knew she would likely relay this information back to Mom, which meant Mom would beg Dad to do some digging. He would find out about the illegal fight club below The Den and somehow discover I was there too. It would escalate to lectures, followed by me being forced to move back home, where they would lock me in my room and throw away the key. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but I would never hear the end of it from them or the extended family. I could already hear Mom’s voice ringing through my ears. The daughter of a respected police Detective, attending a fight club and mingling with bad people! You’ve humiliated this family!
They would find out about Romeo and how I helped him.
"Can’t remember the name? You must’ve had a little too much fun," Susan said with a knowing smile. "Did you meet any cute boys?"
My laugh came out more strangled than I had meant it to. "Definitely not."
Romeo wasn’t cute boy material.
Susan laughed as we arrived at the doors to our apartments. She was about to open her door when she turned to me again, voice hushed. "Do you think your father knows?"
"About what?"
She rolled her eyes. "About Marcus."
"Oh! Maybe? I bet he's working out the details as we speak."
Susan nodded in agreement before smiling fondly. "Your father truly is a great man, isn't he? Going out of his way to protect all us citizens."
“I hope so. It is in his job description,” I joked, cringing internally over how preppy I sounded but taking a step toward my apartment door. “I'll tell him you said that.”
Susan waved off the suggestion bashfully. "If you must.”
My cheeks were burning from smiling so much.
“Welp. I’m going to try and catch up on some sleep. You have a lovely day, Susan,” I said, opening the apartment door just enough for me to slip inside without her seeing down the hallway. Not that she would see much, but she was already trying. When prying wasn’t working for her, she gave in with a smile and wave before turning to her door.
My smile dropped, and I retreated inside, locking the door quickly before Susan changed her mind about leaving our conversation so short. That was a milder interaction with her. Usually, she tried to get an invite into the apartment to see what little details she could pry upon about our lives. Details she would relay to Mom.
I made my way into the living room apprehensively, my eyes and ears peeled as I neared the living room. Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t do anything. If he wanted to, he would’ve — he wouldn’t have let me leave. But that didn’t stop the fear of being alone in a room with a man from settling deep in my chest.
Now that I had passed up the opportunity to leave, walking back inside was harder.
