“I did.” I grab his keys and toss them to him. He unclips a single key and then hands it to me.
“What’s that for?”
“So you can break into my house anytime you please.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“So I can fuck you.” He smiles, the kind of smile that’s slow, lingering like he already owns me. Then, without another word, he walks away with a swagger that says he knows I am watching him.
Yeah, that’s never going to happen.
“Have a good day, Cora. Break into my house anytime. I just sent you the address,” he calls over his shoulder. My phone dings before he and his detective friend climb into the car and drive off.
When I check my phone, there is a text from Arlo with his address. I know that address because I’ve sold several properties on that street. While part of me is curious about how he lives, I know I should stay away from him because my feelings are growing, and while I don’t understand them, I know he isn’t the right choice.
That man is the one women run away from if they have any brains.
“So, I met someone,” I tell my mother during my next visit with her. Work has been busier than ever the past week, which is good for business. And it helps me afford whatever care my mother needs.
“I’m not sure if I really like him yet though.” I offer her a piece of white chocolate, and she takes it. “But he gave me a key to his place, and it’s been burning a hole in my purse all week, taunting me to use it. I’m not sure I should, Mom. You see, he’s a little crazy.”
Just as I say those words, a nurse walks in with a bouquet of beautiful flowers. They’re pastel shades—soft pinks, buttery yellows, delicate lilacs—each one different. The scent hits me, light and sweet, cutting through the sterile air. He puts them on her dresser, and that’s when I notice another vase of flowers already there.
“When were those delivered?” I ask him, pointing to the older ones. I didn’t send her flowers.
“Oh, last week. Stunning, aren’t they?” He picks up the vase and takes it to the sink to change the water.
“Who are they from?” I question, getting up to look at the fresh ones.
“Doesn’t say, just that they’re for your mother.” He leaves after setting the older bouquet back where it was. I look for a card but can’t find one.
My mother asks a question, but I don’t hear it. When I turn around, I see her trying to reach for the chocolate. After breaking off a piece, I hand it to her. She asks who I am, and I stay a little longer before leaving with a heavy heart.
“How is she today, miss?” Matty, my driver, asks.
“The same,” I say, climbing into the back seat. I call Arlo once we’re on the road, and he answers right away.
“Cora.” The way he says my name has me looking out the window. I say nothing as I sit there with the phone pressed to my ear. “What’s wrong?” are his next words. How he knows something is wrong has me even more on edge. “Come to my place. We can talk.”
“You don’t want to talk with me, Arlo.”
“You’re right. There are many other things I can think of that I would rather be doing with you than talking. But, if that’s why you called, you have my address, and I can help you forget.”
I hang up at that pronouncement, and, true to his word, a few seconds later, he sends me his address. Again. I already have the key, and I already knew where he lived. Maybe he forgot that. When I tell Matty where to go, he nods and changes direction. My leg bounces on the drive there, worry settling into my core.
Is this a stupid thing to do?
Do all women feel this way about a man they know they can’t get more out of than a booty call?
When the car pulls up to his house, the front door opens to reveal Arlo. He casually leans against the jamb, waiting. He is wearing a white shirt that hugs his upper body and loose gray track pants.
“Miss, do you want me to stay or leave?”
I shake my head at Matty’s question.
“I don’t know,” I say just as my phone beeps. I glance back at Arlo to see him with his phone in hand.
Arlo: Do you intend to get out?
