Inside, I go to the left toward the mess, and she heads down the hallway on the right toward the bathroom and bedroom. It’s not long before the sound of the shower echoes down the hall. I smile, listening to her hum a song while I wash our dishes in the sink and wipe up the abundance of crumbs littering the countertop.
As soon as the kitchen is sparkling, I make my way to the bathroom. Steam pours from the cracked opening. I poke my finger against the hollow wood door enough to widen the gap and watch her blurred silhouette through the textured glass as she rinses her hair. My dick strains against my zipper as if there’s something I can do about it.
Her beauty is cruel. The kind that could ruin a man—and I’m on my knees begging to be destroyed.
Kelly’s phone sits within reach on the bathroom counter, so I swipe it and unlock it with her code: Clyde’s birthday. She uses it for everything. I block Jason’s phone number and any other method he might have of contacting her. Then I add a location tracker. Once I’ve finished syncing it to my phone, I lock her screen and place it on the bathroom counter exactly how she hadit. I spy on her until she turns off the water, and then I back out of the hallway and slip out the door.
“Dad, I could really use your help right now,” I say into the still air. “Do you want to keep your Blues Traveler albums?”
No answer.
Thumbing through the record sleeves, I admire the variety he collected. Celine Dion . . . Talking Heads . . . King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. “Your taste is eclectic, that’s for sure,” I mutter.
I raise my voice louder—so he can hear me. “Okay, I’ll save these for next week, but I want you to think about them until then. I need an answer by end of day Saturday, got it?” I should probably check to see what time—oh fuck!It’s after six o’clock, and I told Logan I would help him with that photo shoot. I open my text thread with Logan.
I’m so sorry! I lost track of time, is it too late for photos?
If he was hoping to shoot using natural light, I won’t get there in time before the sun starts to set. Especially since I still need to clean up before I go since I’m covered in dust.
Logan
Never too late. I’ve got enough lighting.
I’m going to take a quick shower and I’ll head over. Does it matter what I wear?
Logan
Nothing baggy, something comfortable.
My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since this morning.
Have you eaten yet?
Logan
No, we can order in though.
I’ll pick up dinner. Burgers from Matt’s?
Logan
Sounds great.
A little over an hour later, I’m pressing the buzzer at his loft with a brown bag of greasy food in hand. “It’s me,” I say into the speaker. The door unlocks and I pull it open, then press the 6 to the top floor once I’m in the elevator. The round white button glows as the lift climbs higher.
Once I exit, I make my way to his front door and let myself in. I don’t know when we started just walking into each other’s houses, but we’ve been doing it for years.
Stepping over the threshold, I enter his loft and my gaze rises to the tall elevated ceiling that reaches above both floors. His place suits him, artsy and rough around the edges, but not in a pretentious kind of way. Large area rugs sprawl across the aged wooden floorboards, softening up the living spaces. The interior walls are a mix of concrete and red brick, showcasing a few large pieces from his favorite artists. On the adjacent wall, gridded windows rise to meet the industrial ceiling. The older glass is divided by black mullions, and fresh air wafts through a few of the panels that are tilted outward, bringing with it the smell of spring.
His bedroom loft and art studio are accessible by a curved metal staircase that climbs to the second level; the foot of the bed faces the windows and skyline and is just barely visible from where I stand.
Tonight’s sunset is stunning, spilling rays of warm light across the floorboards. It must be incredible to wake up with a panorama of the city every morning. It’s not a huge space, but the open floor stretches it wider, and the view takes care of the rest.
He gives me a quick hug. “Hi.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, handing him the food.
“How was your epic quest in the attic?” he asks over his shoulder, heading toward the kitchen.
