Another smacking sound crosses through the wall—this one a bit more of a thump, accompanied by a particularly loud, “Fuck!”.
If Mr. Thorpe weren’t out of town, I can only imagine the red-faced, rageful, breath-heaving, pounding at the door visit Tristan would be treated to after this performance. Though Mr. Thorpe is self-admittedly practically deaf, he did warn me he doesn’t like having to put up with noise from tenants that hecanhear. This, I am sure, would qualify. I make a mental note to warn Tristan not to repeat whatever he’s up to at the moment once our landlord returns, before I remember that I will from now on be avoiding my neighbor like the plague.
A goal which, to add insult to injury, involves finding myself a new coffee shop.
Suddenly, imagining Tristan’s beautiful, sunny face turned dark and stormy is no longer amusing at all.
I’ve just slumped back down in bed, stuffing one of my pillows over my head to try to block out all reminders of the fact that my neighbor, who I apparently find the most appealing man alive, is top of my until now non-existent list of people to avoid, when the commotion next door goes silent.
Cautiously, I lift the pillow from over my head. Yes…silence.
Closing my eyes, I roll onto my other side, trying to soak inthe quiet. The warmth of my blankets.
Unfortunately, my extremely unhelpful mind has other ideas.
Why did Tristan go quiet all of a sudden?
Was I mistaken that whatever was going on in his apartment wasn’t a big deal and somethingwasactually wrong?
Is he alright now?
Groaning, I flip onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow I just freed myself from.
I have to get that man out of my head. Whatever was going on next door just now is none of my business, and neither is my neighbor. He made that clear tonight, and I have to accept it and move on. End of story.
It takes forever, but finally I feel myself drifting, my thoughts growing grey and fuzzy around the edges until, for the second time tonight, an unexpected sound snaps me back to consciousness.
This time, it’s quieter; the soft, hesitant sound of a knock at my door. Even so, far more than the banging from before, this sound sends a jolt straight through my nervous system, setting me wide awake in an instant.
Cautious and timid as the knocking is, somehow I’m still certain I know exactly who’s doing it, and the thought has my heart thundering in my chest, harder and faster than it would race if some unknown stranger were trying to pound down my door in the middle of the night.
Because of course Idoknow who it is.
From the way bright, freezing moonlight has replaced the heavy snow clouds out my window, it’s clear that a couple hours have passed; that, against all odds, I must have actually slept. The night’s grown colder than ever, seeping through thepoorly sealed windows and beneath the baseboards so that, even with the radiator turned to full blast, the floor is chilly under my bare feet. It’s that random fact I try to focus my attention on, rather than the way my stomach is flipping at the prospect of who I’m about to find on the other side of my door as I flick open the lock.
12
Jesse
Sure enough, it’s him. Black hair swooping low over his forehead, all sexiness and dark, enormous eyes staring up at me as he throws me a half smile, touched with what almost looks like chagrin.
“Hey, sunshine.”
He has his arms pulled tightly and protectively around his body, just like he did tonight before I wrapped him in my coat. Once again, he’s wearing just that too-thin jacket over that same lightweight sweatshirt. He’s swapped his black jeans for a pair of grey sweatpants though. Thin, soft looking sweatpants that hug his thighs and cling to—
Jesus Christ, stop staring at his pants and say something!
“Uh—” The non-word slips out with a raspy, breathless sound as I rip my eyes away from those damn pants and back up to Tristan’s face. All I can do is try to breathe through the confusing mixture of discomfort at coming face to face with him again, so soon after how our evening ended tonight, and the almost irresistible desire to take just the quickest glance back down at those tempting sweats…
“Fuck, I did wake you up.” His smile wobbles slightly, looking suddenly forced. “Why I thought you might be awake—”
He shakes his head, unclasping one arm from around himself to reach up and run a hand through his hair in an unsure gesture I’ve never seen from him before. Suddenly I’m hyper-focused on just one thought.Something’s happened—
“Are you okay?” I’d like to pretend that the catch in my voice is from the fact that, yes, he did indeed wake me up. Unfortunately, I’m not as great at willful denial as I’d like to be at the moment. “What’s wrong?”
I only just stop myself halfway through a step forward toward him, my hand outstretched like I’d been about to reach out and grab his shoulder to pull him closer as that same urge from earlier tonight, when I’d had to see him warm and wrapped up in my coat, threatens to take over once more.
His nervous fingers slip through the purply black strands of his hair again as he hikes his smile back up.
