Across the street, half hidden beneath the streetlight's halo, Blue stands on the sidewalk like she's been placed there on purpose. Several locks of her pinned hair catch the glow and turn electric, creating a bright slash against the dark. She isn't pacing or fidgeting. She's just still and as cool as a cucumber, staring up at me.
My lungs stop working for a beat.
No. No, no, no.
My pulse bangs hard enough to make my vision tighten around the edges. Instinct screams at me to back away from the window. It wants me to disappear into the condo and pretend I didn't see her, but she lifts her phone. It's a clean, deliberate motion with her arm rising and wrist angling. A light flashes from her phone several times.
She's taking photos of me.
A hot, violent rush detonates inside my chest. It should be anger and fear, but it's something worse.
A dark and possessive approval that has no place in this situation, or any right existing between me and her, curls its fist around me. It grips me until I can barely breathe, and my balls ache with new vigor.
I yank my phone out of my pocket so fast, I nearly drop it. My fingers shake as I unlock it.
Me: Come into the lobby. Now.
Three dots appear instantly.
Blue: Are you home?
Me: Lobby. Blue.
Blue: Do you really want to do this in your lobby? In front of everyone?
The question lands like a slap, because she has no fear. There's only awareness and calculation, a gentle little hook tugging at my control.
My teeth grind.
Me: I'll meet you down there. Don't make me come outside.
A pause.
Blue: Okay. :)
The smiley face makes my stomach twist. She thinks this is a game. My guess is that she thinks this is a romantic gesture.
Shut this down before it metastasizes into something that destroys both of us.
I grab my keys, shove my feet into shoes, and bolt out the door, taking the stairs two at a time. My heartbeat turns into a war drum in my ears. The stairwell smells like concrete and faintcleaning chemicals, and each landing echoes with the sound of my own breathing.
This is insane.
This is malpractice.
This is dangerous.
And I'm running toward it.
I'm not. I'm putting an end to it.
When I hit the lobby level, I push through the door hard enough for it to thud against the wall and lunge into the warmly lit, polished stone area. Quiet music pipes through hidden speakers.
A security guard sits behind the desk, bored, glancing up with arched eyebrows. "Everything okay, Dr. Mercer?"
I realize I'm moving like a man sprinting from a fire. I force myself to slow down and rearrange my face into something calm. "Yes."
Then the revolving door turns. Blue practically floats inside, her coat belted, cheeks pink from the cold, and eyes so bright they're almost luminous. She's clearly been riding adrenaline for hours and loves the way it tastes.
