The hot guy turned back, nose wrinkled. Like he found his own mess noxious.
“This isn’t my place,” he confessed. “Belongs to a buddy.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe you need to be a less accepting friend and tell him his home is a biohazard.”
“Trust me, we’ve all tried. Arty is a bit… different.”
“Different,” I repeated, looking around the small space. “Is that a new synonym for ‘disgusting’ I haven’t heard before?”
“He gets really wrapped up in his work,” the biker said, waving toward the desk. On the card table that acted as the desk, there was a computer setup that had to cost tens of thousands of dollars. “Then he forgets… everything else.”
“Like to take out his trash?”
“Like toeat,” the biker clarified.
“Well, do you have some moral opposition to taking the trash out? And opening a window?” I asked.
“I can do that,” he said, going for the overflowing can and hurling it out.
It shouldn’t have been sexy.
Yet, it was.
I guess you could call it a bit of a kink of mine. I liked seeing men do stereotypically male things. Like working on a car, mowing the lawn, half-hidden under the sink, turning a wrench on the plumbing, their biceps clenching, and, apparently, taking out the garbage.
“Be right back,” he said, heading out the door.
Alone, I pushed open the window, leaning into it and taking a few greedy breaths.
I grabbed a fresh trash bag and started tossing all the bottles, cups, and food containers from the desk, nightstand, and dresser.
When he came to the door, I thrust the half-full bag at the biker. “This too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, shooting me a panty-dropping smile.
Despite the insanity of the night, my panties weren’tunaffected. Though I did need to keep them in place.
While he went to the dumpster again, I found some disinfecting spray and went ahead and sprayed the bed and the laundry pile. That was its own kind of overwhelming, but at least it smelled cleaner.
“Alright,” the biker said when he made his way back into the apartment. “That’s better.”
“Debatable,” I said, getting a huff of a laugh from him. “So, I guess I should thank you for the ride.”
“Not every day a man can save a woman who escapes police custody. Felt like it was my duty to help you slip away. That was a badass window escape, by the way.”
“Right?” I asked, still a little shocked I’d managed it.
Sure, I’d practiced escaping cars just like I’d practiced getting out of cuffs. There’d been lots of work on the trunk, since that’s typically where you’d find yourself stuffed. But I’d also done some window escapes. But never through such a tight space before.
“I guess I should thank my yoga and Pilates instructors for being bendy and strong enough to pull that off. I mean, it helps that the cop was completely incompetent. Who leaves a suspect in a backseat with an open window?”
“He was practically begging you to escape.”
“Exactly. So, normal people don’t aid and abet. You have a history with law enforcement?”
“You could say that. Mostly avoiding them.”
“Yeah, you kinda have that vibe.”
