I could stay like this forever.
That is, until the apartment suddenly isn’t so silent anymore.
A loud rumble echoes from my stomach. I’m starving.
I wander through the archway, counting how many of my studio apartments I think could fit in this space and stop after I reach about 20.
Next to the living room is a spotless, beautiful kitchen. The view is no different from there. But this time, instead of a couch, a kitchen island spreads out in front of me. I gingerly open a cupboard and see every possible kitchen appliance spread out in front of me.
Another seemingly inconspicuous door opens into a huge, fully stocked walk-in pantry.
He cooks? The thought tugs at me somewhere. Possibly, I’m going to guess, at my stomach.
I check the clock on the oven. 9:39 p. m. No wonder I’m hungry. Xavier left hours ago, having given up on trying to get me to go. Physical threats to his baby-making capabilities had him shrinking away when he tried to suggest getting me to leave by physical force.
My tummy rumbles again, reminding me of my priorities.
Well, if I’m hungry, he’ll probably be starving by the time he stops being a baby and comes home.
I might as well cook us some dinner.
I open the fridge and reach for some pork chops.
HIM
“Mr. Ashley?” The doorman says my name, for the… well, I don’t know how many times, but I know it’s not the first.
“Yes?”
“Are you going up to your apartment?”
“That’s a very good question, Clifford.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“And the answer is?”
“I’m going to get back to you on that.”
“Okay, Mr. Ashley.”
And I can almost hear him thinking “they might call it eccentric when they’re rich, but crazy is still crazy.”
Is it crazy to be standing in front of my own building staring up at the 31st floor wondering what the woman who’s squatting in my apartment is doing right now?
Or crazier to know what I wish she were doing?
Me.
The light flickers on the right side of my apartment.
She’s in the kitchen.
And now I can’t help imagining her bent over the kitchen island.
Her hips warm and soft in my groping hands as I hold her firm as I…
The phone in my pocket rings saving me from a thought that could have me pushing through the door faster than Clifford can open it for me.
It’s Xavier.
“You’re fired.”
“I’m quitting! Good luck with her!”
“You couldn’t just get her to leave? I need to go home, Xavier.”
“So, go up and see her. Let her get in her thanks of whatever and move on. She doesn’t seem unreasonable.”
“She’s squatting n my apartment.”
Xavier’s laugh irks me. But it could just be because I’ve been imagining him being with her for the last few hours. When I was just fantasize about it.
“I said she’s unreasonable, not unstubborn.”
“Get her out, Xavier. I mean it.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
I pause. Maybe a little too long.
“Wait, you ARE afraid, aren’t you? She’s a harmless woman. One you’ve saved twice now, by the way, so what could it hurt for her to say thank you?”
It already hurt too much.
“Xavier. It’s not your place to ask why. Just fucking do it.”
I hear him suck in his breath, and I know, I’m about to get a dose of what he calls “Xavier Reality Check”.
“Oh, man. It’s moments like this I remember that you never had an older brother. So here I am to tell you that she’s just a sweet girl wanting to do what’s right. Stop being a jackass and learn to let your rules go for once. They’re stupid rules anyway. Just fucking grow up.”
And for the first time ever, he hangs up on me.
He’s not wrong. I need to grow up.
I need to not be having a kindergarten crush on this woman I’ve literally only said 10 words to, one of them being “go.”
I need to not be thinking of her every single second of every waking moment.
I need to not be wondering if she’s okay, if she’s thinking of me, if she even cares who I am beyond a pair of sturdy arms.
She means nothing. I’m just stressed from work, worried about this ‘J’ guy and she’s my outlet.
Or she could be, that niggling voice is telling me, she could be what’s distracting you.
I look down, and her effect on my body hasn’t changed.
Maybe I could just fuck her once and rid myself of the fascination.
Or maybe I could just fuck her once and lose myself in her forever.
“See you later, Mr. Ashley,” Clifford calls out to me as I fling myself across the road and away from him, the building, and her.
HER
“Come on!!” I let out a short dramatic sob and let my head fall on the dining table while I clutch my stomach as it rumbles in protest.
The smell from the pork chops staying warm in the oven has created a nonstop stream of drool in my mouth for the last hour. I tried to distract myself from the hunger by setting the table, but now, two intricate origami paper napkins later (thank you, YouTube), it’s 10:30 p. m. and he’s still not home.
“I’m soooo fucking starving!” I yell out to no one in particular, but irrationally I’m hoping the sound will travel down the elevator and out to his ears wherever he is, so he’ll take pity on me and come home so I can eat.
My stomach roars this time, to emphasize the point.
“Stubborn prick!” I yell out again, this time definitely for his benefit.
“Fuck it. He can eat when he gets home. Better than him finding my malnourished body dead on his kitchen island.”
I get up and grab a plate, then pile it up with roast vegetables and a pork chop warming in the oven.