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That makes me feel worse, not better. “How long ago?”
A long pause. “Um, three months. Maybe four.”
I don’t realize I’ve tightened my arms around her, crushing her to my chest, until she taps my arm twice.
“You can put me down now, hockey player,” she murmurs.
Right.
Bending carefully, I angle Bailey until she’s standing. She smooths down her nightgown and takes a quick step away from me. I watch as she roots through her purse, presumably looking for keys. It would help if the light above her door wasn’t burned out.
She glances back at me, the barest of smiles on her lips. “Do you ever wear a coat?”
I glance down at my muumuu, which is surprisingly comfortable if not very seasonal. Especially right now, when all I’ve got on underneath is a pair of athletic shorts. I didn’t realize how warm Bailey was keeping me until she wasn’t cradled to my chest.
“No? I mean, sometimes when it’s really cold, I do. I tend to run hot.”
Bailey opens her mouth, then closes it and turns back to the hunt for her keys, forearm-deep in her purse. I really hope, considering my safety concerns, she usually walks to her apartment with her keys in hand. And maybe some mace.
“Do you have a taser?” I ask.
Bailey’s keys clatter to the ground. “What?”
And that’s when, as though conjured by all my imagined worst-case scenarios, a tall figure steps around the corner, gliding out of the shadows like some kind of wraith. Bailey shrieks and lobs her purse full force at the person’s face.
I’ll give her this—she may live in the most murdery apartment complex I’ve ever seen, but she’s got good instincts.
Right now, she also hasme. Almost the moment the purse is thrown, I step between her and the wiry man who’s now clutching his face with a groan. My hands are curled into fists, my whole body coiled like a spring. It’s the moment before the puck drops, and I can almost feel the stick in my gloves.
I wish I had a stick right now. In a pinch, it would make a great weapon.
“Now, why’d you go and do that?” the man says.
“Jesse?” Bailey curls her hand around my arm and peers past me. I can feel the heat of her body against my back and hope she stays right there.
“Yeah,” the man groans, kicking at her purse. “Who’d you think it was?”
Bailey’s purse capsizes, spilling its contents everywhere. Receipts, a tiny notebook, pens, coins, and a fat wallet bursting at the seams. Either Bailey carries a lot of cash, or she has a problem with credit cards.
A tube of lipstick rolls to a stop at my feet. Bailey bends to pick it up, and I put a hand on her hip, gently urging her behind me again before I let go. It’s clear she knows this guy. But it’s still creepy as hell how he was waiting in the darkness for her.
I’m not letting Bailey anywhere near him. My instincts earlier may have been a bit on the caveman side, but they were also correct. This apartment complex isnotsafe.
“Who are you?” I demand.
Do I use my most intimidating voice? Absolutely I do.
Bailey gives my arm a squeeze, and I’m not sure if this means she likes the protective vibe or is telling me to back off. I’m going with option A.
Whether she likes it or she doesn’t, the protective vibe isn’t going anywhere. The dial is now set to maximum strength.
Until Bailey whispers, “He’s just my neighbor.”
Just her neighbor. Who steps out of the darkness late at night right when she happens to be coming home. Still weird. And suspect. I don’t dial back my protectiveness at all.
“Who areyou?” the guy—Jesse, I guess—snaps. Then there’s a pause, and he leans forward. I can barely make him out, squinting through the darkness. His height and the slightness of his figure reminds me a bit of Gabe fromThe Office. “Wait—you’re that hockey player.Dude. Why are you wearing a muumuu?”
Bailey tries to step around me. This time, when I clasp her hip and maneuver her behind me, I don’t let go. Not even when she lets out a little huff of frustration. Or amusement? I’m not sure which. Instead, I squeeze her hip lightly, holding her steady.
