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I caught him?
As if he can read my mind, he says, "I mean, I heard you locking up and wanted to catch you before you left."
“Oh.” Is that all I could manage to say?
I readjust my bag, hoping if I tug on the strap hard enough, it will turn into a lifeboat and help save me from my lack of speech.
“Is everything alright?” Because you look fine as hell.
“Yeah, it’s getting sorted out.” He replies.
“I was worried. I was hoping my new neighbor wasn’t Batman. You disappeared with those men so fast.” I probe.
“You like the villain more?” He jokes as he leans against his door frame.
Sweet heaven and earth, he looks like he’s posing for my ovaries to ogle over.
His biceps are sculpted just as much as his twelve-pack; his chest is clean-shaven except for a small trail of dark hair that disappears under his boxers. It’s like a neon sign leading my eyes to his cock again.
He's wearing his arm sling, and that's when I notice a rounded, scabbed-over wound. Was he shot?
“No, no.” I clear my throat. “I don’t want a hero or villain, just normal and nice.” I manage to say.
He nods, “The good guy.” He repeats what I asked in the bar.
“Yeah,” I shift on my feet. What my feet want to do is rush forward towards him.
He grabs the back of his neck with his left hand, “Listen, Pumpkin,” I blush at his nickname and remember what Harper said. It’s not ‘baby,’ which means he wants to use it more than one night.
“There are some parts of my life that I can’t discuss. They are classified, and I’m still getting used to the change from being active military to now being a CEO.”
I nod and shamelessly glance back at his abs. Whatever that change involves, please, for the sake of all females, don't trade that twelve-pack for a beer belly.
His feet move, and he steps closer. The pumpkin scent coming from my apartment is now replaced with pure man. My nostrils flare.
“I know I shouldn’t say this. I told myself I wouldn’t,” he begins, “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I feel giddy, but at the same time, he seems so hesitant, and that reminds me that I should be, too. He’s not Andrew. I don’t get any of the same vibes from Julian as I did with Andrew, but what if my vibe meter is broken? What if Julian is a monster in disguise?
What if he’s not? What if I’m just using that excuse to close myself off from the world?
When you’ve been hurt, you obviously lose trust in people, but worse, you lose confidence in your judgment.
What’s good or bad when you’ve been stuck in the grey for so long?
Being in an abusive relationship can make you colorblind; things are tainted, and now I'm trying to judge if what I'm seeing is truly the color I think it is. Is Julian good?
“I guess what I’m trying to say is I hope I didn’t fuck it up or scare you because I’d like to see you again,” Julian admits, although there is a tightness in his jaw that almost makes me think he’s worried about his statement.
“And I wanted to catch you before you left for your first day at work.” His grey eyes soften.
“You remembered?” I gape.
“A good neighbor always does.” He winks as he pushes off the door and stands toe to toe with me.
I think I just died.
My thighs clench as my body heats to a rumbling boil. I feel all fluttery. I’ve never felt like this before, so I’m going to keep feeling and exploring and praying that I don’t get hurt.
