AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Reese looks at me, obviously puzzled. “Are you offended by that?” she asks.
“No.” I shrug. “But it feels like an odd request.”
Reese slides her arm over my shoulder again, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “I get that. But don’t worry. Christian may be a little cold, but I don’t think he is a bad guy. And if you help him out, you will make him feel more welcome at McKenzie Tech. Cool?”
I nod. I want to tell my best friend so much, but I can’t. It’s too crazy. The truth gets caught in my throat. I can’t think of anything else to say on the way to the restaurant, so Reese starts talking about her little girl again. Such talk should distract me, but all I can think about is going to the basement the next day.
Chapter Five
Mandy
I barely realize where I am going on the walk home. My feet just move automatically on the sidewalk. All I can think about is the fact that Mr. Keeley is Sloane’s brother. They look nothing alike. It’s crazy. How can they possibly be related? Plus, that makes what happened between him and me today so much worse. If he tells Sloane my secret, I’m totally screwed — out of a friend and a job. Sloane would never approve of sex in the office. She is kind of a prissy.
Taking the stairs fast up to the third floor, I rummage through my purse for my keys. A few feet away from my door, I hear Pumpkin calling. Her hearing is better than mine, and somehow, she has figured out how my steps sound. Either that or she cries when anyone reaches my hallway, but the neighbors haven’t complained, so that is good. As I unlock my door, her yowls get louder and more insistent. According to her, it’s time for dinner.
“Hold on. Hold on,” I mutter, fighting with the lock a little. These old buildings tend to have charm — which means they have things wrong with them. For example, I have to saw my key in and out of the lock to get it to turn. It’s a total pain in the ass, but my landlord refuses to do anything about it.
Finally, the lock twists and the handle turns. I step into my brightly sunlit kitchen and keep Pumpkin from running through the open door. I don’t know why she tries. The one time she did get out into the hallway, she freaked out so much that she just found a corner and crouched in it.
My orange furball twirls around my feet, crying and meowing at the same time. She is happy to see me and probably even happier at the prospect of getting fed. I dump my purse on the counter in a rush and hurry over to pull out a bowl. Pumpkin tries to trip me at every step, but I manage to avoid her and get her dinner plopped down into the right spot. Only at that point do I take a deep breath and let my thoughts return to my obsession: Christian Keeley.
That boy could use his tongue. Just thinking about what he did to me in that cluttered little piece of the basement gets me hot. Hot enough to forget my own dinner. Intent on another orgasm, I pull my new vibrator out of my purse and head towards my bedroom and the comfort of my bed.
Halfway through the living room, my toes get wet.
“What the fuck?!”
There is a large pool of water coving one of my Asian rugs. A rug that I got in Morocco when I was sightseeing in Marrakesh during my junior year in college. A very expensive rug. It squishes grossly under my feet, and my eyes follow the line of water that is somehow coming from my coat closet.
“What the fuck?!” I repeat, reaching for my phone to dial the super. He picks up as soon as I open my coat closet and see that my winter coats are being treated to an unwanted shower.
“Yes, Miss Burmmell?” He immediately sounds annoyed. We have discussed before that I call too often.
“Mr. Girdner, there is a leak coming through my coat closet from the apartment upstairs,” I hiss. “There is almost two inches of standing water in my living room. It’s ruining my rugs I might add.”
He tuts, like my concerns are childish. Honestly, a lot of people treat me like I am a child. Shortness should not equal immaturity.
“Mrs. Shuffield probably left her bath running. I’ll go talk to her.” I can practically see him roll his eyes as we talk. I’m probably ruining his dinner plans. “Go stay with your grandmother for a few days, and I will have your floors cleaned.”
“And the rugs,” I add.
He sighs. “And the rugs.”
I think him, hang up and immediately text my grandmother, Bubby. Well, I call her Bubby. Her real name is Elizabeth. Bubby texts back that I can come to stay with her a few days, but she warns that I need to bring a pair of earplugs; she is hosting a séance at eight.
