Last Words

by Sam Mariano

  “My life is not exciting.”

  “So, ever since you broke into my house—”

  “That is not an accurate summary of what happened,” I point out, approaching the table and pulling out a second chair, since she stole mine.

  “Whatever, ever since you picked my lock—is that better?”

  “That just sounds dirty.”

  New Girl sighs, like I’m a real hassle to put up with. I can’t help smiling. She literally insinuates herself into my life at every turn, and she’s sighing like I’m the nuisance.

  “I want a better lock on my door,” she says, cutting to the chase. “I asked the people at the rental office and they said as long as I pay for it myself and have it professionally installed, I’m allowed to buy a better lock. Don’t worry, I didn’t explain why,” she adds.

  I shake my head, leaning across the table to look at the website she has pulled up on her phone.

  “So, I was on reddit and they recommended—”

  “Reddit?” I roll my eyes. “Jeeze.”

  “Well, I don’t know where to get expert lock-picker advice, okay? So I went to reddit. Anyway, they were saying the locks are harder to pick from a couple companies because they have… I don’t know, some kind of plates or something? I don’t know, it’s a whole new world of shit I don’t understand—pins and plates and tumblers. Apparently you have to have some element of nerdiness to be a criminal mastermind, too.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to be intelligent. Dumb criminals get caught a lot more.”

  She smirks, and I realize I just sort of admitted to being a criminal.

  “Not that I—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waves me off, rolling her eyes and handing me the phone. “So, I started emailing the one lock pick guy asking for his advice, and he hooked me up with this one. It’s expensive, but he said if I installed this one, no one could break into my house.”

  By the end of this interaction, I’m staring at her, absolutely horrified.

  She blinks at me a few times, then raises her eyebrows and nods to the screen, urging me to check it out so I can give her my expert lock-picking opinion.

  I put her phone down on the table and stare at her harder. “Let me get this straight. You met some random asshole on reddit, literally all you know about him is that he’s probably capable of breaking into houses, and you started conversing with him about what lock you should put on your own front door?”

  “I went straight to the source.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t know where I live.”

  “You don’t know that! You probably have your email linked to all kinds of shit. Do you have a visible profile picture on your email account? Jesus Christ, are you trying to get murdered?”

  “He’s a burglar, not a murderer. Maybe I have really kinky break-in fantasies, okay? Don’t judge me.”

  “Well, if you have really kinky break-in fantasies, you should get an adventurous boyfriend, not email random sleazebags on the internet.”

  Tapping her temple like she’s already thought of that, she says, “But once I install the lock, he can’t break in even if he figures out where I live. Or, that’s the idea. I figured I would get a second opinion, so I came to you, my friendly neighborhood criminal. Minus the friendly part.”

  “Jesus Christ.” I grab the phone again, shaking my head as I look at the lock this asshole told her to buy. I don’t want to give the guy any credit because I’m still pretty convinced his master plan is to rape and murder her, but he actually did recommend a good lock. This is one of the locks Mateo has on his own front door. “This is a good lock, but there’s no point putting it on our cheap-ass doors. Wooden frame, standard hinges—someone wants in your house badly enough, they can still get in. If you weren’t literally baiting the dregs of humanity with your email bullshit, there’s no reason you’d need a lock like this.” I hand her back her phone. “Open your email; I want to see the messages between you and this asshole.”

  Frowning, she asks, “You want to read my emails?”

  “I want to see what he’s asking you and make sure you haven’t told him anything that could get your ass killed.”

  “He’s not a criminal; I was just letting you believe that because it’s kinda fun to see you freak out. He’s one of the good guys—a Marine. And he even emails with proper grammar. He sounds really sexy.”

  I give her a good glare for that one. I don’t even know why, to be honest, it just sort of happens. Somehow that makes me want to read the emails more. “Emails,” I repeat, nodding at her phone.

  “God,” she mutters, like I’m a nag.

  But she finds the email chain for me and hands it back over. I start at the beginning—her initial inquiry—and scroll on down. I was right about her having a profile picture—even worse, she’s in a skimpy fucking bikini flashing a peace sign like a perfect target—and by the time I get to the most recent email, I’m annoyed. This asshole isn’t even talking about locks anymore; he’s trying to get to know her—probably because he’s seen her trim, toned ass in a tiny bikini. I tell myself I’m only looking for recon purposes, but when I enlarge the picture, I also get an eyeful of New Girl’s apparently spectacular cleavage.

  Without further thought, I swipe back and hit delete on the email chain.

  It’s sort of an old impulse, the kind of thing I would’ve done to Mia when she was being a dumbass, but now this girl is sitting here trying to get herself murdered and the old impulse is triggered.

  “Don’t talk to him anymore,” I tell her, sliding the phone back across the table.

  She frowns with concern. “Did he seem fishy? I thought he seemed okay. He seemed to know what he was talking about.”

  “With the lock shit, sure, but I doubt that guy’s a Marine.” This is pure bullshit; I have no godly idea if this guy’s a Marine, I just don’t think she should talk to him and I need a better reason than… well, absolutely no reason. “He probably just told you that to put your mind at ease—and it worked, didn’t it? Now he’s asking you personal questions and you didn’t even have enough sense to create a bogus email account to email this guy from…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Jesus, I don’t understand you women. Be more suspicious.” On second thought, I hold my hand out and she gives me her phone again. I go into her trash folder and grab the message I just junked and forward it to myself. “What’s his name on reddit? I want to check this asshole out.”

  “Oh, my God, are you serious?”

  I hand her the phone and slide my notebook over to my seat at the table, grabbing the pen and poising it over the empty sheet of paper. “I’m waiting. If this asshole shows up here to murder you, I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

  “You’re crazy,” she informs me, but she’s smiling like she’s reluctantly amused by it. “Seriously, this guy isn’t going to track me down. He lives in Virginia.”

  “Well, Mr. Virginia certainly asked enough questions. And you should change your profile picture if you’re going to be emailing random men you don’t know. It’s not smart to have a bikini photo as your profile picture. You’re inviting creeps to hassle you. I don’t know how that’s not common fucking sense.”

  “You are so mean to me,” she says, shaking her head as she scrolls. “I don’t know why I even visit you.”

  “I don’t know how you’re still alive if you do dumb shit like this when I’m not here to stop you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that I was trying to make my home safer. How else was I supposed to find out this information?”

  “You could’ve asked me in the first place,” I inform her.

  “You’re mean to me! I thought you’d be all huffy and tell me to go away. So, I asked my Marine. He was very nice to me,” she states, eyebrows rising haughtily.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “He isn’t your Marine, he’s some random creep you met online who got a good look at your tits and thought ‘jackpot.’”

  Her blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she hands me b
ack her phone, now with a screen shot of the dude’s username. “That was dangerously close to a compliment. Careful, Morelli, I might start thinking you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”

  “If you think I like you because I briefly thought about sliding my dick between your tits, I’m starting to understand why you believe this bozo is a Marine.”

  “Oh, my God,” she says, sitting back and laughing as I jot down the details so I can look into this asshole once she leaves. “If he’s actually a Marine, tell me. I’m gonna ask him to come kick your ass for being so mean to me all the time.”

  “Bring it,” I shoot back, dropping the pen and sitting back in the chair. “He’s probably some sloppy middle-aged asshole who can act like a badass on the Internet. And even if he isn’t, I can probably kick his ass.”

  “You’re kinda cute when you get jealous,” she tells me, grabbing her phone and pushing back my chair so she can stand. Before I even have a chance to set her ass straight, she grabs my beer and heads for the door like she’s leaving.

  “Hey, now…”

  “I’m gonna go flirt with my Marine some more,” she tells me. “Maybe I’ll send him some ass shots next and see what he thinks.”

  I follow her. “I am not jealous.”

  “Bullshit,” she says, half-laughing. “If you aren’t a jealous man, I’m the fucking queen of England. You barely tolerate me and you’re getting all pissy because I’m talking to some guy several states away.”

  “I didn’t say I’m not a jealous man, I said I’m not jealous about this. This isn’t jealousy. This is me not wanting you to be murdered. I’m your neighbor, I’d have to talk to the cops; it would be a nuisance for me.”

  “Uh huh,” she murmurs, apparently unconvinced as she turns the knob and opens my door. “So, that was a firm no on the lock?”

  “Don’t waste your money.”

  She nods, stepping outside. Glancing back at me over her shoulder, she gives me a wink and a cute little smirk. “Thanks for the beer.”

  Chapter Four

  Vince

  Instead of spending my evening off brainstorming and plotting how I’m going to take down Mateo, I waste the whole goddamn night researching Carly’s stupid “Marine.” Unlike Carly, he was smart enough to use separate accounts for his sleazy bullshit. Without access to private investigators or Mateo’s many resources, unfortunately I can’t crack his actual identity. I’m suspicious of how well his tracks are covered, though. I’m suspicious that the account winked into existence not too long ago. Overall, I’m not sure if this asshat is a Marine or a criminal looking for easy marks, but I am sure either way I don’t want her talking to him.

  So I make some shit up.

  I don’t like lying, but I’m doing it for her own good. Someone needs to scare some sense into this chick and it seems like it’s up to me. I copy and paste some random asshole’s criminal history onto Mr. Virginia’s work-up, print out some of his actual interactions on the website she found him on (he’s still a horny asshole, I’m just beefing it up to scare her a little) and scare up some ugly-ass pictures so she doesn’t go dreaming up some fantasy for this guy. He just had to go and say he’s a fucking Marine.

  I wonder if she likes that. I mean, I’m damn sure not on his side of the law if he is an actual Marine. Does she like the good guys, out to make the world a safer place?

  Does she really have kinky break-in fantasies?

  Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna let my mind stray there. I do not fuck where I sleep, period. She’s got the honey-haired, blue-eyed, helpless dumbass thing going on like Mia did—that’s the only reason I’m getting my signals mixed here. Last time a girl like her was trying to get herself murdered on my watch, it was my problem.

  Once I have an appropriately intimidating dossier put together, I head over to her apartment and knock on her door. She doesn’t answer. I know she’s in there because the light is on. I try the door, but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked; I didn’t tell her I’d come back tonight. I didn’t plan to anyway, I figured I’d see her outside with Gus, or she’d show up on my damn doorstep needing a light bulb changed in the next couple days. But here I am, standing in the cold like an asshole.

  Since it apparently doesn’t freak her out, I go back to my own apartment and retrieve my tools, then I knock one more time. When she doesn’t come to the door, I go ahead and let myself in.

  I don’t know why that doesn’t freak her out. It should. She may flit over to my apartment and pester me like I’m not, but I’m a complete fucking stranger, one with knowledge of how to pick locks, and this girl is not appropriately worried about that. Just because I live in her apartment building doesn’t mean I’m not a bad guy. And not only does she pester the shit out of me, she invites herself alone into my apartment and talks about her break-in fantasies.

  I mean, come on. Have a little fucking sense. Just a little.

  I take a seat on her couch to wait for her. Once I’m inside I understand why she isn’t coming to the door. She’s in the shower. Singing. I can’t help smirking. Her voice isn’t bad, but she won’t be winning a Grammy anytime soon.

  Of course, knowing she’s in the shower gets me thinking about her bikini picture again. Ordinarily I’m not wowed by a bikini picture, and I won’t say I’m wowed, but I’ve only seen her in big sweaters and her coat. She’s got a pretty small frame, so I didn’t expect nice, round C-cups.

  Not that I’ve been thinking about her boobs. Because I didn’t have my head up my ass. But now I’m sitting here while she’s just down the hall showering and sure, I’m wondering what they look like without the bikini top.

  Fuck.

  I shake it off and flip open the little dossier I put together, flipping through this creep’s comments. Most of them are no creepier than the thoughts I’m currently having, but a few of them make him sound like an asshole.

  She stops singing and the shower turns off. The door’s still closed so she’s probably brushing her hair or moisturizing or some shit.

  It’s kind of weird, actually. I haven’t done something as casually intimate as wait for a woman to finish her shower since I lived with Mia. Mia always took forever in the shower—not even just in the shower, but before and after the shower. She was so fucking high-maintenance.

  Mateo probably doesn’t even know that. He’s busy, an asshole, and he has two women, so I’m sure he doesn’t know the first thing about Mia’s ridiculous shower routine. It brings me a small measure of comfort, feeling like I know something about her he doesn’t.

  The door down the hall opens, stealing my thoughts from Mia and bringing them back to the present. I suddenly want to leave—I wasn’t invited into this moment and she thinks she’s home alone; what if she walks out naked or something?

  It’s too late to change my mind though. The halls are short, and before I can even push up off the couch, she emerges at the end of it. Gasping immediately upon seeing movement in the living room she left empty, her blue eyes widen and a little yelp slips out of her.

  She’s not naked, but man, I wish I hadn’t come over. She’s wearing this thin blue night shirt with no bra underneath. The night shirt barely hits past her ass, and I’m wishing she would have grabbed a pair of pajama pants so I didn’t have to look at her smooth, shapely legs.

  “Jesus! God.” She breathes with relief when she sees it’s just me, her shoulders dropping. “Jesus, Vince. You scared the hell out of me.”

  I nod smugly, like I didn’t just have second thoughts. (Thing about showing up uninvited in a woman’s house is you’ve gotta own it. There’s really no half-assing or backing down with that kind of thing.) “This is how easy it would be to murder you,” I inform her, tapping the dossier I brought over. “Your Marine boyfriend hasn’t murdered anyone, but he’s damn sure not a Marine and he’s got a rap sheet a mile long.”

  Her eyes widen and she comes over to the couch, unconcerned with what she’s wearing, and unconcerned that I literally broke into
her house to warn her about some guy who might try to break into her house. “Does he really?” She pauses before she approaches the couch. “Actually, I’m gonna grab a drink, then we can go over this. You want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  She nods and heads to the kitchen.

  I try not to think about things I definitely shouldn’t, like the unmistakable glimpse I get of the curve of her ass when she walks toward the kitchen.

  She is not wearing panties.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Fuuuuuuck.

  I desperately want to leave this situation, but I can’t now without being obvious. I’m not about to give her the satisfaction of literally chasing me out of her apartment just because she’s not wearing panties under a baggy sleep shirt that has no business being sexy.

  She comes back in, flashing me a friendly smile and hands me a drink even though I didn’t ask for one. Then she drops onto the couch, curling her legs up beneath her and leans over my shoulder to look through the assembled pictures.

  I feel like I just got socked in the stomach.

  She smells like Mia.

  It’s her shampoo. The coconut.

  The strangest feeling that I’m going to be sick mixes with immediate arousal and all I want to do is get the hell away from this girl.

  Unaware of the Hell she just sent me to, New Girl is all light and playful.

  “So, you’re a burglar and a private detective, huh?” she teases. “Do you ever stop getting cooler?”

  I can’t even speak.

  The scent of her shampoo hits me again and I have to look at her to remind myself it’s not Mia sitting on this couch beside me. It’s damn sure not Mia because she’s being nice to me. Her blue eyes are clear and honest, the little sparkle of amusement is there because of me. Inexplicably because I broke into her house and literally spent the whole night stalking some asshole she exchanged a few emails with, but I guess I like my girls a little cracked.

  Thank fuck she brought me whiskey. I’m sure she intended on me sipping it, but I slam it back, then I take the glass she brought herself and down that, too.