by Kate Davis
That’s the problem with my parents. They’re so sweet you can’t help but trust them with your most private stuff, including your social security number and the state of your dating life. And before you know it, they’ll have you registered on Tinder and Jake from the market booth down the street will be offering you free eggplant in exchange for going out with you. Never mind that Jake’s barely eighteen and his idea of a dinner invitation is splitting the bill at McDonald’s.
True story.
That’s one of the reasons I had no choice but to move out. My mother’s attempts at matchmaking were getting so ridiculous even Pastor Rick suggested to just pray and then leave it in the Lord’s hands. For once, I agreed.
Shane’s definitely a few levels up. Then again, she didn’t set me up with him, so I won’t let her get involved and cause disaster to strike.
* * *
Me: I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. This is really low-key, nothing special, not meaning anything, given that he’s seeing someone else. Just dinner between two friends. I’ll tell you all about it…once it’s over. Until then, go shopping with Dad.
* * *
Her reply arrives almost instantly.
* * *
Mom: Pastor Rick prayed. We all did. Don’t you ruin this for us! Your father tells you to paint your nails and do your hair. We’re coming over.
* * *
I stare at the phone. She can’t be serious. Have my parents lost their marbles? First Dad tells me to paint my nails, then Mom says they’re coming over, probably to help me choose my wardrobe, which I bet will consist of one of her onesies she’ll insist on lending me. She’ll also insist on doing my hair, think big waves and lots of hairspray. I’ll end up looking like that woman in the Grease musical. I bet Shane will love it if I start singing, “You are the one I want, ho, ho, ho honey”.
Dad’s advice isn’t so bad, but I won’t be making a big deal out of this. I’m not going to get my hopes up when Shane and the blonde are clearly an item and working through their differences. He’s probably only invited me because he’s worried about me.
* * *
Me: You’re not coming over, Mom. I repeat, you are NOT. I’m busy. I mean it. Shane and I are just friends. He’s seeing a very pretty blonde who’s always around.
* * *
I mention the blonde in high hopes the message will finally sink in and Mom will not be starting to plan my wedding. And as though to prove to myself just how busy I am and that the whole dinner invitation thing really means nothing, I make a point of finishing most of my first draft. I haven’t figured out where the Shane mystery is going but I’m sure I’ll come up with something once he’s given my imagination fuel aka more information about himself.
By evening, I’ve showered and shaved my legs. Not that he’ll be seeing any of them given that I’ve decided to wear my best pair of jeans paired with a black spaghetti top and my silver stilettos. Classy and extravagant but not screaming “date night”.
I inspect myself in the narrow floor to ceiling mirror in my bedroom as I apply a little mascara and smack my lips to make the soft lipstick shade seem all natural.
“What do you say, Sammy?” I peer at my dog, who’s resting at my feet, eyeing my stilettos with brazen yearning. She’s desperate for them. I can almost see her little brain working, picturing herself sinking her canines into the soft leather and ripping it to shreds.
Chapter Nineteen
“Ready?” Shane asks as soon as I’ve opened the door.
I nod and regard him. He’s in jeans and a black shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves. The black brings out the gray in his eyes and emphasizes his broad shoulders. I take in his strong forearms and the muscles working beneath the taut skin as he bends down to scoop Sammy in his arms. My throat constricts, but not because of how handsome he looks.
He looks so casual that I can’t help but think this isn’t going to be more than dinner between friends. I’m glad I didn’t go for a little black dress or anything remotely date-ish because this is definitely no date.
Suddenly, I regret having taken him up on the offer. I’m eager to get this over and done with so I can return to my sad, little apartment and my boring life and leave him to his blonde girlfriend and the bedroom remodeling they seem to be doing whenever she’s around.
“Sammy, you’re staying,” I say a little too sharply. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t be tagging along. There’s enough food for the three of us.” He inclines his head toward his apartment. That’s when I realize we’re not going out. We’re staying in. He couldn’t even be bothered to book a table at a reasonably-priced restaurant. This is so much worse than Jake and his splitting the bill at McDonald’s.
Even though I feel disappointed, I don’t say a word as we walk the few steps to his apartment. Once inside, I watch him lock up, and it strikes me as odd at how meticulous and focused on the task he seems to be.
“Make yourself at home.” He points toward the living room. “Drink?”
“A glass of water,” I say and take a seat on his sofa, letting my gaze roam around. His apartment is twice the size of mine, but it’s still quite small. The furniture is in better condition than mine. The cream leather sofa’s clearly new and screams of a woman’s touch. There are no pictures on the wall, no memorabilia on the shelves. The air smells of wood, aftershave, and pizza. Not surprising, given that there’s a cardboard box on the table with the logo of a delivery place I don’t recognize.
That’s our dinner.
I sink into the soft cushions and heave a sigh of frustration.
Why am I even doing this?
Obviously, I’m only friends material. I should be making up an excuse and breaking this entire charade off.
“Here you go.”
I lift up my gaze and realize Shane’s standing in front of me, holding up a glass of water.
I take it out of his outstretched hand and mumble, “Thanks.”
He sits down next to me and regards me for a moment. The brief moment of silence is heavy, embarrassing.
This is a disaster. No, it’s worse than a disaster.
“You’re probably disappointed that I’m not taking you out,” he starts.
Yes. Yes! The voice inside my brain yells.
“No,” I lie. “It’s nice. Comfy, as you Brits would say. Very down to earth.”
He runs a hand through his hair and opens his mouth to say something, then seems to change his mind. “The thing is, Samantha, I—” He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. Maybe one day, just not now. It’s for your own good.”
I frown. What’s for my own good? That he’s not taking me out? Does he think that my ego’s through the roof, and my head’s up in the sky, and I need a little bit of humbling down to get my feet back on solid ground?
Well, he’s definitely succeeded. I don’t expect much, but this is less than ideal
We’re friends!
Friends don’t need to make an effort. They don’t need fancy restaurants and candles. They’re just comfortable with the way things are.
“This was a bad idea,” Shane says and for once I couldn’t agree more with him.
“It was. I should get going.” I get up from the sofa and take a few steps toward the door. “Thanks for the water. Sammy, let’s go.”
Shane nods grimly. I can see he’s probably just as embarrassed as I am.
“Sammy,” I say sharply.
My dog doesn’t seem to want to move from the rug under Shane’s feet.
“Sammy, now!” I’m getting annoyed, desperate to leave and forget all about my non-date, ready to lock the memory up in the proverbial mental drawer and throw the key away, lose it for good.
The little mutt doesn’t move. I head over and lift her up in my arms, barely looking at him as I pass him.
“Well, thanks again. I’ll see you around.”
I’m fumbling with his several locks when he steps behind me and sa
ys, “I’m sorry, Samantha. I really like you. It’s just—”
“No worries,” I mumble.
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t—” He breaks off, his tone grim, heavy with something I can’t quite pinpoint.
I force myself to turn and look at him. I even throw him a fake smile that hurts so much it almost brings tears to my eyes. “No, Shane, really, don’t sweat it. I understand. You’re not in the right frame of mind for anything. Your girlfriend told me the other night. I knew it before so I didn’t take this seriously.”
Confusion crosses his face. “My what?”
“The blonde that seems to be here a lot,” I clarify. “We talked the other night.”
“Stacy?”
That’s her name? It doesn’t really suit her, but that’s not my concern.
I nod.
“She isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my—” He breaks off again, probably not wanting to put a label on whatever’s going on between them.
I shrug. Who am I to judge? I’m not big on labels either.
He shakes his head. “My point is that I really like you.”
I stifle a snort. If he keeps repeating his meaningless drivel, I can’t guarantee that I won’t take his glass of water and pour it over his head. I don’t want to hear how much he likes me, but—
Excuses, excuses.
“Under different circumstances,” Shane continues, “I would take you out and we’d be getting to know each other.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Well, if that’s all then I’ll be heading back home now.” To my empty but uncomplicated life, where confusion doesn’t reside.
“The thing is, you really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I can’t risk anything happening to you.” Shane seems on a roll. He’s definitely riding the monologue roller coaster now.
In fact, I can’t help but wonder whether he knows that I’m still here or whether he’s explaining his one-man life plot to himself.
“Shane.” I squeeze his shoulder gently but hard enough to draw him back from whatever mental black hole he’s just entered. “It’s fine. I don’t need any explaining. I don’t need your ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. Let’s get this over and done with. Have a good night.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I simply straighten my back and walk past him, with my dog cradled against my chest and my dignity intact.
Chapter Twenty
The moment I’m back in my apartment, I force myself to take a few deep, calming breaths. I’ve barely squeezed out of my jeans and changed into my very comfortable yogi pants when Shane’s words begin to sink in.
I can’t risk anything happening to you.
Who says something like that? And what does that even mean?
My pulse begins to race as I realize the magnitude of what he’s implying. Either he’s more paranoid than I am, or he’s dangerous. I settle on the latter because it isn’t just fun. I can also see myself working that into my book.
He’s probably involved with a gang. Selling drugs. Dealing with stolen art. My brain is spinning from all the random ideas inspired by all the movies I’ve ever watched.
“No freaking way!” I yank out my cell phone and text Amanda that I think my neighbor’s a criminal, then boot up my laptop and begin typing, inspiration washing over me like a refreshing waterfall. An hour later, my phone pings with an incoming message.
* * *
Amanda: Just read your text. What do you mean, he’s a criminal?
* * *
As Amanda and I text back and forth, I remember the black screens and his sudden caginess.
* * *
Amanda: Are you talking about the same British guy your mom told me about?
* * *
My mother told my best friend about my neighbor? The woman really is everywhere. It’s about time I implemented some new ground rules, like “stop texting my neighbor and friends”.
* * *
Me: Yes. He’s good looking and polite, and really good at revealing nothing about himself. I first thought it was a British thing, but now I think it’s more like a sociopath trait.
* * *
Amanda: He does get up quite early. No man I know would be up at five, reading the newspaper with my dad. You’re right. Something’s wrong with him. Do you want me to come over?
* * *
Mom told her about Shane and Dad sharing a newspaper? I shake my head, annoyed, and peer at the half-finished chapter. As much as I would love to spend hours obsessing about Shane’s dark secret that’s probably a figment of my imagination, I’d rather make use of the rather elusive inspiration when it strikes.
* * *
Me: Sorry, I'll have to take a rain check.
* * *
Amanda: Sure. Keep me updated.
* * *
Smiling, I switch off my cell phone and order some pizza. I feed my dog bits and pieces of cheese while breezing through the chapter.
It’s after midnight when I hear huffing and shuffling in the hall.
He’s out there again, doing who knows what. I plug in my headphones and resume my work. I must have fallen asleep because everything’s black. The music is still playing in my ear, but I’m too groggy to make out more than a few words that make no sense.
Something touches my shoulder. Someone sings about Samantha, and I think that Samantha, whoever she is, must really be pretty special given that someone wrote a song about her. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to be someone’s muse like Shane’s been mine?
I drag myself through the sleepiness back to reality and open my eyes. My laptop must have gone into sleep mode because the screen is black, but the music is still playing.
I’m so groggy I don’t know where I am. The entire room is bathed in darkness. I yank the headphones from my ears.
It’s not the music. Someone’s saying my name gently, and fingers are now touching my shoulder.
Someone’s broken into my apartment.
The hazy curtain of sleep lifts instantly, and my mind’s wide awake.
For a second, my heart stops in my chest. I jump up, almost tripping over my own two feet, and open my mouth to scream but no sound makes it through my constricted airways.
At least I’ve managed to put a bit of distance between us.
I snort at my own twisted logic.
Yeah, like that’s going to make much difference.
It’s just going to give me a two-second head start before he’s catching me, and then I’ll be a goner. In the fragment of a second, countless irrational thoughts flash through my mind. Poor Mom and Dad will be devastated. I shouldn’t have treated Pastor Rick the way I did. I should have made peace with him when I still had the chance because once dead without repentance, I’ll probably be burning in Hell for causing grief to a man of the cloth. Or to anyone, for that matter, like Madeleine Albright who’ll probably be waiting for that manuscript forever.
Wait, didn’t he just say my name? Why would a burglar know who I am?
I stare at the intruder as my eyes are trying to adjust to the darkness. His features are obscured by the shadows, and yet there’s something familiar about him, about his face and his stance.
I take another big step, my hands gripping the curtain, and with a yank, I pull it aside to let the soft light of the city in.
“Shane?” I whisper, horrified.
It wasn’t my imagination. The guy’s dangerous.
Ha, I knew it!
He’s a criminal, maybe even a killer.
Then again, I shouldn’t be proud of myself that my gut feeling was right when faced with the fact that, yes, he’s probably going to kill me and take my dog, which he’s probably been planning all along.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us.
“Don’t you dare!” My voice makes a surprising return. “I’m not afraid to hurt you.”
I peer around me for something to grab and smack him over the head with, if nee
d be. A stale cup of coffee is all I can spy but that’s bound to do some damage, like conveying the message that I’m not going to be an easy victim. My hands wrap around the half-empty mug and I lift it up as though to strike him. Let’s just pray the guy hasn’t brought a gun to a mug fight.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks, his voice dripping with surprise.
“Stay back or I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll be seeing stars.” The stars thing is obviously just a proverb and thrown in there for good measure.
I must be a sight to behold because Shane lifts up his hands in a gesture of surrender and takes a step back.
I lift my chin defiantly. “Now, walk slowly back to the door. Or just run. Either way works for me.”
“Samantha,” Shane starts.
“Move it before you come to regret it.” I swing the mug a little, spilling a few drops of coffee across the floor. Under different circumstances, I would be mopping them up quickly before the black liquid leaves stains on the hardwood floor, but today it will have to wait for obvious reasons.
“Sam,” Shane says. “I need to leave.”
“And so you should be before your pretty face has a one-of-a-kind meeting with my mug.”
“No, listen.” He shakes his head. I open my mouth to throw some more threats at him, but the urgency in his tone renders me quiet. “I need to leave now. I can’t tell you why but I’m going to be on the next flight to England. Once I’ve sorted out my issues, maybe we’ll see each other again.”
I stare at him. His features are still bathed in semidarkness but I think I can spy a frown line on his face. Maybe it’s my imagination or the finality in his voice.