by Ivy M. Jones
"There has to be some kind of mistake," she whispers.
"She said he had to leave the country. I guess he really had to leave everything," I say, not sure who I am trying to convince more, Lucy or myself.
"He didn't leave his clothes, did he? Because that would add to my theory that he was murdered here and left the country on a really permanent basis."
We look at each other and jog down the hallway to our rooms. The mattresses are missing, but there are full sets of furniture, including headboards, desks and nightstands in each. For some reason, the mattress-free beds look odd, but I can't place why.
Holding her breath, Lucy swings the closet door open in the first room. It's empty except for a shoe shelf and a folded comforter that matches the decor. The second room is the same. The drawers are empty, but the warranty information is in the bottom drawer of each dresser for the entire set in each room. Lucy quirks a brow but doesn't say anything. The linen closet is full of sheets that match each bedroom.
"I'll call Ms. Haas and ask about all this in the morning," I say, plopping down on our new couch.
Lucy plops down beside me. "Or, we can stay on the couch tonight and wait for Mr. Europe to come haunt us. If he doesn't show up tonight, maybe...don't call."
I look over at Lucy. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the apartment. There's no TV or electronics, but given what we'll be paying for rent and the fact that we won't have to buy any furniture, electronic goodies will be something we can easily afford.
"I'm probably jinxing it or something, but let's go put away our clothes," Lucy says, hopping up to grab her duffel bags. We dropped everything when our jaws hit the floor, so it's all still sitting right inside the entrance.
We easily decide who will get each bedroom; one has a bolder color scheme so I let Lucy have it. I grab the comforter from my new closet and we wrap ourselves up on the couch together. I pull out my tablet and we watch Ryan Reynolds and his wacky antics with Sandra Bullock. We giggle together like we did in college until it's late and we nod off.
We sleep through the night without interruption from Mr. Europe.
Wednesday after work, the movers leave everything behind in the shithole except for our beds and the TV. When we get everything to the new apartment, I realize why the beds looked weird. The beds are doubles, which look too small in such big rooms, but fit our mattresses perfectly.
"This is getting scary weird," Lucy says to me when one of the movers slides her mattress onto her new frame and the thing settles in perfectly.
I really don't want to think about it, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially if it's a dead gift horse. "Well, we'll just have to thank Mr. Europe. Let's buy some champagne and leave it out for him tonight."
Settling in takes no time at all and we eat ordered-up lunch at our new table, on our new dishware, which we put in the new dishwasher when we're done. We're both blown away by another service offered at the apartment- the security desk downstairs will accept your food for you so that you don't get strangers knocking at your door. We never meet the guy who delivers our chicken marsala, but we do meet Teddy, the security guard who brings our food to our door. He's cute and Lucy flips her hair, our signal that she's calling dibs.
I just laugh to myself. I'm not interested. I have a ghost to purge - the possibly worrying Mr. Europe not withstanding - before I start looking for a relationship.
The move took little energy and even less to unpack, so I'm pretty happy. At least until Thursday evening, anyway. It's a huge city, so what are the chances I see Cy Epson strolling toward me as I come home late from work?
I got stuck at my desk on a last minute project and decided to just stay until it was done. Finishing it will clear my morning so I won't have to worry about a deadline. It will also look good for my new bosses, I figure, especially after that extended lunch on Monday. As a result, it's nearly seven thirty before I get off the subway and walk to the front doors of my new apartment.
Right in front of me is Cy Epson, a baseball cap pulled low enough to obscure his eyes. But I'm not dense. I know exactly who I'm staring at. And I'm staring. Even as he tries to open the door for me, I'm staring. But he hasn't really looked at me yet, so maybe he doesn't recognize me from The Tap.
I continue to stare as we both check our mail and grab the same elevator. Okay, so he clearly lives here or something, otherwise, he wouldn't have a mailbox key.
I get off the elevator first and he stays on, going to a higher floor.
Lucy's reading on the couch when I come in. "You finish your project?"
"Yes," I say, my voice coming out high and reedy.
"Leftovers in the fridge," she says, tilting her head half an inch toward the kitchen.
"Sure."
"Finally meet our ghost, Sare-bear?"
"What?" I pull my head out of the fridge in confusion.
She purses her lips and half-smiles. "Your one-word answers and weird tone of voice have me wondering if you saw a ghost and you just don't want to tell me."
I start to speak, my eyebrows pushed so far together my face hurts. But Lucy cuts me off.
"Don't worry. This place is too swanky to leave just because Mr. Europe showed up in the shower or something. Ghost or no ghost, we're not moving."
"What about celebrities?" I ask, pulling the frozen margarita mix out of the freezer and grabbing a spoon. I start eating that shit like it's ice cream.
"There's a celebrity living in our apartment? Is it Brad Pitt? 'Cause I am totally okay with that. Has he been living in your closet? You little ho. We share, remember?" She grins all sly-like while she chastises me.
"Not in our apartment, fangirl. And didn't you move on to Channing Tatum?"
"Back to Brad. I hear there's trouble with Angelina." She pauses and then says, "So, there isn't a hottie celebrity living in your closet... Is he or she masquerading as our security guard? Teddy is pretty hot."
"No. But Cy Epson lives here. On one of the floors above us."
"How do you know that?" she says suspiciously.
"He opened the lobby door for me, got his mail, and got into the elevator with me. I got out first."
"And you didn't think to look at which button he pushed when he got in the elevator? The damn things stay lit, Sarah!"
"I was a little thrown, Lucy!" I shout back. Honestly? That's what she focuses on? Cy Epson lives in our building, meaning Zach could come calling on his friend any time, and she wants to know what floor he lives on? Jesus!
"Well informed is well armed, baby."
I think about that and let it percolate before nodding in agreement.
"But I know how you can find out," she says, her lips twisting.
Lucy brings the doctored package home from work the next day. As planned, I get a text update every few seconds.
Getting the mail. Teddy's watching.
I could guess what would happen then. Lucy flirts with Teddy. Tells him this package was in her mailbox with an unreadable address, but it's clearly not hers. It just says "Epson, C." on it. She waits while he calls "Mr. Epson" to confirm he's home for a delivery.
He's home, she writes. So far, so good.
Then she shares an elevator with him, watching closely to see which floor he chooses in order to drop the package off.
10, she writes. I hit the tenth floor on the elevator I'm standing in. I've been holding it since she came into the lobby.
I get off the elevator before Teddy makes it to the tenth floor. His elevator had to stop at the sixth floor first to drop off Lucy.
I duck down the hallway and hide in the stairwell alcove until Teddy gets out of his elevator. There are fewer doors on this level; the apartments are larger. It makes my job easier. I glance at the door where Teddy knocks and then hide in the stairwell again.
I hear the elevator ding. Teddy's gone. I make my way to Cy's door and knock.
The door swings open.
"Forget something, Teddy?"
But i
t's not Cy. It's Zach.
And from the looks of it, a freshly showered Zach in nothing more than jeans that aren't even buttoned. I gulp down air, taking him in.
Chemistry was never a problem for us. Hell, he's always looked a little like Mark-Paul Gosselaar with the hair and his slight scruff. I used to call him Zach Morris as a joke in high school. Maybe that's where he got Moore from, I think randomly.
I feel my mouth go dry as I stand there staring at him. Without thinking, I lick my lips.
I watch Zach's chest jolt, like he's letting out a puff of air. I'm leaning toward him without even thinking about it. When my forward momentum brings me through the door, Zach closes it behind me and then wraps his arms around me from behind, his abs against my back, his arms crossing just under my breasts. His hands cross opposite and I look down to see what he's going to do with them. In this position, he could easily grab a handful of breast in each hand. But he doesn't. He just holds me, his arms tight around me, like he can't bear to not be touching me.
His warm breath tickles my ear. It's stuttering and shallow, taking me back to those summer evenings by the lake. What we had was romantic for a teenager. Looking back on it, it's still romantic. I recall his breath in my ear then, too. How he would hover over me on the bench seat of the truck. It took us a long time to move from petting to sex, and I always wondered how we managed to hold out so long.
Maybe it was because we always figured we had forever together. Why rush when we'll be spending the rest of our lives together?
Standing in the circle of his arms, I'm filled with a distantly familiar feeling- desperation. It's a little tight, turning in the confines of his hold, but I swivel so I can show him this new feeling. I want him to see how hungry I am for him. I want him to know exactly what I need right now.
His eyes meet mine and his breathing speeds up. He gives me a look as if to ask, "Are you sure?"
All I can do is nod, then I grab his head and pull him down to my waiting lips. My shirt is off in seconds, my legs wrapped around his waist. He carries me down the hall but I'm not paying attention to the apartment. We haven't stopped kissing, his tongue and mine sliding together, hot mouths searching.
He drops to the bed on his ass and I knock him all the way over. Our hands are everywhere, mouths moving from lips to neck to shoulders... I need to taste his skin all over. His need is the same. I don't recall removing them, but my pants are around my ankles and I'm trying to kick them off without breaking our kisses. I get one leg free and go to work on his pants.
Commando. Oh sweet baby Jesus.
I must have a weird look on my face because Zach says, "I just finishing in the shower when there was a delivery."
The thought of the delivery makes me halt my efforts to get his pants off.
I'm here for answers. I need to know what the hell he's doing here. Cy lives here...
I can't think anymore. His hand is rubbing against me, just lightly, making my clit ache so good. I finish pushing his pants off while he continues to rub against me. I'm a mess- so wet that his rubbing is making my panties damp, but I don't care. I can't make him stop. I don't want him to stop.
Without warning, he rolls me over so I'm below him, pushing my panties aside with his fingers, and rubbing himself against me as he slides down my body.
"I'm not..." I don't know what to tell him. I know what he's doing but I haven't gotten over my issues with this kind of intimacy. He's still the only guy who ever went down on me. It just felt wrong letting some other guy do something so intimate when I was spending all my spare time looking for Zach.
His lips play against the inside of my thigh and I shiver. Maybe he's just going to torment me. He still hasn't touched me there yet. Then he does and I nearly fly off the bed. His hands slap down on my thighs, pinning me in place, holding my legs apart so I can't clench them together. I wriggle to escape while simultaneously chanting, "Yes, yes, yes..."
He doesn't stop, just gives me more of those light glides of his tongue, using the flattened tip to play with the very sensitive pearl of my clit. He rims my wet channel with the tip of his tongue and I nearly go over. I have no idea how long he's been at it - I've lost all concept of time - but I can tell, between his mouth and how turned on I am, I'm drenched down there. I can feel moisture tickling down between the cheeks of my ass and I wiggle at the sensation.
The man's a mind reader, I guess, knowing exactly why I'm suddenly antsy. With his mouth still sucking and licking, his fingers creep down to slide through that escaping moisture. He plays for a beat or two, just sliding back and forth, until his fingers slide in deep into my pussy. He bends them forward and I cry out.
I'm so close that it's nearly painful. And scary. I'm about to come and the power of it is like watching a 747 aimed right at where I'm standing as it falls from the sky. But Zach's hands hold me in place. There's no escaping the coming explosion.
I thrash and cry out. I'm not even aware of what words I'm using when I scream, but I can feel one finger slide through that overabundance of moisture to circle around a place where no man has ever been. My eyes shoot open in shock, but not because it's uncomfortable. It's one of those things I'd never thought to try, but now that Zach has brought it up, I am more than happy to ride out the pleasure I'm getting from it.
"Oh god. Yes. Oh my god," I say, my chest heaving.
Zach moans and mumbles something into my pussy, then his finger slips inside, pressing and leaving, pressing further, then out again. He's all the way to his knuckle when I feel the fingers in my pussy begin to move.
While playing in my ass, he kept his other fingers still. It was just enough to stretch me and stroke me lightly inside. He's moving now and I'm gone. I break out in a sweat just before I come all over his hand, that 747 hitting me right between the legs and detonating up the lines of my body. I shake and twist, riding out the quaking pleasure his fingers and mouth are providing.
When I open my eyes, I see Zach, his chest heaving, his cock thick and heavy between his legs.
I reach for it with one weak hand, intent on repaying the favor, but he shakes his head, instead leaning away. I watch him open a drawer and pull out a snake of condoms, ripping one off and dropping the rest on the bed.
I help him rip it open. He lets me put it on, sliding my fists, one over the other, down his length until he's covered. He doesn't wait and I barely see him move before he's thrusting deep, burying himself inside.
I cry out in ecstasy and he opens his eyes enough to watch my face, just in case. It has to be obvious I'm euphoric, especially when I grip his ass and push him to move. I need more. I just came harder than I've ever come before, but I have his cock now, pumping hard and deep, and I need to come again.
I need it like I need air. Like I need him.
Oh god, I'm desperate.
I can feel the climbing sensation, the coiling deep inside as his thick cock slides in and out.
"Harder! More! Oh god, Zach," I nearly cry. "Please, please, please!"
His speed increases and his fingers move between our bodies gently flicking my clit.
Once more, I'm gone. In the haze of orgasm, I feel Zach freeze up only moments later and go deep for a few more strokes.
I scream at a pitch so high I can't even hear myself. I imagine it would have shattered the truck windows if he'd ever fucked me like this in high school. Probably better that he hadn't then. Would have been difficult to explain to our parents.
My brain makes these odd mental circuits while I float a few feet above my body. Zach has collapsed over me, his body still twitching along with mine, his cock still deep and nearly hard.
I can't move. I just lay there, my hand in his hair, taking in the bedroom we've ended up in.
Pretty standard for a guest room, I suppose. At least I hope it's a guest room and not Cy's. But no- there's a keyboard in the corner. We're definitely in Zach's room.
In Zach's room. At Cy's apartment, but in Zach's room.
"You l
ive here?" I pant.
He doesn't answer at first. Then he says, "It's Cy's. But I have a room here."
My brain is engaging too slowly because my first thought is We can see each other all the time now! We live in the same building!
"You answered the door for that package. Teddy must know you. Are you here a lot then?"
We can have sex all the time if you're here a lot. Oh god, I'm still twitching with aftershocks. Touch me again...
"Yeah. I'm here enough that I pay rent," he chuckles.
He realigns us so that my head is resting in the crook of his arm. I absentmindedly hook my leg over his thighs. I have my hand on his chest and I'm rubbing back and forth against the light covering of hair there. He takes a deep breath, his nose in my hair, and lets it out slowly.
He's here. He's here. In my building. I have a fabulous new apartment and my high school sweetheart - who has only gotten better in bed - lives just upstairs...
Then, the brain kicks in.
"I just moved in downstairs, Zach." Would he be surprised? Elated? Ready to fuck like rabbits whenever the mood struck? This guy who basically told the world via YouTube that I'm nobody special.
In response, he just says, "It's a nice place. Hope you like it."
"Yeah," I say, probably sounding suspicious, but who cares. "I'm wondering how a nobody like me can afford a place like this when it's clearly nice enough for two guys from Dark Fire."
I can feel his muscles tighten. "You have a good job, right?"
I sit up and walk to the in-suite bathroom. The light's still on from his shower earlier and I note the wet towel on the floor. I close the door, use the toilet, and wash my hands. When I open the door, it's to see him startle. He had his head against the door waiting for me to be done, leaning his weight against it. He has to right himself slightly or fall into me.
"Sarah," he starts.
I'm not sure what he's going to say. I mean, really, what can he say? I haven't even brought up the furniture, but I have a feeling he had a hand in that, too.
"Well, not that I had the same luxury for all those years, but you know where I am now. I'd move, but Lucy would kill me. I'm sorry I ended up in your fucked up life again, Zach."