I pulled a set of keys from the bag slung over my shoulder, and with a little forceful coercion and a heavy clunk, the lock gave and I pushed the door open. I was greeted with the smell of musty air and old books, my favorite scent in the whole world. I moved to take a step over the threshold, my heart beating hard and furious with excitement, when a hand on my arm stopped me.
“Hold up a sec,” murmured Decker. Suddenly my legs were swept out from under me, and I couldn’t contain the squeal that left my lips. I was drawn up against Decker’s firm chest as he carried me into the store. Oh my, he was so…hard and warm and did I mention hard? And he smelled good, like a mixture of musk and soap. I had the overpowering urge to nuzzle my nose into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. Before I had a chance to become the kooky, man sniffing screwball, Decker dropped me to my feet.
“What the heck was that?” I exclaimed, embarrassed by the breathlessness in my voice. Decker was grinning at me like he had just performed an outstanding trick that warranted a treat.
“Dunno, just seemed like the right thing to do, you know. Carry you over the threshold,” he explained.
I tried really hard not to laugh, failing miserably when something between a snort and a cough fell from my lips. “That’s when you get married, you big goober,” I said, giving that hard sculpted chest a quick smack. My gaze lingered on that wide expanse of Decker territory a little too long, and when I finally returned my eyes to his, satisfied male pride was etched into his features. With a not so subtle roll of my eyes, I turned away to inspect my new home. It was dark inside, the only light filtering through the grimy front window. The area was big and dusty. It needed a fresh coat of paint, but the bookshelves looked sturdy and were still full of books, just as the real estate agent had promised. I had not only purchased the building, but everything that came with it. This was all mine, all those lovely old books. I sighed. “Damn, I love that smell.”
“Seriously? It smells a little like wet socks and a lot like my grandma’s shitty old apartment, and she’s a hoarder with a house full of rats.” My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step away from the darkness before me and back towards Decker. I hated rats. No, hate wasn’t enough. Loathed, spurned, detested, revolted, my list of synonyms could go on all day. Me and rats, we had issues.
“You think there are rats in here?” I whispered.
“Without a doubt. You should get an exterminator in here, pronto.” Decker moved forward, and I quickly scampered after him, my senses on high rat alert. When he stopped abruptly, I ran right into his back. I put my hands up to break my fall and encountered, yet again, hard, firm muscled body. He had to work out, nobody accumulated that much deliciously rigid territory on their body without the help of a gym. Decker glanced over his shoulder with an arched brow and I took a quick step back, removing my pervy hands from his body.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
He grinned. “Not a problem, I’m used to women wanting to touch all this.”
“Uh huh. I’m sure you are.”
I turned away to do a visual sweep of something other than the conceited male perfection in front of me. To the left was a small counter with an old fashioned till sitting behind it. The kind with big noisy push buttons and a drawer that pops open with a loud ding. Behind the counter was a closed door, which I assumed led to the apartment upstairs. Beside the door was a light switch, and when Decker reached over and flicked it, nothing happened.
“I’ll go check the fuse box.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said quickly, following hot on his heels as he made tracks for a dark hallway at the back of the store.
“Scared of the dark, Country?” Decker chuckled.
“No, but I hate rats, and I’m not ready to deal with them right now.”
Decker used the light from his cell phones screen to lead the way.
“How exactly would one be ready to deal with rats?” he asked.
“I dunno, a gun at the very least,” I whispered.
He turned and looked at me, I guess to see if I was joking. He wouldn’t find any. I was dead serious. A gun would be the perfect way to get rid of rats.
“You would shoot a little rat?” he asked a little shocked.
“Hell, yes. I hate rats!”
“It’s just like a little cute furry rodent. What about Mickey Mouse?”
I rolled my eyes, unable to believe we were debating rodents and animated cartoon characters in the middle of a dark hallway.
“Ummm, hello. He’s a mouse, not a rat.”