An image of Killian dripping wet with a towel slung low on his hips slammed into me. Jesus. I needed a long cold shower, and I had a feeling I’d need a lot of them. I tossed the cell onto the couch and looked at Luke. He held a key in his hand.
A car key. But it wasn’t my car key. This had one of those trunk buttons, lock, unlock buttons and a panic button.
“Savvy. Just take it. I’m not allowed to leave until you do.”
I walked over to the window and in my parking spot was a red car. Not shit brown. Not rusted and with a dent in the right side where some jerk hit me because he was texting on his phone.
“It’s not a big deal.” He tossed the key on the couch.
I spun, stomped as best I could in my bare feet, picked the key up and threw it back at him. The key landed on the floor in the hallway, because Luke was gone and his footsteps were on the stairs.
“Luke!” I leaned over the railing.
He glanced up, brows lifted. “Don’t throw them. I won’t pick them up and then you can explain to Kite why someone in your building is driving the car he gave you.”
“That’s the thing,” I yelled. “It’s not my goddamn car.”
He disappeared from view and I heard the front door open.
“Shit.” What had I gotten myself into?
I spun around to go back in my apartment when I saw Trevor leaning against the doorframe of his apartment. His arms were crossed, and his dark auburn hair was up in a bun. He wore a pair of jeans with a hole in the right knee, and the top button was undone as if he’d quickly yanked them on.
Shirtless, his six-pack and rock-hard chest were visible. No tattoos that I’d ever seen or piercings like Killian.
He smirked. “That bad that you have them running for their lives in the morning. Need some pointers, sweet cakes?”
“Very funny.” I rolled my eyes. He was clearly amused that I was in my pajamas out in the hallway shouting at some guy who was making his escape.
Trevor was a player. He had different chicks in and out of his place all the time, and he made no qualms about it being known he was a player. He was twenty-four, and his aspirations in life were getting laid, video games, and partying so he could find a girl to get laid. He didn’t need to find them though; they found him.
Despite his douchebagness, he was a good guy—as long as you weren’t sleeping with him, which I wasn’t and wouldn’t.
“Maybe I can help.” He pushed off the doorframe, left his door open and strode toward me. “Coffee made?” Then he added with a devilish grin, “How about breakfast? I’ll cook.”
“You always cook.”
He strolled into my apartment. “Because you suck at it.”
I sighed, shutting the door. He wanted breakfast because he was escaping his apartment. “Seriously, Trevor. Why do you bring them home? Why not go to their place?”
I had no attraction to him, but I appreciated his hotness like any girl with a libido would. He’d moved into the building on the same day as me six months ago. We met when I’d been carrying the tenth box up the stairs with red-rimmed eyes after the David fiasco and violently cursing the out of order elevator.
He’d been coming out of his apartment and saw me struggling. While a player, Trevor was also a gentleman and had jogged down the stairs, took the box from me and then insisted on getting the other five boxes from my car.
We’d been friends ever since. And not once did he try to hit on me even though he playfully flirted. It came out one day when we were on my couch watching a movie that he didn’t screw around with girls who lived in his backyard.
Made sense. He didn’t want to have to bump into them after he fucked them.
He also said, if I didn’t live here, he’d ask me out. And I told him it’s a good thing I lived here then because he’d face rejection otherwise. I didn’t date or sleep with a guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for one weekend.
So, we were apartment friends and he’d helped me look for a job, hence the idea of working at Compass. He’d met a dancer from the club, meaning he’d slept with her, and she’d told him about the great money she made there.
Trevor didn’t work, at least according to the government. He was a hacker and was probably pretty good at it considering all the people he had in and out of his apartment constantly. He also made fake IDs on occasion like the one he made me to get into the concert.
Trevor went straight to the kitchen, opened the drawer under the oven and took out a frying pan, setting it on the stove. He opened the fridge. “You have eggs?” I couldn’t afford eggs.
“No.” I shut my door and followed him into the kitchen.
“Bacon?”
If I couldn’t afford eggs, bacon was a hell no. “Nope.”
“Pancakes it is.” He reached up into the cupboard and took down an orange plastic bowl, then the “just add water” pancake batter, a banana sitting on the counter, and went to work on making banana pancakes.
“So who’s the guy running from you at seven-thirty in the morning? New boyfriend?” He peeled the banana, took a bite and said with his mouth full, “If you want, I can check him out. Make sure he doesn’t have a record or anything.”
I poured water into the top of the coffee maker. “Is that what you do for people?”
He smirked over his shoulder at me. “Babe, I do lots of things for people if the money is right. I’m a genius on the computer.”
I laughed. “A genius who is going to land himself in jail.”
He shrugged. “Life is too short to worry about the what ifs.” The fork hit the sides of the plastic bowl as he leaned his butt against the stove, bowl perched in his hand and against his naked chest while he stirred the batter.
“The guy’s security,” I said.
“For?” He stopped stirring, eyes widening. “Fuck. Strip club security?”
“No.” He chuckled, and I realized he’d been teasing. I put the carafe under the spout and flicked the on switch. “I got the job at Compass.”