Sitting up, I stared at my door. Pretend to be asleep. Ignore her. Fuck, was I that desperate to avoid contact?
Scratching the back of my head, I approached the brass knob. Opening it, I caught Marina off guard; she startled at my sudden appearance, not expecting me to answer. I was surprised by my actions, too.
“What's up?” I asked. It sounded casual, but I was a vortex, sucking at her luscious figure and eating up the trembling edge of her unsure smile.
In spite of her weak grin, she still managed to glow. “I don't know how busy you are, but uh... look. It's been almost a week. I really should be handing my landlord that rent check—the one you guys promised?”
Blinking, I leaned on the side of the entryway. “Right. That whole situation. Guess your stuff is still there and everything?”
“Yeah. I don't want to be a pain, but could you give me a ride? I can call a moving company and find some storage on my own.”
“No.” Pushing off the wall, I slid past her. Even at that distance, a hint of her sweet scent infiltrated my nose. The familiar urge to shove her against the wall and hear her bones rattle slid through me. My palms were sweating; I kept walking. “I'll handle it. It was part of the agreement.”
Her shadow followed me. Marina was stepping lightly, she'd gotten better at sneaking around. Was she practicing to be an assassin, or had she improved because we'd been avoiding each other?
“Uh, alright,” she said. Lifting her purse from a kitchen chair, she slid into her black jacket. “I don't mind helping.”
“You can help by telling me how much money you need.” My car keys swung on my finger, I dropped them into my pocket and buttoned up my coat. It was very wet and dull outside. The big windows of my apartment displayed the scene like a black and white movie.
“Twelve hundred should do it,” she said. “Make it out to Sanfred Remar. He's the building owner.”
As if I'd be stupid enough to write a check. “Stay here,” I said. Maneuvering back to my room, I bent by my headboard. Removing the panel, I reached around my Ruger.
The stacks of money bumped and grazed over my seeking fingers. Yes, laugh at me. I literally keep money under my mattress.
I heard movement in the hall. “Stay out there,” I shouted, grabbing up the bills and thumbing them.
“I am,” Marina assured me, but I kept shooting my eyes up at the door. I didn't want her knowing where I kept my gun.
Replacing the panel, I brought the thin stack of money into the kitchen. I thought she'd comment, but she just stood by my elbow as I pulled an envelope from the drawer.
Wrapping the cash in a sheet of paper, I put it inside and hoped no greedy mailmen would try and open it. “Do we need an address on this?”
“I'll leave it in his drop-box in the office, but just to be safe...” She reached over and put her fingers on the envelope. I let her take it, offering her the pen. Her writing was cramped, worse than mine. It made me smile. “Stamps?” she asked, flicking those glistening brown eyes up at me.
Retrieving one, I licked it quickly. It tasted awful. The only thing I want to put my tongue on is her delicious *, I lamented silently.
Marina was staring at me, curiosity on her face. She was wondering what I was thinking about. If I told her, would she flare up and blush?
Shaking myself, I stamped the envelope and offered it back to her. She took it, but I held on—it was as close to touching her as I'd come in days.
Her lips twitched, a silent secret.
Tugging the paper away, she put it in her purse. “So,” she said, like the moment was all in my head. “Trip time?”
“Trip time,” I agreed. I opened the front door, waving her into the hall. She passed close to me, her breeze stirring the tiny hairs on my arms. My eyes fluttered, stomach tightening as I realized I could easily close the gap and kiss her.
Calm down! I told myself. But she made it so hard—she made every inch of me hard.
My legs carried me towards the elevator. How quickly I'd stopped caring about the cameras.
Standing inside the moving box, I felt my oxygen begin to vanish. Marina replaced it, flooding my lungs just by standing nearby.
Her hands were in her pockets, chin buried behind the collar of her jacket. She was ready for a blizzard. I wanted to be the storm that swept her up.
I thought about the night I'd met her. We'd stood here, in this very place. Her body against mine, her soft curls of hair grazing my cheek.
It had been torture then.
It was torture now.
The 'ding' was my savior. I shoved through the sliding doors, power walking towards my car. Marina climbed inside seconds after I'd already had the engine growling. My anxiousness was invading her, too. I could tell by how she shot me furtive glances, her knees glued together.
We'd had many conversations in my car. It was a fucking therapist's office for everyone, I swear. But today, Marina didn't fight to clear the air. She didn't think up a topic or force any conversation.
This time, as we drove down the slippery, shiny streets of New York, Marina stared silently out the window.