chest, and a daunting glare.
“I’ve got something to take care of. I grabbed your keys. I’ll lock the door behind me.” He paused and raked my body from top to bottom with a sharp, haunted perusal. It chilled me, even under the hot water.
“I won’t be gone long. Promise me, you won’t go anywhere or open the door for anyone.” His forearm rippled as he tightened his grip on the shower door. God, the muscles that man sported. What a freakin’ turn-on.
“Um, ok.” I made a face. “Bossy, much?”
Franklin didn’t appreciate my snarky remark. His Adam’s apple protruded, jaw tightened, brows pinched.
“Tatum. Promise me.”
“No problem.” Nothing to worry about. Jacob was the only one who ever knocked on my door. Him and the pizza delivery guy. Pretty sure neither of them would come by for a Sunday morning chit-chat.
He turned to leave, paused at the door, shook his head, then disappeared around the corner.
I wasn’t sure what to make of his mood shift. Reminded me of my father. Dad was the most loving, mild-mannered guy I’d ever known. But when it came to my safety, the gentle giant could crank up the protective dial to raging beast mode.
I emerged from the shower, wrinkled and rubber-legged. I threw on some mascara and lip gloss, fluffed my dark blond hair, and dug my favorite jeans from the dryer.
A hot pot of coffee awaited me on the kitchen counter next to a half finished cup. Black. It was darker than what I was used to but smelled divine. I paused before pouring cream into my mug and pictured Franklin in all his naked glory. No room for half-n-half in a body that physically fit—that void of fat.
I grabbed an apple and headed for the balcony. A cool breeze greeted me when I stepped outside. The sun made an honorable attempt to emerge from the fluffy billows of gray hanging in the sky. The usual hustle and bustle of Alki Beach on a Sunday morning was well underway, street and foot traffic already thick. A few brave, hardcore beach lovers stretched on oversized towels on the sand.
I loved my home. My view. Safety had never been a concern.
Until my neighbor and dear friend was brutally attacked.
Life could turn on a dime. My happy-go-lucky outlook? Yeah, that changed too. I used to study people in awe and wonderment. Now, I scrutinized each character. Sized them up. Judged by appearances which ones were most likely to commit heinous crimes. It sucked. It sucked bad.
I didn’t want to people-watch anymore.
I was about to go back inside when a figure caught my eye. Dark gray hoodie, dark sweats, aviator glasses.
Holy shit.
The man jogged along the footpath, stopped to tie his shoe, lifted his head, and looked directly at me. Was it my imagination again? He stared for a long time, then raised his hand and waved.
I froze, teeth half sunken in my fruit.
His wave morphed into a pointed finger. Then a fake pistol. He shot his fake pistol. At me.
Blood drained from my head and congealed in my feet. I couldn’t move.
He stood, then jogged away in the direction he’d come.
I screamed like a horror movie victim when something squeezed my shoulder.
Driven by pure adrenaline, acting on impulse, I whirled around and rammed my apple between Franklin’s baby blues.
Faster than I could process what’d happened, I was on the floor. Franklin had straddled me and I’d been completely decommissioned. Again, I found myself unable to move. Pinned to the floor, wrists bound, legs immobilized, lungs emptied.
“Fuck, Tate. What the hell?” He wiped apple mush from his face. He wasn’t out of breath, yet I couldn’t find mine.
“Hoodie man.” I pushed the words out between gasps for precious oxygen. “He was outside.”
Franklin was on his feet and peering over the balcony in a heartbeat. “Where? Which way?” He turned to look at me but I still couldn’t breathe.
As quick as he’d sent me to the floor, he pulled me to my feet. Damn, the man moved fast.
Blood managed to find its
“I’ve got something to take care of. I grabbed your keys. I’ll lock the door behind me.” He paused and raked my body from top to bottom with a sharp, haunted perusal. It chilled me, even under the hot water.
“I won’t be gone long. Promise me, you won’t go anywhere or open the door for anyone.” His forearm rippled as he tightened his grip on the shower door. God, the muscles that man sported. What a freakin’ turn-on.
“Um, ok.” I made a face. “Bossy, much?”
Franklin didn’t appreciate my snarky remark. His Adam’s apple protruded, jaw tightened, brows pinched.
“Tatum. Promise me.”
“No problem.” Nothing to worry about. Jacob was the only one who ever knocked on my door. Him and the pizza delivery guy. Pretty sure neither of them would come by for a Sunday morning chit-chat.
He turned to leave, paused at the door, shook his head, then disappeared around the corner.
I wasn’t sure what to make of his mood shift. Reminded me of my father. Dad was the most loving, mild-mannered guy I’d ever known. But when it came to my safety, the gentle giant could crank up the protective dial to raging beast mode.
I emerged from the shower, wrinkled and rubber-legged. I threw on some mascara and lip gloss, fluffed my dark blond hair, and dug my favorite jeans from the dryer.
A hot pot of coffee awaited me on the kitchen counter next to a half finished cup. Black. It was darker than what I was used to but smelled divine. I paused before pouring cream into my mug and pictured Franklin in all his naked glory. No room for half-n-half in a body that physically fit—that void of fat.
I grabbed an apple and headed for the balcony. A cool breeze greeted me when I stepped outside. The sun made an honorable attempt to emerge from the fluffy billows of gray hanging in the sky. The usual hustle and bustle of Alki Beach on a Sunday morning was well underway, street and foot traffic already thick. A few brave, hardcore beach lovers stretched on oversized towels on the sand.
I loved my home. My view. Safety had never been a concern.
Until my neighbor and dear friend was brutally attacked.
Life could turn on a dime. My happy-go-lucky outlook? Yeah, that changed too. I used to study people in awe and wonderment. Now, I scrutinized each character. Sized them up. Judged by appearances which ones were most likely to commit heinous crimes. It sucked. It sucked bad.
I didn’t want to people-watch anymore.
I was about to go back inside when a figure caught my eye. Dark gray hoodie, dark sweats, aviator glasses.
Holy shit.
The man jogged along the footpath, stopped to tie his shoe, lifted his head, and looked directly at me. Was it my imagination again? He stared for a long time, then raised his hand and waved.
I froze, teeth half sunken in my fruit.
His wave morphed into a pointed finger. Then a fake pistol. He shot his fake pistol. At me.
Blood drained from my head and congealed in my feet. I couldn’t move.
He stood, then jogged away in the direction he’d come.
I screamed like a horror movie victim when something squeezed my shoulder.
Driven by pure adrenaline, acting on impulse, I whirled around and rammed my apple between Franklin’s baby blues.
Faster than I could process what’d happened, I was on the floor. Franklin had straddled me and I’d been completely decommissioned. Again, I found myself unable to move. Pinned to the floor, wrists bound, legs immobilized, lungs emptied.
“Fuck, Tate. What the hell?” He wiped apple mush from his face. He wasn’t out of breath, yet I couldn’t find mine.
“Hoodie man.” I pushed the words out between gasps for precious oxygen. “He was outside.”
Franklin was on his feet and peering over the balcony in a heartbeat. “Where? Which way?” He turned to look at me but I still couldn’t breathe.
As quick as he’d sent me to the floor, he pulled me to my feet. Damn, the man moved fast.
Blood managed to find its
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