“Bring it,” I shoot back, dropping the pen and sitting back in the chair. “He’s probably some sloppy middle-aged asshole who can act like a badass on the Internet. And even if he isn’t, I can probably kick his ass.”
“You’re kinda cute when you get jealous,” she tells me, grabbing her phone and pushing back my chair so she can stand. Before I even have a chance to set her ass straight, she grabs my beer and heads for the door like she’s leaving.
“Hey, now…”
“I’m gonna go flirt with my Marine some more,” she tells me. “Maybe I’ll send him some ass shots next and see what he thinks.”
I follow her. “I am not jealous.”
“Bullshit,” she says, half-laughing. “If you aren’t a jealous man, I’m the fucking queen of England. You barely tolerate me and you’re getting all pissy because I’m talking to some guy several states away.”
“I didn’t say I’m not a jealous man, I said I’m not jealous about this. This isn’t jealousy. This is me not wanting you to be murdered. I’m your neighbor, I’d have to talk to the cops; it would be a nuisance for me.”
“Uh huh,” she murmurs, apparently unconvinced as she turns the knob and opens my door. “So, that was a firm no on the lock?”
“Don’t waste your money.”
She nods, stepping outside. Glancing back at me over her shoulder, she gives me a wink and a cute little smirk. “Thanks for the beer.”
Chapter Four
Vince
Instead of spending my evening off brainstorming and plotting how I’m going to take down Mateo, I waste the whole goddamn night researching Carly’s stupid “Marine.” Unlike Carly, he was smart enough to use separate accounts for his sleazy bullshit. Without access to private investigators or Mateo’s many resources, unfortunately I can’t crack his actual identity. I’m suspicious of how well his tracks are covered, though. I’m suspicious that the account winked into existence not too long ago. Overall, I’m not sure if this asshat is a Marine or a criminal looking for easy marks, but I am sure either way I don’t want her talking to him.
So I make some shit up.
I don’t like lying, but I’m doing it for her own good. Someone needs to scare some sense into this chick and it seems like it’s up to me. I copy and paste some random asshole’s criminal history onto Mr. Virginia’s work-up, print out some of his actual interactions on the website she found him on (he’s still a horny asshole, I’m just beefing it up to scare her a little) and scare up some ugly-ass pictures so she doesn’t go dreaming up some fantasy for this guy. He just had to go and say he’s a fucking Marine.
I wonder if she likes that. I mean, I’m damn sure not on his side of the law if he is an actual Marine. Does she like the good guys, out to make the world a safer place?
Does she really have kinky break-in fantasies?
Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna let my mind stray there. I do not fuck where I sleep, period. She’s got the honey-haired, blue-eyed, helpless dumbass thing going on like Mia did—that’s the only reason I’m getting my signals mixed here. Last time a girl like her was trying to get herself murdered on my watch, it was my problem.
Once I have an appropriately intimidating dossier put together, I head over to her apartment and knock on her door. She doesn’t answer. I know she’s in there because the light is on. I try the door, but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked; I didn’t tell her I’d come back tonight. I didn’t plan to anyway, I figured I’d see her outside with Gus, or she’d show up on my damn doorstep needing a light bulb changed in the next couple days. But here I am, standing in the cold like an asshole.
Since it apparently doesn’t freak her out, I go back to my own apartment and retrieve my tools, then I knock one more time. When she doesn’t come to the door, I go ahead and let myself in.
I don’t know why that doesn’t freak her out. It should. She may flit over to my apartment and pester me like I’m not, but I’m a complete fucking stranger, one with knowledge of how to pick locks, and this girl is not appropriately worried about that. Just because I live in her apartment building doesn’t mean I’m not a bad guy. And not only does she pester the shit out of me, she invites herself alone into my apartment and talks about her break-in fantasies.
I mean, come on. Have a little fucking sense. Just a little.
I take a seat on her couch to wait for her. Once I’m inside I understand why she isn’t coming to the door. She’s in the shower. Singing. I can’t help smirking. Her voice isn’t bad, but she won’t be winning a Grammy anytime soon.