"Floor five," he says without looking away from me.
His eyes fall to what little cleavage is peeking out of my shirt, and then he looks at the suitcase by my side. I press the button for floor ten. I should have worn a sweater.
"Moving in?" he asks, staring at my shirt again.
I nod, although I doubt he notices, considering his gaze isn't planted anywhere near my face. "What floor?" Oh, no, you don't.
I reach beside me and cover all the buttons on the panel with my hands to hide the illuminated 10th-floor button, and then I press every single button between floors five and ten.
He glances at the panel, confused.
"None of your business," I say. He laughs.
He thinks I'm kidding. He arches his dark, thick eyebrow. It's a nice eyebrow. It's attached to a nice face, which is attached to a nice head, which is attached to a nice body.
A married body. Asshole. He grins seductively after seeing me check him out—only I wasn't checking him out the way he thinks I was. In my mind, I was wondering how many times that body has been pressed against a girl who wasn't his wife. I feel sorry for his wife. He's looking at my cleavage again when we reach floor five.
"I can help you with that," he says, nodding toward my suitcase. His voice is nice. I wonder how many girls have fallen for that married voice.
He walks toward me and reaches to the panel, bravely pressing the button that closes the doors. I hold his stare and press the button to open the doors.
"I've got it." He nods as if he understands, but there's still a wicked gleam in his eyes that reaffirms my immediate dislike of him.
He steps out of the elevator and turns to face me before walking away.
"Catch you later, Sweet heart" he says, just as the doors close.
I step off, pull my phone out of my pocket, and open up my messages to Nate. I can't remember which apartment number he said was his. It's either 206 or 205.
Maybe it's 209? I come to a stop at 206, because there's a guy passed out on the floor of the hallway, leaning against the door to 206. Please don't let it be any other room. I find the message on my phone and cringe. It's 206.
Of course it is. I walk slowly to the door, hoping I don't wake up the guy. His legs are sprawled out in front of him, and he's leaning with his back propped up against Nate's door. His chin is tucked to his chest, and he's snoring. "Excuse me," I say, my voice just above a whisper. He doesn't move. I lift my leg and poke his shoulder with my foot. "I need to get into this apartment."
He rustles and then slowly opens his eyes and stares straight ahead at my legs. His eyes meet my knees, and his eyebrows furrow as he slowly leans forward with a deep scowl on his face. He lifts a hand and pokes my knee with his finger, almost as if he's never seen a knee before. He drops his hand, closes his eyes, and falls back asleep against the door.
Great. Nate won't be back until tomorrow, so I dial his number to see if this guy is someone I should be concerned about. "Adele?" he asks, answering his phone without a hello.
"Yep," I reply. "Made it safe, but I can't get in because there's a drunk guy passed out at your front door. Suggestions?"
"two-o-six?" he asks. "You sure you're at the right apartment?"
"Positive."
"Are you sure he's drunk?"
"Positive."
"Weird," he says. "What's he wearing?"
"Why do you want to know what he's wearing?"
"If he's wearing a pilot's uniform, he probably lives in the building.
The complex contracts with our airline." This guy isn't wearing any type of uniform, but I can't help but notice that his jeans and black T-shirt do fit him very nicely.
"No uniform," I say.
"Can you get past him without waking him up?"
"I'd have to move him. He'll fall inside if I open the door."
He's quiet for a few seconds while he thinks.
"Go downstairs and ask for Cap," he says.
"I told him you were coming tonight. He can wait with you until you're inside the apartment."
I sigh, because I've been driving for six hours, and going all the way back downstairs is not something I feel like doing right now
"Just stay on the phone with me until I'm inside your apartment."
I like my plan a lot better. I balance my phone against my ear with my shoulder and dig inside my purse for the key Nate sent me. I insert it into the lock and begin to open the door, but the drunk guy begins to fall backward with every inch the door opens.
He groans, but his eyes don't open again.
"It's too bad he's wasted," I tell Nate. "He's not bad- looking."
"Adele, just get your ass inside and lock the door so I can hang up." I roll my eyes. He's still the same over protective friend he always was.
I knew that moving in with him would not be good for our relationship, considering how fatherly he acted toward me when we were younger. However, I had no time to find a job, get my own apartment, and get settled before my new classes started, so it left me with little choice. I'm hoping things will be different between us now, though. Nate is twenty-five, and I'm twenty-three, so if we can't get along better than we did as kids, we've got a lot of growing up left to do.
I guess that mostly depends on Nate and whether he's changed since we last lived together. He had an issue with anyone I dated, all of my friends, every choice I made—even what college I wanted to attend.
Not that I ever paid any attention to his opinion, though. The distance and time apart has seemed to get him off my back for the last few years, but moving in with him will be the ultimate test of our patience. I wrap my purse around my shoulder, but it gets caught on my suitcase handle, so I just let it fall to the floor. I keep my left hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob and hold the door shut so the guy won't fall completely into the apartment.
I take my foot and press it against his shoulder, pushing him from the center of the doorway.
He doesn't budge. "Nate, he's too heavy. I'm gonna have to hang up so I can use both hands."
"No, don't hang up. Just put the phone in your pocket, but don't hang up." I look down at the oversized shirt and leggings I have on.
"No pockets. You're going in the bra."
Nate makes a gagging sound as I pull the phone from my ear and shove it inside my bra. I remove the key from the lock and drop it toward my purse, but it misses and falls to the floor. I reach down to grab the drunk guy so I can move him out of the way.
"All right, buddy," I say, struggling to pull him away from the center of the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt your nap, but I need to get inside this apartment."
I somehow manage to prop him up against the doorframe to prevent him from falling into the apartment, then I push the door open farther and turn to get my things.
Something warm wraps around my ankle. I freeze. I look down.
"Let go of me!" I yell, kicking at the hand that's gripping my ankle so tightly I'm pretty sure it might bruise.
The drunk guy is looking up at me now, and his grip sends me falling backward into the apartment when I try to pull away from him.
"I need to get in there," he mutters, just as my butt meets the floor.