LUCY
"Maybe you should talk to him… ask why he finds you so interesting to look at," Harlen teases, chuckling in the company of two colleagues, who are my friends as well.
We are in the staffroom, getting rid of our aprons as work is closed for the day. It's almost 9 p.m.
"I second that," Vera says, my coursemate at the local college.
She hangs her apron on a nail, and when she turns to me, she is blushing. "You should be happy to have the attention of someone like that. Raymond pales in comparison to him."
I roll my eyes, folding my hands across my chest and leaning against the wall. In the hours that followed the incident with the bimbo and her minions, my friends had told me all about the Raymond who causes three women to ambush another: captain of the college basketball team, tall, with just the right height and muscles.
Vera had hounded me with his pictures online. Fine, quite alright—familiar, even, because he attends some of my classes too. We haven't spoken except for the one time he sat beside me and asked to see my notes.
Nothing much. It's surprising to connect that he has been the one sending me flowers.
But handsome as he is, he doesn't ring my bells—not that the bells exist anymore. Those lousy things died the same day I lost my child.
"Maybe he is just a creepy fellow that loves watching women," I finally say, the suggestion falling empty to the floor.
Harlen, for one, doesn't look convinced. But it is Amara who scoffs.
"You don't believe that yourself, do you?" She hangs her shoulder bag on her left shoulder, already amped to leave. "I, for one, think he likes you, but is too shy to approach."
Harlen laughs at this. "That man, Amara, doesn't look like a shy person."
"Most shy men don't look like they are shy, Harlen," Amara argues. "And besides, it's what makes the most logical sense. He is not a serial killer, as I once thought the first two times he came in, and he is not after our souls. He is just after Lucy's ass, but is too shy to say it… or tap it."
"Amara!"
Vera's scream and mine have no effect on the brown-skinned beauty, whose locks, rimmed with little gold bands, go all the way to her waist.
"What? I'm just saying it as I see it. I vote that you approach him yourself. I myself would love to watch the drama, maybe see such a hulk squirm."
A pause follows where her eyes become dreamy. "But have you stopped to imagine, Lucy, the throes of passion he could bring to you with that body of his when—"
I close my eyes, having had enough of the conversation. "Amara, I think we have had enough of your daydreams and fantasies. You can approach him yourself."
She scoffs. "I would have, if he had eyes for me." She waves at us. "See you tomorrow guys, I'm out!"
And with that, she sashays out of the room, the movement of her butt making Harlen watch like a puppy.
"When are you going to ask her out?"
Harlen is lost in whatever haze he is in, making Vera and me laugh. That laugh is what wakes him up.
"What?" he mutters, looking at us with narrowed eyes.
"I was asking when you will ask her out."
Harlen scoffs. "I don't know what you are talking about… and you know she likes that fellow from literature."
I roll my eyes. "Amara likes everyone. But you? I think she would be interested in you. Just give it a trial."
"I will… if you talk to the stranger."
"A bet!" Vera shouts, clapping her hands like an overexcited kid.
My nose twitches in annoyance. "I never agreed to that!"
My hands reach for my sling purse, gearing to leave before they trap me into something I have no way around. But Vera blocks the door, lips wide, hands stretched sideways.
"It's a bet! Come on, surely you want Harlen and Amara together. Put the boy out of his misery, will you? He is your friend."
Her eyes turn puppy-like, and before I know it, I'm snorting and saying:
"Okay then! It's a bet!"
After all, what could go wrong? It's just to say hello, right?
There wasn't a specification for how many talks I had to have with the stranger.
Only then does Vera shift from the door, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Surely, she will tell Amara this tonight.
Sighing, I say my goodbyes and walk out the door. I follow the hallways down to the last room, or rather a small space that houses the staircase to my apartment.
Just before I climb up, I notice that the back door—which I follow sometimes if I go to school, as it connects to the street immediately—is slightly open.
I frown. Did I forget to lock it?
I must have, I muse, sliding the bolt in place and locking the padlock in the lower rung.
Satisfied, I start up the stairs.
Just at the apex of that, at the base that would take me through the second flight of stairs, I see the stranger. He is right at my door.
What the hell! Did Vera's bet conjure him up?
In the well lit atmosphere, his startling forest-green eyes meet mine, and I know he has been waiting for quite a while.
But I am annoyed. What is this? Stalker 2.0?
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" My hand is already reaching for my phone, ready to use it if it comes to that.
"I'm not here to harm you."
His voice—gods, his voice—is a deep baritone, one that sends shivers down my spine, down to my heat.
"What… is your name?" I mentally curse myself for stuttering. "What are you doing here? Why have you been—"
"Tavric," he cuts in smoothly. "Won't you come up? I've been waiting a long time, and I'm thirsty."