For A Good Time, Call... Read Online Free Page A

it
business?
    I
got back to my apartment around seven-thirty, a huge bag of panties
in my hand. A good thirty pairs. It would be enough to get me
started. See how things went. It if was going to be worth it in the
long run.
    Each
step up the walk, into the elevator, across the hall filled me with
more and more dread. I never stopped home. Not even to change shoes
when my feet were bleeding. Not when it was dark out. Dark in my
apartment. Dark in my head.
    But
I couldn't exactly go out to a bar with a bag full of unmentionables.
    I
unlocked my locks, flicking on the light, ignoring the strangling
sensation in my throat. It was fine. I was fine. I just needed to
drop the bag in my room and head right back out. I had just closed my
closet when there was a banging on my door. Loud, insistent, off the
hinges banging.
    My
heart flew into my throat. That was such a corny, overused expression
and I hated even thinking it. But that was exactly how it felt. It
felt like it had pounded free of my rib cage and shot up into my
esophagus. That was what dread felt like. The kind of dread that came
from banging doors with monsters on the other side. The kind of
dread that came from experience.
    I
backed up into my bedroom, my legs catching the end of my bed and
sending me flying onto it. I was trapped. There was no other way out
of the apartment. And that was stupid. That was something that I had
never considered before. The need for a fire escape. Stupid, stupid
me.
    “Open
up, Sixteen,” a vaguely familiar voice called. Not the voice I
was afraid of. Not the one that brought back the memories. The one of
my pain in the ass noisy neighbor. What the hell could he possibly
want?
    “Fuck
off,” I called, walking into the living room, watching the door
like it might push inward at any moment. He was big enough to make
that happen.
    “Open
up or I'll take it off it's hinges,” he said and I knew he
meant it.
    “With
what tools?” I called back, thinking of the hammers still in my
sink.
    “Awe
sugar, it's amazing what can be done with a screwdriver if you know
what you're doing.”
    Oh,
hell.
    “Fine,”
I grumbled, sliding the locks, but leaving the chain on and pulling
the door open wide enough to see him through. “What do you
want, Fourteen?”
    “Well
here's the thing,” he started, his light blue eyes watching me
through the three inch gap. “some crazy bitch broke into my
apartment and stole all my hammers.”
    Frustrated,
I grabbed the chain and pulled it. Mostly because I wanted to really
see him when I put him in his place. “It's not breaking in if
the door isn't even locked,” I said, opening the door up fully.
    “Think
the law would see it that way?” he asked.
    “I
think the law would see your construction noise at six in the morning
to be a complete violation of the noise ordnance,” I countered.
    “Nicely
done,” he said, nodding and I thought he was going to back off.
But then his arm shot out and slammed into the door, pushing it and
me out of his way and stepping into my foyer.
    “Get
out,” I practically growled at him. Out. He needed to get out.
I never let anyone into my personal space. No one. And yet there he
was, a huge mass of man that made the space feel cramped and
claustrophobic. I needed him out. Out. Out. Out. Who did he think he
was barging into my personal space? A little voice in the back of my
mind whispered that maybe I shouldn't have barged into his first
then. But I told that nosy bitch to stuff it.
    “I
want my stuff,” he said, watching my hand as it went to my neck
and stayed there. Unable to really suck in a breath properly.
    “Fine,”
I said. “They're in the kitchen sink. Just take them and go.”
    He
nodded at me, walking into the kitchen and I heard the scraping as he
pulled the hammers out of the sink. “You did a lot of work in
here,” he said, sounding impressed. “It came out nice,”
he said, coming back toward me. But he didn't turn and go for the
door. He walked