The Arrogant Architect Read Online Free Page B

take my time. Enjoying the sights of this
beautiful little town that I love.
    My phone rings. “Hey, Dad.”
    “Hey.” He sounds good and the positivity in his voice makes
me smile. “How’s my girl?”
    “I’m okay. Just walking home.”
    “Why?” His voice is mixed with concern, and I automatically
calm him down. “It’s a long story, but nothing’s wrong.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes,Dad.”
    “Okay. Hey, the street market is this weekend, if you wanna
still go?”
    “Of course I do. I’d love that.” I know how much my dad
loves going. This market only opens every six months. To him, it’s a day he
loves, and with everything he has gone through, he deserves it. Plus, I like
our time together.
    “Oh, good. Would you text me when you’re home?” he asks.
    “Of course.”
    We hang up and what would normally be a downtime after a
long day, when I’m all alone, I instead find myself laughing out loud imagining
King on that freakin’ teal bike.
    “What’s so funny?” King asks, pulling up next to me in his
ridiculous white whatever-it-is car.
    You’ve got to be kidding me.
    “Oh my God, are you following me?” I screech.
    “Never.”
    Rolling my eyes.“So what, you’re just out trolling around?”
    “I’m sorry, could you come a little closer? I can’t hear
you.”
    I look over at him, still wearing a suit at this time of
night. Maybe this is a different one, but regardless he’s the polar opposite of
me. Standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk as his car is stopped, I
look at the way his arm is hung over the steering wheel and his hand tattoo
draws my eyes right to it. Then there it is, that silence, where he stares,
looking at me, making me squirm inside and the feeling makes me…my thoughts
trail off, not even wanting to admit to myself what the feeling does to me.
    “Good night, King.”
    “Ahh, come on. Why are you always running from me?” He
creeps his car along at my pace.
    “Why are you always following me?”
    Then he does it again, he evades the question, and I ignore
him, putting my ear buds in, zoning him out. As I come up to the street that I
have to cross to get to my apartment, he approaches the light while I stand and
try to ignore his car waiting. I don’t want to push the walk button, ‘cause if
I do, I’ll have to cross in front of him. But what’s the fucking difference, if
I do or if I don’t? He’s already undressed me with his eyes.
    Walking home with my head held high, the music drowns
everything out. That is until I step foot on the next sidewalk and the noise of
his car speeding off, going from zero to one hundred in seconds, turns my head.
    I watch his taillights for a brief moment, and then like
that, they’re gone. But I’m sure it won’t be long until he’s back. Looking at
the bike rack, the teal bike is gone. Thank God he got the point. Going inside,
I grab my mail, and as I filter through it walking upstairs, I am stopped dead
in my tracks. Parked outside of my door is a pink bike, exactly like the teal
one, with another huge bow on it. There is no note or card. Only this goddamn
bike. How does he know which apartment I live in?
    Looking at the thick frame, it’s so odd-shaped, nothing like
what I’d pick out. There is a small logo on it that reads Stromer .
    As I go inside, I leave the bicycle alone and lock my door.
My dad texts me and I let him know that I am home safely. Grabbing a beer from
the fridge, I plop down on the couch and Google the bike, gawking and spitting
my beer out as the ten thousand dollar price registers.
    Clicking on a link, I read about it and find out it’s
actually electric. Then get lost in a barrage of YouTube videos watching how
freaking crazy these things are. Couriers in New York use them all the time and
tons of celebrities endorse them. Which I find hard to believe as bikes should
be used for exercise, or at least that’s why I ride mine.
    Sitting back, I wonder why he bought another bike and