Sitting in my living room, instead of sleeping, I stare at my phone.
This really could’ve waited until tomorrow, and he’ll return your call tomorrow. Go. To. Sleep!
When a message comes through, I grab the device and quickly open it.
You asked me to call. Is everything okay?
“Shit,” I mutter.
I type my reply and press send.
I’m sorry for bothering you like this. We can talk tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up.
While I program the number under MMM, another text comes through.
MMM: You’re not keeping me up. What’s wrong?
Samantha: I just wanted to ask you something.
MMM: What?
I hesitate for a moment before I type out the question.
Samantha: Do you do house calls?
MMM: Why?
Samantha: I’m worried the club is giving me a false sense of security, and while I think I’m getting better, I’m actually making no progress at all. I want to test the theory.
Feeling like I’m asking too much, I quickly add another text.
Samantha: Don’t feel obligated in any way. I’ll understand if you say no.
MMM: When do you want me to come over?
Samantha: When are you free?
MMM: Now.
My eyes go wide as saucers, and my heartbeat sets off at a crazy pace.
This is why I reached out to him. Chickening out will make me look childish. Before I can change my mind, I send my reply.
Samantha: Okay.
When I put my phone down on the coffee table, the thought crosses my mind that I’m going to be dead tired at work.
I wonder if Mr. Vitale will have an aneurysm if I call in sick?
Probably.
I get up from the couch, and when I walk into my bedroom, I see my reflection in the mirror.
“Shit!”
Darting to my closet, I yank out a pair of leggings and a T-shirt and quickly change out of my pajamas. I pull my brush through my hair, and looking semi-decent, I head back to the living room.
Unable to sit, I stalk up and down, my eyes darting to the front door every few seconds.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates with an incoming message, and I almost tackle the coffee table to get to the device.
MMM: I’m coming up the fire escape, so I don’t give any of your neighbors a heart attack.
My eyes dart to the window, and feeling nervous as hell, I go to open it. A moment later, a black figure appears, and as he climbs into my living room, I begin to think I have some kind of death wish.
My mystery man straightens to his full length, then our eyes lock.
Yep, I’ve just let a stranger into my apartment. I’m officially insane.
He doesn’t try to move closer, but instead asks, “How are you holding up?”
Hearing the gentle tone of his voice helps ease some of the nerves spinning in my stomach.
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.
He takes a step closer, and it has my heart rate spiking. When he’s within reaching distance, he holds his hand out to me.
I swallow hard on my anxiety, but as I place my hand in his, I feel the same sense of comfort with him I felt at the club.
I have made progress!
The confirmation has a smile spreading over my face. “It’s not a false sense of security.” My eyes meet his. “I’m making progress.”
His eyes crease at the corners as if he’s smiling back at me and I suddenly hate the stupid ski mask.
“If I promise to ignore you in public and keep your identity a secret, will you take the ski mask off?”
Letting go of my hand, he shakes his head. “It’s the only rule I have.”
I sigh but don’t push him further. “Okay.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, “Is it against the rules to meet here?”
Again, he shakes his head. “Is that what you want?”
I’m not sure.
Moving around him, I walk to one of the couches and take a seat. “I’m in two minds about it.”
He sits down on the other couch, then murmurs, “I’m okay with whatever you decide.”
Glancing a the kitchen, I ask, “Would you like something to drink?”
He points at the ski mask. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
My gaze settles on the coffee table between us, and I consider which option would work best for me. Here or the club.
I won’t have to take the subway every other night.
“I think I’d like to meet here,” I say.
“You have my number. Just text me when you want me to come over.”
“Will your boss be okay with it?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I own Paradiso.”
Holy shit.
He is the boss.
I gape at him for a moment. “You’re the owner?”
He nods and chuckles at my surprised reaction.
“Okay…wow…” A frown forms on my forehead. “In that case, I have a complaint.”
“What?”
“Seriously, you could’ve chosen better masks.”
Laughter bursts from him. “You really hate the balaclavas.”
“A lot.” Not wanting to insult him any further, I change the subject. “I’m sure you’re busy and don’t have time to spare. Why did you agree to meet with me?”
“I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong again.” He rests his forearms on his thighs and links his fingers. “It’s clear you’re dealing with something traumatic, and I want to help.”
“That’s really kind of you.”
He glances around my apartment, then asks, “What are your plans going forward? It will help if I know what to expect from future meetings.”
Hoping he’ll go along with everything, I reply, “After I manage to lie on the bed with you in the room for at least ten minutes, I’d like to try it with you lying beside me.”
Without even thinking about it, he agrees. “Okay. What then?”
“I’d like to try hugging you.”
He nods.
“That’s all I have for now.”
There’s a moment’s silence, then he asks, “You opened up a little to me earlier. Do you want to try telling me more about what happened?”
Instantly, my muscles tighten, and my anxiety spikes a little. “I don’t know about that. I don’t want to burden you with the details.”
“It won’t be a burden, Samantha. Maybe if you talk about it, it will help.”
“I haven’t told anyone.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can.”
“As long as you know I’m here whenever you feel like talking.”
I give him a thankful smile. “I appreciate it very much.”
He checks the time on his wristwatch, then says, “It’s almost three-thirty. You better get some sleep.”
I let out a groan before chuckling. “My boss is going to kill me.”
“Hopefully, he doesn’t.” My mystery man gets up and walks to the window.
“Thank you for coming over,” I say as I rise to my feet.
“You’re welcome.”
When he disappears down the fire escape, I move closer and shut the window.
Feeling like tonight went really well and hopeful about our future meetings, I walk to my bedroom and flop down on my bed.
“Ugh, why do I have to work? Why couldn’t my family be stinking rich so I can sleep in?”
