Standing slightly behind him, I took advantage of the view. I swore the man was made of nothing but broad shoulders and smooth muscle, the defined lines visible through his shirt. The sliver of a white Calvin Klein band showing above the waistband of his pants was enough to send my thoughts straight to the gutter.
I swallowed. “The sun’s still up, buddy.”
“I’ve been expecting you to file your complaint. Thing is, I get more corrupting done at night if I work out during the day. Don’t want to disappoint those good Christian women.”
The thought that he was sleeping with other women made my gut twist. Nor could I stop a rush of irritation any time Valentina even mentioned Aleksandra’s name. Her face annoyed me, and just the idea she had her French-tipped nails anywhere near Christian made my stomach burn. Gosh, maybe I was getting an ulcer. I reminded myself to make an appointment with my GP.
“I’ve yet to see you even use the gym, anyway,” he noted.
“That’s because I only run when something’s chasing me.” The doors slid open, and I stepped out, hitting him with one of my bags. “Just stay away from the pool, and everything will remain civil. Capiche?”
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Wouldn’t dare to ruin your day of lounging on a chaise with your pool boy on call.”
“Careful, Christian.” I pouted. “Keep saying sweet things to me, and I might think you like me.”
“Dormiste con ella, tú cerdo!”
Slap.
Chad blocked another incoming slap to his face by grabbing his wife’s wrist. “Fue un accidente, querida!”
I scoffed.
“Un accidente? Tu polla no se deslizó dentro de ella, idiota!” Chloe slapped him with her free hand.
I jumped at the loud clap of thunder that seemed to rock the apartment building. Setting my needle and thread on the living room floor where I was sitting, I got to my feet and padded to the window. The sky was dark, though the glow of city lights caught on the menacing clouds rolling in.
Chloe and Chad were now ripping off each other’s clothes while professing their undying love for each other.
I flipped the channel.
The weatherman’s words were dubbed over in Spanish, but I didn’t even need to try and decipher what he was saying because the red cloud on his radar that was swallowing up Manhattan was clear enough.
I stood in front of the TV in an oversized t-shirt and lace boyshorts, with a cool rush of anxiety running through me. I wasn’t a fan of storms; they were unpredictable and destructive. They made me feel as small and weak as a little girl.
I hesitantly sat back down and picked up the dress I’d been hemming. Thunder rumbled across the sky, and I pricked my finger on my needle. With annoyance, I dropped my things. Took a deep breath.
It was just a little storm. No big deal.
My heart jumped at the crack of lightning right outside my window, and that was when the lights turned off. The lampposts on the street flickered and went dark.
No.
I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the generator to kick on. We had to have a backup generator, right? It was the twenty-first century, for goodness’ sake.
But the lights weren’t turning on.
And the dark was closing in.
In. Out.
In. Out.
The floorboards creaked behind me.
“I’m not going to hurt you, little girl.”
My lungs iced over.
There’s nobody there. There’s nobody there. There’s nobody there.
“I just want to play with you.”