Page 13 of Callan

“Yeah. You,” he snaps, attempting to touch the handrail again and release some of the tension lodged in his arms.

His chest glistens from the snowflakes meeting their creator in the sizzling warmth of his delicious skin.

I wish I could reach him and wipe off the melted snow from his bumpy pecs.

Am I horny or what?

Although, realistically, I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-fool pole.

He moves his menacing eyes to my hand.

“What were you doing with your phone?” he probes, his entitled attitude quickly getting on my nerves.

“I was about to call the cops, but then I thought, why not get a few snapshots of you and post them on my social media accounts? Have some fun, you know.”

I raise my free hand and slide it across an imaginary line.

“I already see the headlines. ‘A man sneaks into a Brooklyn apartment to have sex with a married woman.’ Stuff like that…” I say, my eyes locked with his.

It takes him a second to mull over how truthful my words truly are before anger engulfs his eyes.

“You can’t take pictures without my consent.”

My eyebrows snap up.

“Oh, really. Watch me.”

I lift my arm and click the shutter.

He swiftly acts like his bum has caught on fire.

He makes an honest effort to place both feet on the railing––what is he thinking?––and then starts sliding across the balustrade.

I’m fairly confident he won’t peel his hands off the bottom of the upstairs balcony.

He’s not that stupid.

There’s no way he could do that stunt and not fall over. Suffer some serious injuries.

But what do I know about this man?

He seemingly likes living dangerously and has a high threshold for complications. Although, it doesn’t appear that way right now.

He seems determined to get to me, even though he struggles to maintain his balance.

Despite being cautious and hating to take risks in general, I still use my phone camera as a weapon to make a point that he is in the wrong and also to have something to talk about with my best friend, Kayla.

She won’t believe this.

Truthfully, I don’t think anyone would believe that a man like him sort of slid down from the sky and started an argumentwith meon my balcony.

“Stop doing that, or I’ll sue you.”

“Oh, yeah. And what will you get from me? My credit card debt?”

He freezes only for a second before continuing his effort to find a perfect landing spot.

“You can’t do that,” I warn him when I notice the direction of his gaze. “Don’t even try it. It would be a shame to ruin that perfect body of yours,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

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