Page 1 of Cream and Punishment
one
Protip:makesureyour ancient relic of a car still has some life left in it before moving out of your sister’s apartment.
Ultra super pro tip: don’t pack your panties and bras in a clear tub when you move, even if it’s the perfect size.
Trust me on that one. The Uber driver had now seen some granny panty monstrosities he could never unsee.
I heaved a sigh, trying not to think about the hit my passenger rating probably took from enlisting my poor, unsuspecting driver to be my personal mover. And then blinding him with my ratty underthings clearly visible in their tub of shame. Surely, the job warned him about the Crazies. The problem was the real danger came from the Desperates.
And boy, was I desperate.
I squared my shoulders, clutching the little key to my new place like it would sprout legs and run for the hills if I let it. And who knows? It might. Better to be safe than sorry. I didn’t risk it as I wheeled my suitcases past the boxes of my belongings clogging the sidewalk.
This was my fresh start. Again. At this point, it only felt as “fresh” as a bag of semi-stale Cheetos, but no matter. I wasn’t sure true fresh starts existed when you were dangerously close to your thirtieth birthday, anyway. Nothing feels fresh after you pass twenty-six—especially not your joints. My back was testament enough as it creaked its way up the flight of stairs.
Whoever invented elevators should be given a shrine, that’s all I’m saying. This buildinghadto have one, right? Sure, the apartments already came furnished, but maybe someone on the second floor needed to transport their pet elephant every once in a while. Apartment buildings should plan for those kinds of things. Or, you know, gasping bakers who would rather walk across a hotbed of Legos than exercise.
Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.
Somehow, I managed to make it to my door without experiencing a heart attack or losing all will to live. I deposited the suitcases inside, barely looking over the place before turning back to collect the next load of boxes. As long as there wasn’t any asbestos, bedbugs, or roaches, I’d be fine. I’d make it work. And if there was? Well, I needed to make more friends, anyway. Maybe I could convince the roaches to help with the rent.
Thankfully, no one had stolen any of my boxes. In fact, the street was fairly empty for rush hour, and the sidewalks and parking lot were, too, save for one guy.
I cocked my head to the side, squinting against the mid-May sunlight dipping closer to the horizon. Why did that guy look familiar? His short, black hair was kept neat and his face clean shaven. Dark eyes and prominent brows were the only features I could make out from here. He tossed his keys up and down as he walked, his pace steady and his posture relaxed.
Was he a customer at the bakery or something? No, I didn’t know him from the bakery. I’d have to actually interact with customers for that to be the case.
The bookstore? No, though I did spend enough time there.
What about the arcade where my sister and I hosted girls night? And by “night,” I meant “five o’clock” so I was home and in bed by eight.
Living on the wild side, this one.
No, I’d remember running into someone like him at the arcade. And now, I was out of options.
My lack of a social life was why it was so strange the guy walking toward my building was so familiar. Tall, broad shoulders, tan skin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think he looked like—
Oh.
Oh, no, no, no, no.
Oh,sweet turkey and swiss on rye. Itcouldn’tbe him. My luck couldn’t possibly bethatbad.
It was. It was totally that bad.
Max freaking Fuentes. The man whose life I ruined. The man who undoubtedly hated my guts with a burning passion and put a picture of my face on the dartboard for target practice.
And he was walking straight toward me.
I had to hide.
Ideally, I’d sink into a hole and never come out, but that wasn’t an option. I could run into the building and wait him out, but then my boxes would be left unattended and defenseless. Just because no one had stolen themyetdidn’t mean they wouldn’t.
The last time I’d had the misfortune of running into Max, I’d disguised myself until I could make a run for it. But would that work this time? All my hats and scarves were either in the suitcases I’d just dropped inside or buried deep in one of the many boxes stacked out here.
Awesome. Just super-duper awesome.
He was almost close enough that spotting me was unavoidable, if he hadn’t already. Quick! I had to do something—anything—to get out of sight.
