Page 88 of Lover Forbidden
“Great,” he muttered as he washed off the spots of blood where he’d broken his own skin.
Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap.
And then he got out before there were any other great ideas from down below.
Getting dressed took a little more time than usual. He had two uniforms: going to work and sitting around. Neither of which was quite right, but it wasn’t like he could accessorize them up. In the end, he went with “going to work,” and picked the best versions of blue jeans, Hanes t-shirt, and pullover he had. Pathetic, really.
He just wasn’t used to having anybody to dress for.
On that note, he grabbed his cell phone, put it into his windbreaker, and was opening his door when he stopped and looked back.
Dev closed things up. Returned to his bed. Shoved his hand deep between the mattress and the box spring.
The Beretta he took out was loaded and in its tuck holster with the safety on. He put the nine millimeter through a checkup, then stowed it inside the waistband of his jeans, with the holder arm tucked under his belt. Going back to the bathroom, he stood in front of the sink, but had to step away some so that he could see his torso in the mirror.
Yeah, you couldn’t see anything—
Shit. His hair.
He started to go through the drawers, but that was a waste of time. He didn’t have a comb or a brush, and well, that checked out. He kepthis hair cut short just so he didn’t need anything to run through it.
Overdue for his bimonthly trim. Great.
Dipping his palm under the sink faucet, he got some water, put it on the top part, and passed his hand over the dark growth.
“Whatever.”
Back at the door, he went to step out. And had to pull up short as his neighbor appeared in her apron.
“Dinner.” The old woman wiped her hands on a red dish towel. “In ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Aoun. But I can’t tonight.”
She set fists on her ample hips, her expression like he’d cursed in church. “Where are you going.”
“I—ah, I have a date.”
Instantly, her attitude shifted, her forehead wrinkling as her gray brows shot up. “You have a girl?”
“Woman. And we’re just having dinner together.”
“What’s her name.”
“Lyric.”
“She nice? You know her family?”
“She’s—yeah, she’s very nice. I don’t know her family, no. This is our first date—well, actually, we shared your dinner last night.”
As well as the shit up on the roof. But in case his neighbor had missed it, he wasn’t bringing up the drama.
Down with the brows. “She like my food.”
“Oh, yeah, she loved it. Particularly the fattoush.”
“Ah. Good.” Mrs. Aoun turned back to her door. “You will tell me how it goes when you get back here.”
Dev opened his mouth. Closed it. “Mrs. Aoun?”
