Page 23 of Rise of the King (Checkmate 5)

5

Bass In The Ceiling

Jay

I’m not saying I’ve gone out of my way to hang out in the diner more than usual the past week, but I definitely didn’tnotspend extra time smashing down burgers and hoping Sophia might come down with her appetite.

She may be a little mad that the barbarian from downstairs knocked on her door late in the evening, because I haven’t seen her in a week, and until right this minute, I haven’t heard her, either.

She’s probably spooked.

The thugseesher when she so obviously wants to remain invisible, and now he probably wants to take her away and steal her innocence.

So she stays low and pretends to be the dead neighbor until I forget her existence.

It won’t work.

I’ve spent the last week hanging out at the diner and watching the door, or lying on my bed and staring up at my ceiling in hopes she’ll make her move.

She’s beautiful, and I have spare time while Ace tracks downTrenton.Why am I the bad guy for considering spending my time with her? I don’t have another job. I don’t sell fridges in my free time or commute somewhere for two hours each morning and night.

My only job is to track down those who want to hurt me and mine, so while Ace is doing his thing and has nothing to report back, I sit here and twiddle my thumbs. I work out. I run in the mornings. I eat too much – but at the same time, not enough. My injuries, while mostly healed, are still tender. The bruising on my back not long ago faded, and my shaking hands still tremble when I’m still for too long.

I’m an addict who craves a hit. I was able to beat it and walk away, but my body still knows what it craves, and wanting to feed that hunger leads me toward temptation every chance it gets.

Cocaine. Cigarettes. Women.

The first two are bad for my health, and the third is upstairs and doesn’t want me to notice her.

So I lie here and eat gummy worms like I might die if I don’t. I lie here and let my heart sync to the beat of whatever music she has pounding through my ceiling, and I imagine her dancing for me. My windows rattle, because she listens to music that is a little bit rap, and a little bit choir. For the first time since I’ve lived here, I hear my upstairs neighbor, and the thought of her being up there right now makes me smile.

Sophia is beautiful, so why the fuck shouldn’t I look and hope for a moment of her time? I’m so fucking strung out, my cock wants to break through my jeans. I’m used to visiting women whenever I want to, however often I need to, and no one ever says no… in fact, more often than not, they come to me and offer.

But since officially meeting my neighbor, I kinda don’t want to.

I’m like a pressure cooker waiting to burst. I’ve held the lid on, so to speak. I haven’t let any of the steam out in what is literally my longest dry spell ever, all because the pretty brunette kinda intrigues me.

I don’t want to spend my time with random faceless, nameless women. I have a craving for this one particular chick who eats like a cow, doesn’t share very well, and wields a steak knife like a pro.

I crave the woman who has a dancer’s body but an investigator’s brain – sheknowsI don’t sell fridges at ten at night.

Shoving a handful of gummies in my mouth, I lie with one hand behind my head and stare at my ceiling. I don’t hearher, so it’s not like she’s stomping around or cleaning anything too noisily. But I hear her music, and with that beat in mind, I make up fantasies about her bopping around in her pyjama shorts while she scrubs the toilet. I imagine long hair cascading over her narrow shoulders and tickling the middle of her back. I imagine all sorts of dirty ways to pull her hair and fuck her with her shorts dropped low around her ankles.

I like women, and I like sex, and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t just state that shit up front. I won’t hide who I am, gaslight her into thinking I’m a gentleman, and then flip the script later on.

That wouldn’t be fair to her. And it definitely wouldn’t be as fun.

For months, I’ve been eating at Ginnie’s diner, filling up, fueling up, and hoping the beautiful brunette with impossibly long legs would drop by and mention how she’s horny too.

Butnada.For now.

Checking my phone as a last-ditch effort for distraction, I check my emails – none from Ace – and scroll my texts – none there, either. Then with a flimsyI triedshrug, I roll off my bed and pull my boots on. I gave the universe a chance to save her. I provided the universe a billion opportunities to send me in a different direction, but here I am, sliding my feet into my boots and praying I find her bent over her bed in crotch-less panties while she changes the sheets.

Dropping my phone into my pocket – because, despite my cravings, I know my job, and there is nothing on this planet more important than Kane’s life – I head toward my front door and into the hall. Jogging up the stairs, the beat of her music only grows louder as I approach. It’s an odd tune, like inspirational music, no lyrics, but a deep bass that hammers inside my chest. It makes me curious why she would listen to something so contradictory, why she’s listening to something with no lyrics. And because no one ever accused me of being polite, I skip knocking and go straight to sliding my picks into the lock.

I won’t hurt her, I swear I won’t, so she has no reason to worry.

Closing my eyes and concentrating, I tweak her lock – left, right, in,click-click– and unlock the front door. The first thing I notice as the heavy timber cracks open is how her music blasts my ears. It’s so much louder than in the hall. The second thing I notice is the warmth in here that I don’t have in my apartment.

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