Page 4 of My Brother’s Locksmith Friend

My arrival was a surprise to everyone in my family with my brother, Brody, being 17 years older than me. He’s always there for me like a father, but the necklace is from one of the few times I remember us being a whole family.

I have to find it.

My apartment is a mess when I leave to find Lucille. I don’t want to talk to Roy. After rushing downstairs to her apartment on the first floor and knocking on her door, I see her coming into the building’s lobby.

“Hey, Lucille, that guy Roy, the plumber… Uhm, I think he may have taken something from my apartment,” I tell her frantically.

“Was it money?” she asks immediately.

“No, a necklace. It was in the bathroom, and now it’s gone.”

She shrugs, telling me, “Van, let it go. Roy isn’t the kind of guy you accuse of things. I’m only doing him this favor because it wasstronglysuggested to me. The only alternative is to grab Brody and have a conversation with Roy. Make sure he’s carrying.”

Lucille ends the conversation there, leaving me alone to figure out how to get my necklace back. Her advice is great because Brody does carry, especially since he does security jobs. He’s the perfect person to confront Roy, but he’s also traveling the country as the personal security guard for some movie actress.

I’m not going to bother him with this. It’s a million things running through my mind as I make my way back to my apartment. It takes me about an hour to go through the entire place again, throw my clothes in the dryer, and spot the card Roy gave me that morning.

Maybe I can swing by his shop and ask. He likes me and this is going to be a funny story that we can laugh at after he makes a bunch of disgusting jokes that make me want to gag.

It’s okay. I can do this. If he says he didn’t see it, then I can let it go.

I gather every ounce of courage to bring myself down to Reading Road where I stand in front of Lay Pipe Plumbing, but there’s no one here when I arrive. A sign on the door says the plumber is out for the day. There’s an entrance around the corner, reminding me that Roy lives in the back apartment. I ring the bell and instantly hope Roy doesn’t answer.

A wave of relief washes over me when no one comes to the door. I look at the doorknob and jiggle it a few times. Of course, it isn’t open. No one leaves without locking their door.

“Locked out again?” A deep voice that makes my nipples hard asks from behind me, and I know the face and sexy mouth it’s coming from.

Spinning around, there he is. All six feet-something inches of Hendrix Haven—my favorite locksmith who kissed me senseless last night and left me stirring with desire. Long black hair stops just under his ears with a trim goatee and brown eyes I can stare at all day.

An audible quiver of my voice comes out before I spit out an absolute lie. “Kinda. It’s a friend’s place. I stepped out and locked myself out. Can you help me get inside?”

3

HENDRIX

Why in the world is Havana lying to me?

Her energy is skittish, and her eyes are looking everywhere but mine. I’m curious as to what’s inside this apartment she wants me to break into, but it has to be important, or else, why involve me?

It takes me about ten minutes to mold the lock and make the key. I have this process down to a science by now. Once we’re inside, the stench is the first thing that hits me. The second is the messiness of the entire apartment.

It’s a studio with an unmade bed and dishes in the sink. There’s a dresser and a tall wardrobe in the corner. The door to the bathroom looks like it’s ready to come off the hinges.

Havana’s face reveals this is the first time she’s been in here, and in that moment, I refuse to let this go on any longer.

“Havana, what’s going on, baby girl? Don’t lie to me.”

She looks around unsure of what to do or what to touch. “I’m sorry, but I just had to get inside here and look around.”

“Let’s go,” I tell her and leave the apartment, being sure to lock the door behind us. The sun is beating down on us as Havana paces in circles. There isn’t anyone out here, and from the look of the shop in the front of this apartment, the guy who lives here isn’t someone worthy of Havana’s company.

“So, are you going to tell me whose apartment you just made me break into?” I ask her. “And, why?”

“Hendrix,” she huffs and shakes her head from side to side. “When I got up this morning, my landlady was at my door with this plumber guy. He lives here. He was in my apartment–”

“In your apartment alone? Or with you?” I ask her.

“Lucille didn’t leave me alone with him in the apartment. He’s a bit of a creep.”

---