Between Floors

Saturday, 11:37 AM

Adrian

Ground floor

Adrian Lockwood wasn’t the type of guy to hover in a crowd. No, he despised the feel of someone’s warmth around him—unless it was the kind that left blood seeping from his knuckles and out his nose.

Grocery shopping? Forget about it. Ordering online was the future, leaving awkward social interactions to the bare minimum. Just how he liked it.

It’s probably why he chose to live in 7C of Apex Heights. There were less rooms, less eyes and ears to track what he was doing. Who he was seeing.

And man, was he seeing.

Girls passed through his place like they were running on a conveyor belt. He’d had more pussy than a New York alleyway, and not one of them liked to hang around after. Much like his wandering eyes, these women liked to stray. Not because he was bad in bed or anything. Far from it. In fact, the only complaint they had after a night with him was the stairs.

The elevator only went to the sixth floor, meaning it was that much more of an effort for anyone to get to the top. People, at least in his mind, were lazy creatures, making it less likely for them to make that extra trip up to see him.

As for Adrian?

He was the type of guy who’d rather sprint up seven flights of stairs than run into a neighbor in the lobby.

That was until he tore a ligament in his ankle. It happened a few weeks ago—after a minor motorbike incident involving three shots of tequila and a telephone pole. The memory played out in his mind on a loop, ignited by the sharp pain shooting up his heel.

“Stupid fucking pole. Just came outta nowhere…” Adrian grumbled, pushing the button to the elevator. The compression bandage on his foot made him sweat in the mid-afternoon Autumn heat, only fueling his already uneven temper.

Ding! The door opened, and the claustrophobic contraption about to carry him to the sixth floor? Thankfully empty.

The young, twenty-something-year-old man hobbled inside, quickly scanning the outside lobby area to make sure no one had followed him. He hastily pushed number six with his index finger, his other tapping on the ‘close door’ button like it was spewing money.

1…2…3…

Ding! The doors opened on the fourth floor, and Adrian banged the back of his head against the wall repeatedly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Each word was punctuated with a bash of his head. It’s only when a young woman, roundabout his age, stepped inside that he stopped.

By pure instinct, Adrian avoided eye contact. It was only when she shifted, carrying what looked like a box of, well, utter shit, that he let his gaze float over her. It was only for a second, but—

Holy mother of…

The woman was petite, but he didn’t give a shit about that. It’s what she was wearing that really caught his eye. A soft, black sweater covered her torso, flowing over what was by far the shortest pleated skirt he’d ever seen. It barely covered her ass. As in, if she were to bend just right…

He shook his head. Fuck me, the thigh-high socks. She’s killin’ me. I don’t even know her, and she’s fucking killin’ me.

She was beautiful. More than beautiful. A fucking goddess that had decided to bless him with her presence.

Her incredibly long brown locks looked like they were woven from the finest silk, and he wondered how they’d feel wrapped around his fist while he…

Fuck. Snap out of it!

She was standing at the opposite end of the elevator, strategically placed away from him. He caught her glancing warily at him in his peripheral vision. He felt his jaw tighten. Scared. Of course, she’s scared. I’m the type of guy mothers warn their daughters about. The one you normally cross the street for when you see me coming.

He attempted to lighten the mood before they disappeared from each other’s lives forever. “Nice outfit.”

“Bite me.” Her response was quick, spat out like a chihuahua who’d been approached too quickly from behind.

He smirked. Feisty. How refreshing.

He was used to women fawning at his feet. But this? This girl—no, this woman—was different.

Adrian decided to leave it at that, waiting for the moving box of hell to take him to his destination, the hint of a smile never leaving his face.

CLUNK.

The elevator jolted, metal groaning as it rattled them both. It slowed to a stop. There was a sharp jerk that sent them both clattering to the floor. The screech of a box skidding across a hard surface echoed across the small space. It wasn’t even ten seconds before the lights flickered and dwindled out, leaving them in a cloud of darkness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the woman muttered under her breath. “What did I do to deserve this?” She whined, seemingly directing her speech to an unspoken god. “I’ve been so good. I make people happy. I help my Grammy with Sunday meal prep. I don’t understand…”

Her rambling continued as Adrian stood up, feeling around the wall in the dark until he reached the control panel. His fingers drifted over the numbers until he felt the bulge of the red emergency button, and he pushed. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

“Perfect. Just…perfect,” he whispered lowly, mostly to himself. “Hey, the, um…” He scratched the back of his head. “The red button’s not workin’. Hope you ain’t got anywhere important to be.”

A loud groan sounded off from his left, and he nearly laughed at how deep it was. “Ugh! Are you sure you pressed the right—shit, sorry. I mean, I’m sure you did. Sorry, sorry, that was super rude of me to assume that you didn’t…nevermind. I’m Lila. 4A.”

Adrian sank down, spreading his legs wide like he owned the floor. Which, in his mind, he most certainly did. “Adrian. 7C. You new here or somethin’? Because I would’ve remembered the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen living in my building.”

The statement was raw, the lack of lighting making him more honest now that he couldn’t see her face. He wasn’t trying to hit on her. He just called it as he saw it.

The light flickered, and he caught a glimpse of hazel glaring at him from across the elevator. She scoffed. “Wow. My panties are so wet right now. Let’s bang,” she said, her tone dry. Emotionless.

Normally, that type of attitude would get someone thrown in the hospital. Or if you happened to harbor female parts, brutally insulted. But Adrian surprised even himself when all he could do was throw back his head—and laugh. The sound was achingly genuine. “You’re…” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not like other women, are you Lila?”

The voice that reached him was sharp, claws raised. “Are you assuming that all other women want to fuck you? Because you’d be wrong.”

Adrian fished out his phone from his pocket, completely unfazed. “Oh, I have references.” He switched on the flashlight, noting his battery was at eighty-three percent. The Samsung was pointed to the ceiling, expanding the light to other areas of their shared space.

He could now perfectly see the remnants of the junk she was carrying lying scattered in the middle of what he had now dubbed musically as the “metal death box”—a stuffed rabbit, a small container of what appeared to be photographs, and…was that macaroni art?

Lila was sitting in the corner across from her stuff, her arms crossed as she stared holes into the wall.

“You a teacher?” he asked without thinking. He couldn’t help it. Something about this gorgeous creature made him want to keep her talking.

“No.”

The snap was short. Final. His grin widened. “You got a kid?” Shit, if she’s got a mini-her waiting around, we should probably get the hell out of here.

Silence.

Adrian’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately jumped into action. “Fuck, do you? I’m gonna call my buddy, Tony. See if he can get us out—”

Lila’s eyes flashed. “No! Jesus…I don’t…I don’t have a kid.” Her tone softened. “Although you should probably still phone him. I don’t think anyone’s coming for us anytime soon.”

A nod passed her direction. Adrian flipped his phone over and dialed Tony’s number, putting him on speaker.

His hand played with the back of his collar, his eyes flicking over to Lila’s apprehensive face.

Tony picked up on the second ring.

“Yo.”

“Bro, you at the shop today? I gotta problem.”

There was rustling on the other end, the sound of metal scraping against metal in the background. “Yeah, I’m at the shop,” Tony grunted. Probably busy fixing something intricate, like a carburetor. “Why? You need some tools?”

A sly smile etched on Adrian’s face. “Just you. And bring those heavy toys you’re always playin’ with.” He surveyed Lila’s face, clearly trying to impress her with his witty sense of humor.

She deadpanned. He frowned, his eyes darting to the ceiling.

“Sure, I can stop by. Your bike giving you shit again?”

Adrian huffed out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Nah, man. Got stuck in the elevator with some chick. This is our official SOS. No one else seems to give a shit that we’re gone.”

Tony chuckled darkly. “She hot?”

Adrian glanced at Lila again, shrinking under a glare sharp enough to cut through glass. “Not important. Also, you’re on speaker, you dick.”

The phone crackled, Tony’s voice blaring out in stereo. “Hey baby, you hot?”

Lila rolled her eyes, a smile tugging on her lips. “Fuck off.”

An irrational surge of jealousy clawed at Adrian’s chest. Why does he get a smile?

“Oh yeah. She’s a baddie. I can tell.” There was a pause on the other end. “Look, I got a Ducati I’m busy working on, but I can be at your place in about twenty minutes.”

“Cool, man. See you—” The phone beeped and then cut, signaling that Tony had hung up.

“Prick.”

Lila let out a snort. “So, your friend ever fix an elevator before?”

“Nope.” Adrian’s lips popped on the “p.” He then turned to face her fully, his legs folding over each other, his hands lying lazily in his lap.

“But he’s sure as hell gonna try,” he said, just as the elevator let out another low, ominous creak.