A Leap of Bravery
I...
Can’t...
Do...
This...
Anymore...
My face was flattened against the floor, limbs spread wide across the carpet, my motorcycle helmet still strapped tightly to my head.
“Arthur! Arthur!”
I lifted my visor just enough to see a pair of mismatched socks standing in front of me. “Leave me to die...”
Martin hoisted me up by my armpits and dumped me onto the sofa, though my body tried its absolute hardest to melt right back onto the floor. I was entirely spent.
Why couldn’t I be addicted to something normal? Like food, or working out, or traveling. Traveling sounded nice. I’d get to meet new people, experience new cultures, eat new food. But no. I had to be addicted to shopping for couple’s clothing and pointless gift sets—things I wouldn’t even use until I actually found a boyfriend. Cursed ads.
Martin plopped onto the sofa beside me. He didn’t say a word, but his face practically broadcasted subtitles: I told you so, but you didn’t listen. Enjoy the karma.
“Can you stop making that face?” I groaned. “My life is already hard enough.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be hard if you actually started saving.”
Here we go again.
“Instead of spending money on your nonexistent boyfriend, you should be saving for college.” Martin looked up at the ceiling as if it had a script or a teleprompter rolling out ancestral guidance just for him. “Do you think people actually want to date broke guys?”
Ouch. Right in the chest.
“Look at it this way: if you make more money, you have more options. That makes life a whole lot better.” He flicked a stray strand of red hair out of his eyes. “Do you want your future boyfriend to have to choose between bad and worse?”
He leaned closer, getting entirely too into his own hypothetical scenario. “What if you really like each other and want to get married? What then? You’re going to elope to Vegas? Is that what he deserves?”
“Sheesh, you don’t have to rub it in.” I looked past him. Our ceiling fan moved so slowly I could easily count the dust-caked blades. “I wish I was just born into money.”
Martin hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, he immediately locked my head into a headlock and aggressively noogied my helmet.
“Dumb fuck! Just go work for your brother!” he said affectionately, finally letting me go. “Why are you so against working for Ian, anyway?” He turned to face me fully on the cushions. “Just work at his gym. Maybe he’d give you a raise or something.”
I straightened myself up. Money wasn’t the whole problem. And even though Martin had been my best friend since middle school, I had never told him the truth: that my brother Ian wasn’t just a gym owner.
He was a gangster.
Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
My phone chimed, signaling a new delivery order. Please, for the love of God, I prayed, let this one be a big tipper.
The yellow screen flashed across my face, the loading spinner taking its sweet time while I sweated bullets.
New order! :)
My soul practically left my body. Finally. It was him again.
I spun around the living room on one toe, completely re-energized. My day had officially been saved.
Martin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He didn’t even have to look at the screen; he knew exactly who it was because I’d raved about him a million times.
This customer had been my very first delivery when I started the job. The moment he opened the door, I was completely blown away—maybe by the literal draft from his apartment, but mostly by how endearing he was.Huhuhu.He was pocket-sized with huge, expressive eyes—absolutely my type. Plus, he was incredibly sweet. Every single time, he thanked me with a polite little bow, and before I could even kickstart my motorcycle, a massive tip would pop up on my app with a note: Keep going!
Oh, my heart... to be bestowed with such pure cuteness.
“Creep,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes before turning on his heel and walking back to his room.
What a supportive friend…
The journey from the house to town was a total breeze. There was no traffic, and the air was fresh and clear of carbon fumes—just pure, sunny, leafy goodness. But the moment I reached the commercial district, everything changed. Traffic was backed up everywhere due to rush hour, and the main road to the restaurant was completely jammed.
No. Absolutely not. Late deliveries were strictly forbidden for my favorite customer (and potential future husband, hehehe).
Desperate times called for desperate measures. I mustered my courage, slapped my visor down, and swerved into an alternate route.
The contrast was instant. The side street was eerily silent, so still that it felt like even the wind was too afraid to blow through here. Because to get to the restaurant this way, I had to pass the gym.
I ducked my head as low as possible, my jacket collar shoving my glasses uncomfortably up my nose. How could Martin ask me to work here? Didn’t he know what kind of monsters lurked inside?
As I approached the three-story building, my motorcycle rumbled low and pathetic, sounding like the wheezing snore of a dying elder.
I twisted the throttle.
Speed through.
Quick.
Quick.
Quick.
The moment I pushed open the restaurant’s glass door, the owner cut his own greeting short. “Why are you so pale? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Old man, if you had been on that street, you’d be praying it was just a ghost.
Even on the ride to the customer’s apartment, I was still shaken. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen that kind of stuff in movies or dramas before, but how my own brother could stomach that world was completely beyond me. Sure, Ian was bigger than me, broader too, but I’ve seen guys with that exact same build cry over squirrels.
I finally arrived, kicked my kickstand up, and stepped off the bike. I took a few deep, frantic breaths to steady myself, patted my jacket down, wiped the sweat from my brow, fixed my hair, and spritzed a bit of perfume. Ready. I took one step toward the entrance—
Screeech!
I violently jumped back as a sleek, black car roared past, missing my kneecaps by mere inches.
“Lunatic!” I screamed after it, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What if there were kids around?!”
My glare followed the car as it tore past the guardhouse, blew right through the security gate without stopping, and slipped out of the compound into the main street. Fucking rich people. They really think they own the world just because they have tinted windows and a V8 engine.
Clutching my delivery bag like a shield, I checked to make sure my glasses hadn’t flown off my face, took one more shaky breath, and pushed through the heavy glass lobby doors.
How lucky…. The sign taped over the buttons. Out of Order.
The elevator was broken. I looked down at the receipt. Thirteenth floor.
There was no time to quit. As I began the grueling trek up the stairs, my exhaustion quickly gave way to daydreaming. What would he be wearing today? Last time, it was teddy bear pajamas. The time before that, a compression shirt with baggy sweatpants. Most recently, it was just a simple t-shirt and drawstring shorts... showing off those pale, slim legs, and those massive doe eyes looking up at me.
No, no, Arthur... stop. You shouldn’t... he’s a customer...
I imagined him bowing and thanking me, and my brain instantly burst into flames. Eeehhhh…
The heat in my cheeks finally dissipated when I slipped out of the suffocating stairwell and into the corridor. The building’s central air conditioning brushed against my sweaty skin like an absolute blessing.
But as I made my way down the hall, clutching the delivery bag, I noticed something strange: almost all the apartment doors were propped wide open. Maybe it was the summer heat, or maybe a localized power outage, but it meant I could see straight into everyone’s living rooms.
And every single one of them seemed to be rubbing their relationship directly in my face.
At every turn, there was a couple. A husband in a cozy tracksuit pulling out a dining chair for his wife; a college girl giggling as she pulled her boyfriend into a tight hug on the sofa; a pair of guys sneaking quick, quiet kisses out on a balcony.
Jesus. Couldn’t the universe be a little compassionate? Or at least considerate? It was basically laughing in my face after slamming me into the concrete. I could literally picture the world standing over me, snickering behind a well-manicured hand while I lay face-down on the sidewalk.
My mind drifted back to twenty minutes ago, when I’d been waiting for this very order back at the restaurant. My fingers had mindlessly scrolled through a dating app. Left. Left. Right. Sighing, I had clicked over to view my own profile. Am I too boring?
Bio: 6’2. Blonde hair. Loves cuddling.
Yep. Sounded absolutely pathetic. I had looked at the picture I’d uploaded recently—a selfie in the gym mirror. Good gains, I’d thought, tracing the way my muscles were finally starting to fill out the seams of my shirt. The rectangular frames of my glasses matched my sleek hair and face shape well enough. Maybe it wasn’t my looks. Maybe it was my personality. My hobbies.
I had opened my match queue, but the connections I actually got... ugh, they just weren’t my type. One guy seemed way too attached to his black Persian cat. Another seemed too busy running his own business to ever have time for a relationship. A third ran a pottery class, but he looked a little too rugged and outdoorsy for my taste.
But him? My customer?
Am I his type? Would he want me? Should I ask him out today?
He was gorgeous to begin with. Maybe he already had a boyfriend, or maybe he was seeing somebody and hadn’t made a decision. Would someone like him even look twice at a college student?
I looked down at myself. The two shoes on my feet weren’t even the same price as a single pair on his shoe rack. The place I lived wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as this building, and I couldn’t even afford to rent it on my own—I had to split it with Martin. Would a guy like him want that? Would he be willing to wait if I promised him things would get better?
Try, a tiny voice in my head whispered. At least try.
If I tried, I might get rejected and die of immediate embarrassment. But if I didn’t, I’ll never know—
I stopped dead in my tracks.
His door was wide open. And inside, my favorite customer was bound and tied on the floor.
