The Wall of Winnipeg and Me - Mariana Zapata Page 0,28
the bottom of the stairs. Patting the pepper spray I always kept within reach, especially when I was in my complex, I narrowed my eyes and wondered who the hell would be sitting there right then.
It was nine o’clock at night. Only drug dealers hung around outside at our complex after dark. Everyone else knew better. Plus, who liked sitting outside with the summer heat and mosquitos?
With that in mind, I walked a little faster, conscious that my knee ached only a little after my two-mile run. Two miles! It had only taken me half a month of jogging four times a week to work up to a steady one-mile distance, and then I’d added another mile, going just a bit faster. It was something, and I was proud of myself. The plan was to up another mile this week.
My hand was still on my pepper spray as I kept a wary eye on the… man; it was definitely a man sitting at the foot of the steps. I squinted. My keys were in my free hand, ready to get put to good use, either to open my door or to stab somebody in the eye if it came down to it.
I had just started pulling my spray out when a male voice spoke up.
“Vanessa?”
For one split second, I froze at the sound of the rumbling, raspy tone, more than slightly caught off guard at the fact that this stranger sitting on the stairs knew my name.
Then it hit me. Recognition.
I stopped in place just as the not-a-stranger stood up, and I blinked.
“Hey.” My ex-boss straightened to his impressive full height, confirming it was him. Aiden. It was Aiden. Here.
Crouched down, he could have been any guy who worked out, especially when he had his arms tucked into his sides, hiding the girth of muscles that made him famous. The possibility that this was the first time he’d ever used the ‘H’ word with me was the first thought that ran through my head before I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
I was definitely frowning. My forehead was creasing and scrunching up as I took him in, in his T-shirt and shorts, for the first time in a month.
His face was that same immovable mask as always. Those brown eyes I’d seen hundreds of times in the past bore down on me, his eyes going over the bright ruby red I’d let Diana color my hair two weeks ago. He didn’t comment on it. “You live here?” His question cut the air between us abruptly. His gaze dropped to the hand I had on my pepper spray and the set of keys clutched between my fingers.
I thought about my neighbors, the crappy building, the number of cars parked in the lot that were always in some sort of disrepair, and the cracked sidewalk with a dying lawn straddling it. I rarely had people over, so it wasn’t like I had any reason to care about where I lived. All I’d needed was a roof over my head. Plus, it could be worse. Things could always be worse. I tried to never forget that.
Then I thought of the beautiful, gated community Aiden lived in, and the awesome kitchen I’d cooked in so many times before… and finally, I envisioned the stained carpet in my apartment and the peeling vinyl countertops with only a slight cringe.
I wasn’t going to be ashamed that I didn’t live in an upscale condo. It was the first place I’d ever had all to myself, and it had done what I needed it to do: give me a place to sleep and work in peace.
So I nodded slowly, surprised—okay, I was shocked as hell—to see him. I’d talked to Zac a few times since I quit and had gone to eat with him twice, but except for once, he hadn’t brought up Aiden in any of the conversations we’d had. The extent of what he’d told me about my ex-boss was that they’d been working out together. That had been more than enough.
Aiden’s gaze didn’t waver for a moment. His remote, clean facial expression didn’t change at all either. “I want to talk to you,” he demanded more than said.
I wanted to know how he found out where I lived, but the question was trapped in my throat. The one syllable word I knew I needed to tell him had taken a stroll down the block… and then I remembered: dinner roll.