Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,20

downstairs with Jack?

“Let’s go.”

I close my apartment door behind me and walk down the darkened hallway with Jack, using his light to guide the way.

Aside from the nerves flitting around my chest from being in the near dark, that ugly emotion that I hate so much starts to work its way in there too. Guilt.

“Jack?”

“Yep?”

“I’m, uh … sorry that I punched you.”

I hear a chuckle and then, “Apology accepted. You got me good though. Pretty sure I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Where did you learn to hit like that?”

“Krav Maga. I took some classes a while back.”

“They clearly taught you well. I’m impressed.”

We’ve just reached the stairs when the lights flicker back on, blinding me.

“Jesus.” I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the brightness. I squint up at Jack, who seems to have no trouble adjusting to the light at all.

He smiles at me. “Guess that saves us a trip downstairs.”

“I guess so.”

We both turn and walk back in the direction of our apartments.

We reach Jack’s door first.

“Sorry again.” I gesture to his face as he opens his door.

He smiles again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time I’ve been punched. Won’t be the last.”

I laugh softly. “Night, Jack.”

I walk the short distance to my door. Remembering exactly what is waiting for me inside it.

My anxiety ramps up.

It’s just a dead rat. It doesn’t mean anything bad is going to happen. I have to go back in my apartment at some point.

It’s not like I can stay out here all night.

I’ll just carry my rape alarm with me while I do my usual apartment check. And dispose of the rat.

I reach my door.

I didn’t lock it.

I never forget to lock it.

But then it wasn’t exactly a normal situation.

There’s already a dead rat in there. It can’t get any worse.

Okay, it can get worse. Like a psycho could be waiting for me in there.

But I try not to freak myself out.

I take a fortifying breath and swing open the door.

My apartment is still pitch-black. Because I didn’t get a chance to turn any lights on.

I reach my hand out, searching for the light switch on the wall. Finding it, I flick it on. But nothing happens.

And that’s because your lightbulb blew out, dumbass.

I don’t have a spare one in the apartment to replace it with either.

Double, triple, and quadruple fuck.

I can’t spend the whole night with the living room in darkness. I just can’t.

What am I going to do?

I could ask Jack if he has a spare bulb I could borrow.

On a sigh, I lock the door behind me, walk over to Jack’s place, lift a hand, and knock on his door.

The door swings open a few moments later.

“Hey.” I give him an awkward smile. “You, uh, don’t happen to have a spare lightbulb I could borrow, do you?”

“Yours blown?”

“Yep.”

“I’m guessing we all have the same fittings, so, yeah, sure, give me a sec.” He goes back inside his apartment, leaving the door open and me in the hallway.

I lean into the doorway. “I appreciate this,” I tell him. “I’ll go to the store first thing tomorrow morning and get you one to replace it.”

“No need.” He appears back in the doorway. “Do you have a stepladder?”

I give him a confused look. “No. Why?”

His eyes drag up and down the length of me, and I forget to breathe for a moment. My pulse quickens, and I suddenly feel a lot warmer than I did a second ago.

His eyes finally come back to mine. They look a lot darker than they did. “Well …” The word comes out croaky. He clears his throat. “Unless you can grow a good few feet in the next minute or so, you’re going to need one to reach the light fitting.”

“Ah. Right. Yeah.” My cheeks are hot with embarrassment—and also the stupid attraction I have to this guy.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got one.”

He disappears again, giving my face and body a moment to cool down before he’s back again with a stepladder in his other hand.

“Do you want me to replace the lightbulb for you?” he asks.

He thinks I’m useless. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No. I’ve got it.” I reach out to take the stepladder and bulb from him. “I’ll bring the ladder back when I’m done.”

“Who’s going to hold the flashlight for you?” he questions.

“What?”

“Flashlight,” he repeats, his arms folding across his broad chest.

I wonder if his chest is smooth or has hair. I hope it has some hair.

I hate smooth chests on