Don’t get me wrong, there was a time when I liked to go out mostly because I liked music but I loved dancing. And even though I didn’t have the greatest clothes, I chose selectively, liked what I chose and they suited me. I liked to get all dressed up, made up, hair out to there, heels even higher, go out, have a few drinks, loosen up, flirt a little, maybe get asked out on a date but especially, dance.
But now I was twenty-seven, not twenty-two (or three or four) and this happening every weekend with a wild party thrown in here and there was wearing. I was never out to be part of the scene. And I wasn’t on the hunt for a man. I dated. A couple of times I dated a guy for a while before I broke it off. So I was open to meeting men and exploring things. But I hadn’t found anyone who struck me. I wasn’t desperate. If it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, I could take care of myself. But if it happened, it had to be right.
“Anya?”
I knew that smooth, deep voice like I’d heard it every day hundreds of times a day since birth. So I stopped mid-punching in of new security code and woodenly twisted to see Knight Sebring striding up the steps of my apartment building toward me.
Okay, um…
Crap!
I pulled it together and greeted, “Hey,” then added, “What are you doing here?”
I didn’t need to ask. I was taking in his face, his well-cut, dark suit, his shirt that was the color of moss and it suited him, even with blue eyes, to perfection and the fact that he seemed mildly annoyed. But I didn’t miss the glossy black box he held in one long-fingered hand.
He made it to me and held up the box. “Take it,” he ordered, no greeting, no smile, nothing but those two words.
I looked down at the box then up to his eyes.
“Knight, I can’t,” I said softly.
His head tipped slightly to the side and his brows drew together as he asked, “Why the f**k not?”
“Because I looked it up at work and I know it costs nine hundred and eighty-nine dollars.”
“So?” he returned instantly.
I stared at him.
Then I repeated his, “So?”
“Yeah, babe. So?”
I turned fully to him. “So, I don’t know you.”
“So?”
“So?” I again repeated his repeat.
“Jesus, f**k, babe,” he jerked the box to me sounding impatient, “got shit to do. Take it.”
“Knight, I can’t,” I reiterated.
“Anya, babe,” he leaned in and reiterated back with some scary emphasis, “why the f**k not?”
I stared into his eyes. He was impatient. He was annoyed. I did not know this man and he was trying to give me a nearly one thousand dollar phone like it was nothing.
“Why are you pressing this phone on me?” I asked quietly and he leaned back.
“Told you in the note, you read?” he asked, this sarcasm not amusing but I didn’t call him on that. I nodded. “Then you know, woman needs a functioning phone.”
“I’m saving,” I shared. “I’ll have one in a couple of weeks.”
His eyes held mine.
Then he whispered, “Saving?”
Crap. Crap!