Behind us, another taxi pulls up, and to my immense relief, Dick waves at it. It pulls over and he casts me one last long, dark look.
"You'll regret this," he says as he steps away from the door.
Regret what? Missing out on a total creepiest? I don't think so.
I slam the door closed between us without responding. I've learned by now that as fun as snappy retorts are, sometimes it's better not to antagonize the crazy people.
I lean up to tell the taxi driver my address, then collapse against the seat with a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh.
Well. That was another unqualified disaster. I close my eyes for a minute, then pull out my phone to text my coworker.
Halfway through typing a message about how she was so very wrong about this new app being better than the others, my phone begins to buzz.
Crap. It's Dick.
I hit ignore, wait for it to go to voicemail, then keep typing.
And now, on top of the last 5 disasters, I've got this creepy guy who told me I'd "regret" not going home with him, who's trying to call me.
I hit send and my phone buzzes once more. Dick. Again.
I hit ignore again, then, on second thought, shut my phone off completely. I'll deal with figuring out how to block his number in the morning. Not like I haven't already done that a few times for other creeps in the last couple years I've been trying this online dating crap.
Sometimes, it doesn't seem worth it. Sometimes, I think it'd be better to just continue my life without a guy in it. After all, everything else is going great for me. I just got another promotion at work-I'm only 29 and I'm a marketing manager with five people working below me. I work at publishing house where I've been since I graduated college and landed my dream job. I love my team, my boss, my coworkers. I love my job, promoting great literature to avid readers. I love that I get to travel, go to conferences where I meet cool authors whose books I love, and I get to help them make those books even more successful.
Plus, I have my friends. They keep me going through it all.
No, on the whole, my life is pretty great.
So why does it still feel like something is missing?
I shake my head. Ignore it. I don't need a guy, especially not a guy like Dick. If it's the choice between him and staying single forever, I'll take the latter happily.
The taxi pulls up outside my building and I pay the driver, then push the door open. For a second, I just lean back to gaze at my building.
I was lucky as hell to score this place a couple years ago during a slow season and a market down-turn. I got it hella cheap; rent control, too. It's the first time I've ever been able to afford a one-bedroom apartment by myself, and in a building with a doorman, no less.
This is how I know I'm finally moving up in the world. Finally making something of myself. I love this building and everything that it stands for-the progress I've made in my life, the goals I'm achieving.
I smile as I take a step toward the doors. Then I freeze, because I hear the most unwelcome sound possible behind me.
"Clove!"
You have got to be kidding me.
I turn around slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, my muscles tensed.
Dick stands on the curb, beside his taxi, which he clearly just asked to follow me all the way here. "Look, I know I came across a little strong earlier. I just wanted to say sorry and also that maybe we can try again … " He takes a step toward me, staggering a little.
I underestimated how drunk he was. Or maybe he showed up to the bar a few drinks in and that whiskey pushed him over the edge. "Dick, listen, I'm just going to go inside now … "
"Wait," he says, and it comes out more of a growl than a plea. Before I can react, he launches himself across the pavement at me. I have just enough time to take a few steps backward toward my door before he catches me, one hand wrapped around my wrist, the other on my shoulder. I try to wrench myself free, go for my phone in my purse, but I can't. His grip is too strong.
He pushes me against the glass beside the door of my building, his breath hot on my face. "You don't have to be a bitch, Clove. You can be nice about this."
I grit my teeth and throw myself sideways. It's not enough. He keeps his hold on my shoulder, slams me against the glass wall harder.
"Don't move while I'm talking. I'm talking to you bitch, you hear?"
"Dick, please let go, you're hurting me."
"I'll let go when I know you're going to take me seriously. I'm a fucking catch, you don't just walk away from a fucking catch."
I cast a wild-eyed glance over his shoulder. But at this hour, my neighborhood is pretty quiet. That's what I like about it. Liked, anyway. Right now, it's working against me. There's nobody in sight.
"Get off of me," I say, very slowly.
He smirks. "Make me."
That's when a heavy weight collides with us.
I stagger against the glass, barely managing to keep myself upright by bracing on the window with both palms. I hear grunting, shouts, but all I register is the fact that there's no one grabbing me anymore.
I push myself upright. There's a bruise already forming around my wrist, and from the ache in my shoulder, I'll have another handprint-shaped bruise there too.
When I look up, I see two figures in front of me: Dick and the back of a uniformed man. I recognize the uniform, of course. I see it every single day, at least twice a day, as I leave and come back to this building.
My doorman.
He throws a punch now, a mean right hook that connects squarely with Dick's jaw. But Dick is so drunk, that even though I hear that punch land with a smack, it doesn't slow him down. His brain probably doesn't even register the pain.
Dick roars and shoves the doorman with both hands. My heart leaps into my throat. From this angle, I can't tell which doorman it is-hopefully not Paul, the sweet little old guy who always tries to carry my groceries for me. Dick is huge, big enough to break him in half.
The doorman twists out of Dick's grip and knees him in the gut, which momentarily slows Dick down, winding him. On his way down, he pulls the doorman sideways, knocking his hat askew.
The blond hair tells me all I need to know.
Zayne.
I try to remember what I know about him aside from his name and the way he always remembers mine. Not much. He's worked here the entire time I've been living here, but aside from leaving hefty tips at Christmas and exchanging pleasantries about the weather, I don't normally pay too much attention to the guys at the door. Zayne is younger than the other doormen, I know that much.
Thankfully, it looks like he's built from stronger stuff, too.
Dick twists out of his grip and goes for one last punch, but Zayne is on top of this. He dodges the swing easily and fells Dick with a single hit to the temple. I wince as Dick collapses to his knees, holding his head.
Then Zayne turns to face me, running a hand through his short-cut blond hair.
Oh.
Oh.
How did I never notice his face before?
"Are you all right, Ms. Walker?" Zayne is asking, his expression all concern.
I am now, I think stupidly. But outwardly, I just nod.
"Go inside, Ms. Walker. I'll handle this."
I just keep staring at him, confused. Between the chiseled jawline, the sharp cheekbones, the intense blue eyes, I can't figure out how I never noticed him. Never really looked beneath the wide brim of his uniform hat.
His uniform is unbuttoned at the top now, disheveled from the fight. It reveals just a hint of his chest beneath, but from the shape of it, not to mention the way he just took out that brick house of a stalker, it's clear he's ripped.
I watch his head bob as he hauls Dick to his feet and half-walks, half-frog-marches him to the curb, where he hails another taxi. The muscles along his back ripple as he lifts his arm, and when he turns back to check on me, I can see a faint 5 o'clock shadow along his jawline, barely visible since it's blond, too. He could be the poster boy for Swiss-Germany, though from his thick accent, he clearly grew up around here.
What is wrong with me? I think, shaking my head. I don't hit on my doormen. This is ridiculous. I'm just amped up from the adrenaline, the fear of that attack, and the relief of being saved.
Finally, a taxi pulls up, and Zayne unceremoniously deposits Dick in the backseat. I watch him pay the driver extra for taking the bleeding drunk guy. When he turns back to me, his blue eyes are piercing. "Ms. Walker, please, you've had a shock. You should go upstairs and relax. I can handle this."
"Clove," I say.
His brow furrows slightly. "I'm sorry?"
"It's Clove, not Ms. Walker." I push off the glass wall and take a few shaky steps toward him. Clearly my body hasn't yet received the message that the coast is clear.
"Whoa, careful now." He catches my arms to steady me. I try to ignore how warm and reassuring his large hands feel, wrapped gently around my biceps. "You're still running on adrenaline. You should sit down."