Submerged(Bound Together Book 1)(48)
Inside the apartment, I give it a quick onceover as I usually do. A slip of paper peeking out from under the refrigerator draws my attention immediately. It only takes me two steps to cross the old linoleum floor. Crouching down, I slide the slip of paper out from under the fridge. It looks as if it was dropped and floated down, slipping just under the corner of the fridge. Paper in hand, I flip it over and spy part of a receipt for Chinese delivery. It’s dated three weeks ago and shows the order for my favorite teriyaki chicken and fried rice, so I know the receipt is mine. What I don’t know is why it’s not in the drawer where I put all of my crap.
The small drawer directly next to the fridge is my catchall drawer. Menus, receipts, batteries, and anything else I feel like throwing in there on a whim, all filed away until I decide to clean out the drawer. When I pull open the rectangular space, it’s disheveled, but that’s nothing new. Anytime I need a new battery for the remote, I move shit around until I find what I’m looking for. But usually I’m careful enough that I make sure to keep all of the crap inside the drawer. So why is this receipt on the floor?
It’s entirely possible that it slipped out the last time I opened the drawer, but how long ago was that? I know that receipt wasn’t there Friday night when I came home to shower before going to Carly’s place, which means it ended up on the floor sometime between the time I left Friday night and the time I arrived home a few moments ago.
I quietly slip back into the small bedroom. Carefully, I open the closet, moving the pairs of shoes and boots in the corner, and pull out my small, hidden gun safe. Using my thumb to grant myself access, the latch releases, revealing my Glock 22. I hold it comfortably in my hand, feeling calm spread throughout me as I hold my familiar gun. It’s like putting on an old, worn coat.
I make quick, yet thorough work at checking my apartment. There’s nowhere to hide here with the exception of a couple of closets and under the bed, but my search turns up nothing. Even though I don’t find anything, I still have a crazy sense of uneasy in the pit of my stomach. Someone’s been here. I know it.
I decide to pull up a chair and get comfy. Still having about two hours before I agreed to meet Carly, I take a seat on the couch and decide to see if my visitor returns. Gun resting casually at my side, I turn on the television and lower the volume just enough to have a little background noise. Then I sit and watch.
And wait.
* * *
After dinner, Carly lets me give Natalia a bath. When she walks into the room, she bursts out laughing at the image of me sitting on the floor, soaked to the gills with bathwater. Who knew a little girl confined in a bath seat could make such a mess? Of course it probably doesn’t help that I sprayed more water than a whale’s blowhole, using the detachable showerhead. Most of it falling outside of the tub.
Natalia laughed through the entire experience, even when I had to wash her girl parts. I made sure there was plenty of soap on the thickest part of the washcloth and just closed my eyes. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be washing up my daughter’s naked butt on a casual Sunday night. The girl continued to play and splash in the water, clearly enjoying her time in the bathtub. The only time she fussed was when it was time to get out.
Carly helped me get her ready for bed. Getting that girl dressed is like trying to wrangle a pig in a mud pit. She did everything in her power to make sure the whole process was nearly impossible. The only thing that seemed to help her calm down and lie still was when I took my phone out of my pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the phone with big, wide eyes and immediately put it in her mouth.
I told Carly to go enjoy a bath and relax. She has a bunch of meetings lined up this week at work that she’s been stressing about, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt any to let her relax and enjoy a glass of red wine. The thought of Carly lying naked in a tub full of bubbles is messing with my mind, too. I can picture her perfect little body all sudsy and wet as she wraps her hands around her knees and sliding them up her thighs. She trails her long, lean fingers down her stomach and towards the junction of her legs. Her body moves fluidly in the warm, bubbly water as she strokes and touches herself.
Sure, that’s not how most women relax in the tub, but this is my fantasy, isn’t it?
Natalia and I play on the floor with blocks and little barnyard animals that make noises for a while until they no longer hold her attention. I quickly discover that nothing really holds her attention while she’s fighting sleep. The girl is doing everything within her power to keep from closing her eyes. If this is how she goes down every night, no wonder Carly always appears a little on the tired side.