Legal Briefs

“Your Aunt Grace is not aptly named. I think she was body-spelling YMCA wrong.”

“She was spelling it in Hebrew,” he joked.

“Thanks again for not making me do the limbo, by the way.”

“I’m going to make you do it naked later.”

“Oh, you think so, huh?”

“Hell, yeah. You and I are going to have some real fun tonight, Adler.” Butterflies took flight in my tummy when he said that and I had to concentrate to keep my breathing even.

“One step at a time, Romeo.” I laughed nervously. “So far our great romance has included me getting drunk and us going to a Bar Mitzvah together.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing a very good job, if I must say so myself. I brought you to my apartment. I cooked for you. And I respected you enough to not touch you, even though I had to take three showers.”

“Three?” I asked, confused.

“You were asleep.”

“It’s still light out. You can just drop me off,” I said as we approached my building. He pulled over and parked. “And you have been doing a good job, Adam,” I added. He turned to me, and suddenly the air was thick with sexual tension. His demeanor was as calm as ever, but I was aware that he was breathing more rapidly than usual. I, in turn, could feel my skin becoming flushed and my mouth becoming dry. His fingers tightened on the gearshift, as I maintained a death grip on my purse, and I knew then that we were both struggling with the urge to touch each other.

“So, what time should I pick you up?” he asked. I could hear a note of strain in his tone. We so clearly wanted to jump each other. If I didn’t get out of this car we might be spending the rest of the weekend in bed. If we made it to bed.

“Nine-thirty?” I answered, taking a deep breath and dry swallowing.

“Nine-thirty it is. You bring your bad girl and I’ll bring my player and we’ll let them tangle and see who comes out on top,” he said in the same seductive voice he had used that night in the club.

“Yeah, well, you better be ready to rumble, player, because I like to be on top,” I said with a smile as I got out and walked toward my door with a little extra swing in my hips.

He waited while I opened the front door and went in, then he drove away. I walked into the foyer with a huge grin and immediately encountered Mr. Davis and the Fed Ex guy. Mr. Erectile Dysfunction signed for a package wrapped in a plain brown wrapper, and winked at me as I walked past. I gave a small wave and then climbed the four flights, passing by the Sopranos who, shockingly, were fighting again, and Donna, who was loudly faking an orgasm. Home Sweet Home.

As I headed down the hall to my door, I passed R. Nardo’s apartment, and suddenly his door flew open and his head popped out. I let out a startled yelp and put my hand over my racing heart. Seeing me, he slammed the door closed again. I had to find another place.

I got my door unlocked and took off my coat. It was dark inside so I flicked on the lights. Suddenly, something struck me as wrong. It was dark. The curtains were closed. I never left the curtains closed. I knew my habits. Someone had been in here. Then something really frightening occurred to me. What if they were still here?

I started to panic, thinking maybe there was a burglar in here or something. I thought about leaving and finding somebody to check the place out with me, but then I told myself that I was being ridiculous, that nobody was here, and besides, I had been handling things myself since I was a latch-key kid. There really wasn’t anywhere other than the bedroom, the bathroom or the closet for them to hide. I grabbed an umbrella and made my way over to the bathroom first. I took a deep breath, and tried to steady my shaking hand as I reached out for the knob. I silently counted to three, holding the umbrella in the other hand like a club.

One, two, on three, I yanked the door open and saw … absolutely nobody. I released the breath and put my hand over my slamming heart. Then I forced myself to walk in and approach the tub. Willing myself to reach out, I grabbed the vinyl shower curtain, steeled my nerves, and ripped it back like Norman Bates going after Janet Leigh. Shrinking back quickly, umbrella poised at the ready, I saw … nothing but some soap scum. Yuck. Needed to get some scrubbing bubbles on that.

Okay, onward to the bedroom. The door was already open and I didn’t see anyone but that didn’t mean that somebody wasn’t hiding in there. I crept in and tiptoed over to the bed. Crouching down, I threw up the quilt and peered underneath … at nothing but shoes and dust bunnies. Jesus, I really needed to clean this place. I sighed with relief, but reminded myself that the search wasn’t over.

I let out another ragged breath and stealthily made my way over to the closet next. I went through the same ritual again. This time, when I yanked the door open, though, something came crashing toward me! I screamed and starting whacking wildly with the umbrella. I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing in my Berserker-like frenzy until I looked down at the ground in front of me. That ironing board wouldn’t be assaulting anyone else. I literally doubled over while I caught my breath. Then I picked up the offending ironing board, which had come loose from where it was hanging on the back of the door when I had yanked it open.

I was about to just chalk everything up to a rare moment of forgetfulness, when I noticed something, the faint smell of spicy cooking. I hadn’t smelled that in months. Usually it only wafted in here when … I spun around toward the living room and looked up at my ceiling fan, which was turned on. In November.

I didn’t want to stay there alone anymore no matter how brave I told myself I was. I had to call someone. First I considered calling Adam, but I figured he would think I was nuts. Then I thought about calling Gabrielle or Jess, but they would probably mention it to Braden or Cam, who would tell Adam, who would think I was nuts. That just left…. Oh shit. I sighed and picked up my phone.

“Explain this to me again,” Bruce said, sounding confused. “You think someone broke into your place because you smelled spicy cooking and your drapes were closed?”

“I could only smell the cooking because my ceiling fan was on!”

“So?” he asked, like he just didn’t get it. I threw myself down on the sofa in exasperation. How many times did I have to go over this with him?

“So, it’s November!”

“People put their ceiling fans on in November.”

“I don’t!” I wanted to strangle him.

“You really should, you know. It helps distribute the heat.” I wanted to strangle myself.