Even her dog was suspicious of the man trying get in.
"I can't let you in," Brooke said, with a shrug and an apologetic smile.
"Please, ma'am, this is my building," said the man trying squeeze past her. "I've lived here for a month."
They were at the front door of the apartment building. He seemed like a nice guyβno menace in his eyes, no hint of thuggery in his clothes. But the rules were clear about people having their own access to the building.
"I'm sorry," Brooke said. She sighed and tugged on the leash as her dog complained.
"I can't believe this," he said, getting angry.
Brooke was distracted with her dog. She reached down to comfort it when she felt the man brush past her.
"Hey," she cried out.
"Sorry, lady."
The man hurried over to the elevator. Brooke followed, dragging the dog behind her.
"Excuse me," she said.
The man hit the UP button a few more times, not looking at Brooke.
She put a hand on her hip. "Sir."
"My name's Darion," he said. "And I'm going upstairs."
Brooke resided on the first floor, but when the elevator door slid open, she got on behind Darion. Darion looked at her from the corner of his eye without turning his face. Brooke's chihuahua knew this wasn't how to get to their apartment and barked a complaint. Brooke was staring hard at the man.
"You're gonna follow me now?" he said, without turning around.
"I told you, I don't know you," Brooke said.
Darion nodded, staring at the digits reading the floor numbers.
When his floor dinged and the doors opened, he hurried out. Brooke followed. The dog barked at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Brooke could tell the man was eyeing her shadow trailing him on the floor as he marched forward.
"Really?" he said.
"Well, if something happens and it's because you got past me...," she said.
"Yeah," he said, cutting her off.
They arrived at an apartment door. He reached into his bag. Brooke held on tighter to the leash. The dog whined and resisted. She sighed when the man pulled out a set of keys. The door downstairs needed a special fob to get in. When he opened the door, she turned to leave.
"Oh, you got nothing to say now?"
She shook her head. "Look..."
"Yeah, yeah, you don't know me, right?" he said, finally looking at her.
She turned around to defend herself, but his look wasn't that angry. His eyes were challenging her but in a playful way. She stared at his lips for a second.
Disarmed by his tiny smile, she shrugged. "IβI'mβyou know," she tried to say.
"I don't know you either," he said. "So far, you're some crazy lady stalking me. I'll get you for this."
She chuckled and focused her eyes on the dog.
"And your little dog, too."
She rolled her eyes. "Have a good night, sir."
"Darion."
"Darion," she repeated. "I'mβ"
"Embarrassed?"
"No, I'mβ"
"Sheepish?"
"Stop, no. I'mβ"
"Feeling salty?"
"Brooke," she spit out, shaking her head.
"And?" He pointed at the dog.
"And that's Silver."
"Hm. Well, hi-ho, Silver," he said to the dog. It barked in response. Then he looked at her again as he opened the door. "Come on in. Get to know me."
"Um," she said, as she fidgeted with the leash. "I shouldn't. I don't want to impose..."
"Too late," he said with a smirk. "Come on. Short glass of wine, guess our favorite colors and then you get the hell out while I burglarize the place."
Silver looked at her and him while she decided. Darion's smile reminded her of her husband's. But Darion was a little more fit, with a massive chest about to burst out of that pink dress shirt.
"One drink," she decided. "To be neighborly..."
She stepped in and waited while he closed and locked the door and took off his jacket and his bag and turned on certain lights. He ordered a device to play music. Soft lights and soft jazz. Brooke bit her lip. This was probably just the way he relaxes, she told herself.
"Well, you don't have to stand there like a sentinel," Darion said to her.
She laughed at herself and stepped further into the apartment. He was by the counter near the kitchen pulling out two glasses and a wine bottle. She looked down at Silver, who cocked its head.
She strapped the leash to the door and walked to the counter. He was pouring, but she could tell he was looking at her, checking her out. Now she was getting self-conscious. Were her cheeks too fat? Was her hair disheveled? Was she okay without her lipstick? Were her leggings showing any camel toes?
She caught his eyes on her chest. He handed her the glass. They clinked their glasses together before they sipped. His eyes were on hers. She tried to keep her eyes on him, too, before she laughed nervously and looked away, checking on her dog.