He stripped out of his clothes and headed for the bathroom. The water hiccupped from the hinky showerhead, and Morgan coughed and sputtered. The last thing he wanted was to have to call Leo DeLuca to fix anything. The man already thought he was an idiot. He turned the knobs, and after some groaning of the pipes, he managed to achieve a decent hot spray.
He couldn’t believe he’d made a fool of himself—again—in front of the growly but gorgeous super. In the weeks since he’d moved in, Morgan had caught glimpses of the man, usually lugging something heavy, showcasing those delicious muscles. An assortment of interesting-looking tattoos ran up and down both arms, highlighting the curves and dips of his biceps, and Morgan found himself straining to see what they were but never getting near for long enough to study them. On the one occasion they’d come close, Morgan had his hands filled with bags and failed miserably in his attempt to unlock the front door. One bag slipped, and all his toiletries spilled over the ground. Leo opened the door but didn’t acknowledge him aside from a raised dark brow and a quick, sardonic twist of his lips, which Morgan assumed was an attempt at a smile. He expected nothing more. Why would a guy like Leo notice him?
Morgan had muttered something, ducked his head, and shoved everything inside the reusable tote, hoping like hell Leo hadn’t spotted the box of lube among the shampoo, soap, and laundry detergent. Cheeks burning, Morgan had punched at the elevator button and hustled inside when the doors opened, but by that time, Leo had already walked away without a word.
Even now he winced at the memory. He turned off the spray and stepped out of the tub, dripping water onto the rug. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he left his tiny bathroom and stepped into a pair of boxers.
The apartment had cooled off nicely, and Morgan lifted his face to the rush of air. He shivered, enjoying the chill, and decided it was the perfect time to try out his new essential-oil diffuser. He plugged it in, and the warm scent of lavender filled the air, calming him. Jeffrey had always hated it and refused to let him use it.
My time now.
He flipped on the television for white noise, and when his stomach gurgled, he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. With yesterday’s grocery shopping cut short by his stupidity, and feeling too lazy to go out in the heat, he resigned himself to boxed mac-and-cheese. He put everything in a bowl and pushed the button of the microwave. The lights dimmed, and then a crack sounded above his head as the bulb blew out and everything in the apartment went silent.
Uh-oh. Shit.
He wondered if he’d screwed up the whole building or if each apartment had its own circuit box. “I knew I should’ve listened to my father when he tried to teach me about electrical stuff.”
So he did what any normal person would do when confronted with a problem. He opened the browser on his laptop, googled “how to fix blown lights in apartment,” and peered at the screen. “Looks like I blew a fuse.” Hmm. He read further. “ ‘Find the circuit box for your unit, and flip back the switches. Many are in basements, utility rooms, or laundry rooms, but it all depends on the building.’ ”
That might be a problem. Where the hell was the circuit box? And once he found it, how would he know what to do?
Well, his father had always said it was a good day when you learned something new. He circled his apartment, and finding nothing remotely resembling a circuit box, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He stuck his feet into the flip-flops by the door and stepped out of his apartment, gazing up and down the hall. No one else had come out of their apartment, so it must have only affected his. Hopefully.
“If I were a circuit box, where would I be?” Morgan circled his hallway, inspecting the walls with no success, then descended the stairs, repeating his search as he descended. Water stains, cracked paint, and overall dirt greeted his examination, but nothing looked like a circuit box anywhere. Each floor looked the same, and Morgan stood on the first floor, deciding whether he should knock on the super’s door and confess what happened or try to fix it himself.
He’d only ventured to the basement to throw out his trash and once to do his laundry, but it was not a well-lit place even in the middle of the day. Morgan had thrown his clothes in the washer quickly and run out as fast as he could. He really should let the super handle it, but after the supermarket incident, he had even less desire than before to speak to Leo DeLuca. The man must already think him pathetic after he’d turned tail and run.
“Get a backbone,” he muttered to himself as he took the stairs to the basement. Facing several doors, he tried the handles, but they were all locked. He entered the laundry room, and once inside the large space, he flipped on the switch. The overhead light flickered on, casting a dim glow over the room. Glancing upward, he grimaced, noticing that two out of the four bars of bulbs inside the long, oblong light fixture had blown since he’d been there to do his laundry. He made a mental note to find a place he could send his laundry out to because this room gave him the creeps.
“Someone needs to maintain this place better.”
The washers and dryers sat at the far end by the industrial-sized sink. Morgan turned on his phone’s flashlight, shining it in front of him. Rows of shelves lined the rough cement walls, and paint cans were stacked against the side, along with folded ladders and other equipment. He wandered around the room, and at the opposite end from the machines, spied a metal box sticking out of the wall.
Pretty certain he wasn’t supposed to be doing this, he weighed his options and decided to take the risk. After all, almost all the websites stated the circuit box would have the apartment numbers listed next to their respective circuit breaker. All he needed to do was find 5C, flip the switches, and he’d have his electricity on again. Easy-peasy.
Except that was the moment the light on his phone started fading, and he watched in horror as it died out, leaving him in the gloomy dusk. With a sinking feeling, he recalled that he hadn’t charged it the night before.
“Shit,” he groaned in disgust and shoved the now useless phone into his shorts pocket. The light barely reached this corner of the room, and he felt for the latch to open the box. When it swung open, he squinted at the tiny lettering and the rows and rows of switches facing him. He blew out an exasperated breath. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
An idea popped into his head. Obviously, if only his circuit was blown, the switch would be the only one in the wrong place.
Energized by his deductive reasoning, he ran his fingers down the rows from the top, and sure enough, found three consecutive switches in a different position than the others.
“Aha! There you go.” He flipped the switches and closed the box. “All done.” Feeling pleased with himself, he brushed off his hands. Anxious to get out of the musty, feebly lit room, he quickly crossed the space, when the door burst open.
“What the fuck is going on in here?”
The light from the hallway silhouetted the figure of a man, and from the snarl in his voice, an extremely angry one. Morgan scurried away, but the beam of a flashlight hit him straight in the face, half blinding him. He covered his face with a hand.
“Ow, can you not? I can’t see.”
“You? What the hell are you doing here?” Leo stomped closer to him, eyes blazing. “Did you mess around with the breaker box?” Morgan inched away from the furious man until his shoulders hit the wall.