So when I wrote the note, there wasn't any real part of me that expected Mr. Romance Hero on the street corner to ever see it.
Dear Stranger,
Your eyes are like fire and your lips are soft pillows I wish I could sink into. We'll never meet, but I'll dream of the day I could've got your name. Your smile. Your hand.
I'll keep wishing you were mine,
From the girl in the 3rd floor window, Apartment 12b.
I rolled my eyes at my own words as I folded up the paper airplane. A poet, I was not. Unfortunately, being a ravenous reader hadn't even given me access to any of the ability the writers I devoured had. But I still folded the little airplane, knowing it would never reach the hunk on the street.
I had to yank and grunt a little to get our paint-chipped, ancient apartment window open. When I did, the sounds of the street came rushing in more clearly, along with the musty wet smell of the fallen rain.
I stared at the man on the corner, aimed, and hesitated.
I'd never written my apartment number on one of my doomed love notes before. Why had I done that?
I'd been poised to throw the airplane, but I relaxed my arm and set it down on the windowsill, laughing at my own stupidity. Yeah, Sylvie. Unless my plan was to get murdered by some creep who intercepted the letter, I might want to-
Gravy Boat catwalked along the window sill, met my eyes with cold indifference, and then gave the plane a little punch on the back.
I lunged for it but was too late. The wind caught it, carrying it in two jolting upward jerks, and then I watched in horror as it sailed effortlessly away.
I followed the trajectory of the paper plane arcing and gliding down toward the guy on the corner. My heart was in my throat as I imagined what he'd do if it actually hit him.
Time seemed to slow down until I could practically trace the path of the plane and imagine it hitting him straight in the chest. Except a hunched over, balding man in a rain jacket walked directly in front of him before it did. It caught the man right in the ear, causing him to flinch his head to the side and frown.
I watched in horror as he read the note, then as if by magic, his gaze flicked straight up, to the side, and toward me.
I ducked down beneath the window, but it was too late.
When I hazarded another glance, I saw my airplane discarded on the ground and the man half-jogging across the crosswalk.
Right toward my building.
4
Riggs
The city pressed in on me like a cage. The tall buildings stretched up in every direction and cut off smells from the outside. The only scents reaching my nose were human and concrete with a touch of gasoline for good measure. Even with supernaturally good hearing, I couldn't even make out much above the din of noise, either.
For someone like me, the city was like wrapping yourself in a wet fucking blanket. It was suffocating, but it was better than the alternative, wasn't it? In here, I knew they'd leave me alone. They'd let me go on pretending that old life wasn't mine. Nobody was going to come yank me out of my self-destructive cycle, not so long as I was within this concrete hell.
I was doing a shitty job of clearing my mind when I saw the little paper airplane come drifting down from a window across the street. I frowned, following its path as it caught on a gust of wind and was lifted up just in time to avoid getting swept up by the traffic.
I would've ignored it, but then I noticed the pair of big brown eyes watching the airplane from the third story window. It was a young woman with her hair up in a messy, dark brown bun. She was just peeking out, so all I could see was the view from her eyes up, but for some reason it made me go back to see where the airplane was.
What kind of person throws paper airplanes out of their windows down to busy, crowded streets? If she thought the night was going to give her cover, she was forgetting the blazing neon sign across the street from her apartment that was bathing her entire face in pale blue light.
An unsavory looking man ended up catching the airplane in the side of his head. He picked it up, looked toward her window, and seemed to spot her.
She ducked as soon as he saw her, but the guy was already set. He was rushing across the street for her apartment.
And it was none of my damn problem. Not a single bit of my goddamn problem.
Except I bent to pick up the airplane, which the guy appeared to have been reading something from. Sure enough, there was a sappy love poem in girlish handwriting and pink gel pen, complete with a final line that said exactly where to find Miss Casanova up there.
Jesus Christ.
I seriously considered leaving her to her fate. It would be natural selection. Anybody that stupid had it coming, after all.
But I looked at the sleazebag hurrying toward her apartment like a dog with a bone and couldn't help myself. I did a lot of swearing under my breath, but I followed after him.
The building smelled worse than the street outside, which was almost impressive. I jogged up the stairs to the scents of boiled cabbage and well-seasoned gym socks. The peeling yellow paint on the wall even felt sticky, for some reason, so I stopped running my fingertips along it like an idiot.
Thanks to the genius on the third floor, I knew exactly where to find her apartment and the creep from outside. Third floor, apartment 12b. Ideally, I'd just be able to drag the guy away and avoid having to interact with the woman. The last thing I needed was to make some girl cry when all I'd wanted to do was get out, clear my head, and get back to eating burritos in peace.
The guy was short, but that wasn't saying much. I usually stood above most people, anyway. Still, it only took one look to know I could've picked him up like a suitcase and carried him outside if I wanted. Being a well-trained diplomat, I started with a more subtle approach.
He was currently banging on her door. "You in there, sweetheart?" he asked in a far too breathy, ball-clenchingly gross voice.
"Okay," I said easily. "You can walk out on your own, or I can help you take the elevator."
The man hadn't noticed me, but he turned now to regard me. He was balding with eyes that weren't quite positioned at the same height on his face. No. That was being too generous. His face was about as put together as a jigsaw puzzle after a toddler gave it a go. He pointed toward the stairs. "There's only stairs. No elevator."
I pointed to the window. "I'll crank it open and you won't know the difference till you hit the ground. I promise."
He went a little red. "Look, pal. Just get lost, okay? I know this girl."
"That's why she's not opening the door, right?"
He gestured to me. "Why don't you go to a bar and pick up some model, asshole? You're seriously cock blocking me right now, so fuck off."
There were all sorts of regulations, rules, and penalties for people like me. In fact, we could be dragged before the high pack and dismembered for even telling a human about our existence.
But I also only kind of gave a shit, and I knew nobody would believe him. So I met his eyes and then gave the wolf inside me a gentle urging. Soft heat spread inside my eyes, and the world momentarily snapped into high resolution. I could see clearly enough to pick up the subtle thumping of his heart against his chest, neck, and major veins. It went from slightly elevated, to fight or flight levels as soon as he saw my eyes.
"Elevator, or stairs?" I asked again.