The Seven 1: Vacancy

Oaklynn

And that was how I got my new place.

Thalia hadn’t been lying about rarely being around.

It’d been days since I had moved in, and I’d only seen her one other time aside from the first day we’d met. But I couldn’t complain about having the place to myself. I didn’t have to worry about dirty dishes in the sink, other people’s shoes tripping me up everywhere I stepped, or anyone keeping me awake with their sex sounds on the other side of the wall.

It was honestly the dream.

Waking up before my alarm went off, I stretched in the king-sized bed that had come with my room.

It felt as if I was staying at a hotel—one of the nice ones, except the pillows were better.

I stretched under the covers, my arms poking out the top and brushing against the cloth-padded headboard. And with a satisfied yawn, I sat up to gaze about my new kingdom.

It was very beige. Beige carpet, beige chair, beige curtains, beige bedspread. At least the throw pillows and nightstand knobs were accented with gold. And the wall behind me was a deeper brown, while another wall was a tan and brown brick ensemble. But then the last two returned to a creamy—beige.

Aside from a tall, fake plant in the corner with brilliant green, palmy leaves, the only color came from my stuff: purple suitcases propped against the brick wall, a hot pink shirt thrown over the arm of a chair, seafoam green laptop on the nightstand, peach walking shoes sitting by the door. Each item seemed to pop with such a dull background, which made me adore the room even more. It was as if the place wanted to highlight ~me~.

Totally willing to accept a little extra attention—even if it was just coming from a couple of walls—I threw off my covers and sprang out of bed to greet the day. My bare toes sank into the plush carpet as I hurried into the bathroom.

Let me repeat…my own, private bathroom.

In all my twenty years, this was the first time I didn’t have to share a bathroom with anyone.

Living it up, I had my toiletries scattered everywhere, hogging basically every inch of counter space to myself.

It was the life, I’m telling you.

On top of that, there was a smart toilet, a waterfall-style faucet, and a clear glass wall surrounding a mammoth shower.

It was still hard to believe the rent here was so freaking cheap, and what’s more, Thalia told me she wasn’t even keeping the money I paid her. My monthly deposits went straight into her little brother’s account.

The chick had to be loaded, which yeah… Must be nice.

But I guess Thalia had never actually paid for the place herself, either. Her aunt had owned it first, or something like that, and she’d left it to the two siblings. But still… If I were them, I’d at least charge what the place was worth. Make a little more off the top, if you know what I mean.

When I entered the hallway, I paused. This was my least favorite part of the whole apartment. It was still very opulent with a chandelier and grand, polished hardwood flooring; I’d just never been a fan of long, stretchy corridors. They always reminded me of creepy movies, like The Shining. And this one was particularly narrow. And echoey.

All the doors branching off from it were closed, too. There was one at each end: one that Thalia had said went up to the attic and the other went out onto a miniature patio on the roof, which led around to the outside second-floor balcony. I’d eaten supper out there last night. It’d been awesome. Very posh.

Then there was the door that led into Thalia’s room, which I’d never seen open either, so I’d felt weird about leaving mine open. Shutting my door behind me, I started for the stairwell that was located next to the attic entrance, the old wood creaking underfoot. And as I passed Thalia’s room, I knocked three times, which was something I’d started to do every morning as I passed by, just to see if she was around.

But she never was.

“Good morning, Thalia!” I called cheerfully. “Rise and shine.”

When a muted groan answered from within, I paused, surprised to actually hear an answer. “Oh, hey! You’re home. Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

I bit my lip until Thalia blearily croaked, “No…no... I’m good. Wide awake.”

I laughed. “Yeah, it sounds like it. Hey, I’m about to make myself some breakfast. You want anything?”

“No thanks,” she answered with a hearty yawn. “I’m going to be heading out soon.”

“You sure?” I coaxed. “I’d be willing to share my beloved French vanilla cappuccino with you for the road.”

“Aww, you’re such a doll. But nope. I’m good. Have a good day, though.”

“Alright,” I said with a shrug. “You too.”

When I had moved in, she’d told me I would be responsible for getting my own food, and she hadn’t been kidding. The cabinets and refrigerator had been utterly bare, with only a box of baking soda in the fridge. It seemed so strange to me that she didn’t even have bottled water or coffee to snag before she was out the door again.

But to each their own, I guess.

I turned at the opening of the stairwell and bounded down the metal steps, gripping the railing as I went.

After my initial visit, I’d thought the ground floor had been completely open, like a studio apartment, but there was actually a small, easily overlooked doorway under the stairs that led into a short hall, where a utility room with a washer and dryer, plus a broom closet and half-bath, were located. And at the end of that hall was another exit out the back way, where two snug parking places were tucked behind the townhouse in place of a backyard.

I made my way toward the front kitchen area, needing caffeine in my system, stat.

Barefoot and wearing a pair of short, plaid night shorts plus a tight cami with lace fringe and the words Sweet Dreams stretched across my breasts, I padded across the floor straight to the single-serve coffeemaker on the kitchen counter.

“More French vanilla for me, then,” I sang to myself as I dragged a mug from the cupboard to set it under the spout before slotting in a pod.

Humming to myself as the machine grumbled and complained and finally spat out my morning brew, I pulled a yogurt from the fridge and then hunted up some fruit, settling on a cup of mixed blueberries, raspberries, and a banana.

When Thalia came prancing down the steps fifteen minutes later in an all-white romper, lime green high heels, a thick belt to match, and a small gold change purse, I was still seated on my stool at the bar, sipping my daily dose of get-up-and-go, only about half-awake. She even had full makeup on as if she were spending a night out on the town with her hair slicked back and pulled up severely into a tight, tidy bun, along with big hoop earrings dangling above each shoulder.

I sat up and lifted my eyebrows. “Wow. You look like a million bucks.”

Once she stepped off the stairs, she grinned and dramatically posed for me again, lifting one arm above her head and propping a hand against her hip as she kicked a foot up behind her. Then she tilted her chin my way and batted her lashes. “Why…thank you.”

“But where’re you going, all spiffed up like that?” I asked.

With a wink, she shot back, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Then she blew me a kiss and turned around to head down the back hall. “Toodles!”

A second after she disappeared completely, I heard the back door open and close.

“Toodles,” I called lamely, still blinking at where she’d just been standing, all glitzy and glamorous.

Seriously, though, where was she going? And at six-thirty in the freaking morning, too.

Ooh! Six-thirty. I was going to miss him.

Checking the time as I scampered off my stool, I caught my foot on the bottom rung and stumbled in my haste to make it to the window.

But I didn’t want to be late for the show.

I was still hopping on one foot and trying to catch my balance by the time I reached the glass, where I latched onto the curtains and pulled them open so I could peer out.

The best thing I’d discovered about living right on Bridleway was getting to see all the joggers each morning. All the glistening, male, half-dressed, and very fit joggers, to be specific.

I already had my favorite, too. And if he followed his usual morning schedule, he was going to run by my window any moment now.

Biting my lip, I craned my neck, searching…searching…until there!

Just like clockwork, here he came.

I released an adoring breath. But gawd… He was just beyond gorgeous.

Somewhere between six feet even and six-three and probably a hundred and eighty pounds—give or take—he appeared to have that perfect mesomorph body type with the wider shoulders, slimmer waist, and all-around model physique.

His skin was a dark golden tan. I couldn’t tell if the hint of swarthiness meant he had some Hispanic heritage running through his veins, like me, or if he just tanned that well.

Either way, it looked good on him.

Then again, everything looked good on him. Except maybe his gaudy shoes. They were these yellow and bright orange monstrosities that were probably super popular brands in the running world. But yikes…no.

He had trim ankles, muscular calves, and bulging thighs that made up for it, though. Except I barely got to see much of those glorious thighs because the hem of his shorts swallowed up most of them.

But I could deal with that because his shorts rode low and loose around his waist, and with his white shirt hanging from the back pocket of his shorts, his rock-hard abs were on full display.

A dark happy trail circled his belly button before disappearing down inside his waistband. And oh… My stomach quivered and thighs clenched as my gaze moved over his six-pack abs and up to his perfectly defined chest, which was chiseled with a light sprinkling of dark hair around his small, flat nipples.

I licked my lips as he paused at his normal turn-around spot right in front of my brownstone and lifted his arms to rest both hands on the back of his head as he walked in a small circle, showing me a perfectly rounded and pert ass before coming back around to display the front again as he took a moment to cool off.

This was just no fair. Even the dark thatch of hair in his armpits was a frigging turn-on. Maybe because it dwelled under a set of biceps that were curved to firm perfection, but I liked it. I liked how the muscles in his throat moved when he swallowed and how his strong jawline shifted as he opened his mouth to inhale, then curved his plush lips into an O when he exhaled again. I liked how his lashes rested on the tops of his cheekbones when he closed his eyes and how he lifted his face to the morning sunlight to soak in some Vitamin D.

I just…liked him.

The dark hair on his head was straight, not quite military-grade buzzed but close, and his beard was thick and fully grown in but equally short and trimmed. It made him appear very controlled and orderly, not letting much else about himself out.

An enigma, if you will, with a hooded gaze that watched other people pass but never engaged with them. No hello smiles, no bobbing of the head to acknowledge others, just scrutinizing watchfulness. And to me, that made him one hard, closed-off nut to crack.

But, boy, did that make me want to pop him open and learn everything there was to know.

As if hearing my brain work in overdrive, trying to figure him out, he glanced over and caught me standing in the window, ogling him.

And just like that, his entire demeanor changed. Dropping his arms from the top of his head, he straightened in surprise and blinked at me as if he were seeing a ghost.

“Oh shit,” I gasped and lurched away from the window, batting the curtains back into place and utterly mortified that my gawking ways had been exposed. Now I was never going to be able to spy on him unnoticed again; he’d always check to see if I was there.

Ugh!

Watching him had become my favorite morning pastime, too.

Grumbling to myself, I returned to the counter to clear away my breakfast and get ready for classes, already certain the rest of my day was ruined.

I moodily reached for my yogurt spoon when I heard a key in the lock at the front door.

Not expecting anyone, I yelped and dropped the spoon.

As it clattered onto the countertop, the main door started to open, only to get held up by the chain door guard and jar to an abrupt halt.

“Oh!” I said, scrambling forward, certain it was Thalia. “Hold up.”

But the door had already slammed shut again.

Determined to catch my roommate and let her in, I hustled to the entrance and fumbled to slide the chain off. Then I tried to pull the door open, only to realize she’d relocked it from the outside, so I had to twist the lock, and then—voilà—I finally had the thing unlocked.

But when I pulled it open and peered outside, no one was there.

“Thalia?” I asked as I stepped barefoot onto the front steps. “Hello?”

She was long gone. As was my fantasy jogger.

Only three guys with book bags slumped over their shoulders were walking past and talking to each other, paying absolutely no attention to me.

“Huh,” I mumbled, scratching my hair in confusion.

That was strange. I wonder where she—

“Hey!” a voice growled from behind me…inside my apartment.

A very male, very angry voice.

I screamed and whirled around to find a shadowy silhouette exiting the back hall from the rear entrance and wielding the umbrella that I’d had hanging from a hook back there. He held it as if it were a bat, with his knees bent slightly and feet spread apart in that typical, I’m-ready-to-kick-ass stance.

He shuffled into the room as if uncertain but still ready to dive into a physical brawl.

Oh, and did I forget to mention he was shirtless?

No, scratch that. He had a shirt. He just wasn’t wearing it. It was dangling from the back pocket of his running shorts. And his shoes were the same yellow and neon-orange atrocities that my favorite jogger wore.

When he moved into the light enough for me to see his face, I pulled back in surprise before breathing, “Whoa.”

Because he was my hot jogger guy.