I finished getting ready, choosing a clean, dark t-shirt and jeans – my usual look. Marcus would be here soon, and I needed to get my head straight.
I was pouring myself another glass of water, trying to rehydrate from the beer-induced confusion, when I heard it: a familiar series of quick, sharp knocks on my door. It wasn't the tentative knock of a neighbor or the impatient pounding of a delivery guy. It was Marcus. He had a specific rhythm, a code we'd developed over the years.
I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, looking surprisingly decent for a guy with a recently broken nose. He had on a pressed shirt, and his hair was neatly combed, clearly a concession to Betty. But his eyes, dark and sharp, were still the same. His nose was indeed swollen and a bit purple.
"Took you long enough," he grumbled, pushing off the frame and stepping inside. He immediately sniffed the air. "What's that smell? Expensive perfume? You really found yourself a new friend, didn't you?"
I closed the door behind him. "She's the new neighbor, Felicia. And yeah, she's… intriguing." I tried to keep my tone casual, but a small, smug smile probably gave me away.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Intriguing, huh? That's new. Usually, your 'intriguing' involves a quick exit strategy and no repeat performances." He walked over to the couch, his gaze scanning the apartment. "So, where's the loot?"
I gestured vaguely. "Under the couch."
He bent down and pulled out the duffel bag, unzipping it with a practiced hand. He counted out his share quickly, his fingers moving with a speed that always impressed me. Two hundred grand was a good haul, enough to keep us both comfortable for a while, especially with my portion.
"So, what's the plan with this Felicia?" Marcus asked, straightening up with his share of the cash tucked in another duffle bag.
"Relax, I'm just being friendly," I said, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. There was an undeniable pull, a spark with Felicia that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was dangerous, yes, but also… exhilarating.
"Friendly, right?" He gave me a skeptical look. "Look, she just moved in, and she's already bringing you coffee? And you're talking about poker winnings that aren't poker winnings? That's not 'friendly,' that's 'setting yourself up for trouble.'"
I walked over to the fridge and pulled out another beer, popping the cap with a decisive snap.
"Don't mess it up because some blonde with nice eyes decides to play twenty questions."
He had a point. He always had a point when it came to self-preservation. But something about Felicia made me want to ignore all the points, all the rules.
"I can handle it, Marcus," I said, taking a long swig of beer. "I always do."
He sighed, running a hand over his bruised nose. "Just be careful. You're good, but even you have blind spots. And women… they tend to be your biggest one."
"Coming from the guy who's about to take Betty to lunch in a shirt he probably ironed for the first time in years." I grinned. "Don't pretend you're immune to a pretty face."
He actually chuckled at that, a dry, weary sound. "Touché. Look, I gotta go. Betty's probably tapping her foot already." He walked to the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "Just… keep your guard up, alright? This isn't a game of solitaire, and you don't know all the cards she's holding."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, watching him.
He nodded before closing the door, but just before it was closed, "Wait!" I called out.
He looked inside again. "What?" He asked me.
"I'm coming too."
...
...
...
"Huh?"
-------------
"Huh?" Marcus finally managed, the single syllable loaded with disbelief. He stood framed in my doorway, one hand still on the knob, his duffel bag of cash tucked under his other arm. He looked like he was genuinely trying to process if the blow to his nose had also given me a concussion.
"I'm coming too," I repeated, pushing past him into the hallway. "To lunch with you and Betty." I flashed him my most charming, slightly dangerous smile.
Marcus's jaw actually dropped. "Are you out of your mind? I'm taking my girlfriend out for a nice lunch. A romantic lunch. Not a three-ring circus featuring you and your... unique brand of social graces." He lowered his voice, his eyes darting to make sure no one else was in the hall. "And certainly not after we just pulled a job this big, you idiot!"
"Relax, relax," I said, already walking towards the stairs. "It'll be fine. Think of it as a double date. Betty will love me. Everyone loves me." I winked back at him over my shoulder, already halfway down the first flight of creaking steps.
He swore under his breath, a string of Hindi expletives that usually meant he was genuinely agitated. "Don't you dare embarrass me, you son of a bitch!" he called after me, slamming my apartment door shut. I heard his heavy footsteps as he reluctantly followed.
When he caught up to me on the ground floor, he was still fuming. "This is insane. Betty is expecting a quiet lunch. We're going to that new fusion place she likes, it's fancy. You can't just... show up."
"Watch me," I countered, pushing open the main door to the apartment building. The late morning sun hit my face, bright and a welcome change from my dim apartment. "Besides, I'm practically family." I grinned.
Marcus pinched the bridge of his still-swollen nose. "I'm going to regret this. I swear to God, if you say one word about last night, or the money, or anything that makes me look bad, I will end you. Slowly. And painfully."
"Duly noted," I said cheerfully, patting his shoulder. "Now, where's this fancy place? I'm starving."
The fusion restaurant was exactly the kind of place I'd expected Betty to choose – all exposed brick and Edison bulbs, with a menu that used words like "deconstructed" and "elevated." The hostess, a twenty-something with perfectly straight bangs, led us to a corner table where Betty was already waiting.
She was prettier than I'd imagined from Marcus's descriptions. Auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, wearing a cream-colored blouse that probably cost more than most people's rent. Her smile was warm when she saw Marcus, but it flickered with confusion when she noticed me trailing behind.
"Marcus, hi!" She stood to give him a kiss on the cheek, carefully avoiding his bruised nose. "And this is...?"
"This is my friend I mentioned," Marcus said through gritted teeth, shooting me a warning glance. "The one who's... spontaneous."
"Spontaneously hungry," I added, extending my hand. "I'm Sebastian. Sorry to crash your lunch, but Marcus here was being way too modest about having such beautiful company."
Betty's cheeks actually flushed a little. "Oh, well, that's... sweet of you to say." She looked to Marcus for guidance, clearly unsure how to navigate this unexpected development.
Marcus pulled out her chair with exaggerated chivalry. "Sebastian was just leaving, actually. Weren't you, Sebastian?"
"Was I?" I slid into the seat across from them before either could object. "I thought I was just arriving. Besides, I'm fascinated to hear about your work, Betty. Marcus tells me you're in... what was it again?"
"Marketing," she said, settling back into her chair with a glance at Marcus. "For a tech startup downtown. And you're... in construction, right? With Marcus?"
I caught Marcus's eye over her shoulder and grinned. "Something like that. We're in the business of moving things around. Heavy lifting, you could say."
The server appeared as if summoned by Marcus's increasingly desperate expression. "Can I start you folks with some drinks?"
"Wine," Marcus said immediately. "A bottle. Something strong."
"It's barely noon," Betty laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it now.
"Trust me," I said, leaning back in my chair, "when you're with us, it's always wine o'clock."
Marcus's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, and his face went pale. "Excuse me for just a second," he muttered, standing abruptly. "I need to take this."
Betty watched him walk toward the restroom, phone pressed to his ear, then turned back to me with a curious expression. "He seems... tense today. More than usual."
"Marcus? Tense?" I chuckled, pouring water from the pitcher on the table. "He's probably just worried about impressing you. You know how it is – new relationship, wants everything to be perfect."
"Is that what this is?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Because honestly, I'm getting the feeling there's more to you showing up here than just being hungry."
Smart girl. I could see why Marcus was smitten. "Maybe I'm just looking out for my friend. Making sure he's not getting in over his head."
"And maybe," she said, her voice dropping lower, "you're the one who's in over his head."
I chuckled, "I'm sorry, am I doing anything wrong? Why are you getting so defensive?" I asked.
...
"I'm just kidding, just checking if you really care that much about my boy. New couples and all, recently, very bad cases. No offense to you, though."
Betty raised an eyebrow at my comment about "very bad cases," but her expression softened slightly. "No offense taken. And I do care about him, for what it's worth. Marcus is..." She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "He's different from other guys I've dated. More genuine, somehow."
"Genuine," I repeated, taking a sip of water. "That's one way to put it." I leaned forward slightly. "Marcus is a good guy, Betty. Loyal to a fault. Sometimes too loyal for his own good."
"What do you mean by that?"
Before I could answer, Marcus returned to the table, his face tight with worry. He sat down heavily, his phone still clutched in his hand.
"Everything okay?" Betty asked, reaching over to touch his arm.
"Fine," he said quickly, but his eyes found mine across the table. There was a warning there, a silent communication we'd perfected over years of partnership. "Just work stuff."
"On a Saturday?" Betty pressed gently.
"Construction emergencies don't follow a schedule," I said smoothly, covering for him. "Right, Marcus?"
"Right," he agreed, though his voice sounded strained. "Listen, maybe we should order. I'm sure you're hungry, Betty."
She picked up her menu, but I could see her watching Marcus from the corner of her eye. "So Sebastian," she said, not looking up from the descriptions of various deconstructed dishes, "what kind of construction do you and Marcus do exactly?"
I felt Marcus tense beside her. "Oh, you know, a little bit of everything. Residential, commercial. We're particularly good at... acquisitions."
"Acquisitions?"
"Renovations," Marcus corrected quickly. "He means renovations."
Betty finally looked up from her menu, her gaze moving between us. "You two have known each other a long time, haven't you?"
"Since we were kids," I said. "Been through everything together. Haven't we, Marcus?"
Marcus nodded, but his attention was divided. His eyes kept drifting to the restaurant's entrance, and I could see the tension in his shoulders.
"That's sweet," Betty said, though there was something in her tone that suggested she was picking up on the undercurrents. "It's rare to find friendships that last that long. Especially in your line of work."
"Our line of work?" I asked, genuinely curious about where she was going with this.
"Construction can be... volatile, can't it? Dangerous. People get hurt." Her eyes lingered on Marcus's bruised nose. "Equipment accidents, falls, fights with subcontractors..."
Marcus's hand went unconsciously to his nose. "Yeah, something like that."
The server appeared with a bottle of wine and three glasses. As she poured, Betty continued to study us both with an intensity that was making me slightly uncomfortable. This woman was definitely more perceptive than either of us had given her credit for.
I smiled.
"Very thoughtful of you, Betty. I'm so jealous of Marcus for getting a girlfriend like you." I told her.
"He's very hypocritical, the number of girls he brought into our college dorm...unbelievable. And for the first time, he says he's feeling a spark with this new girl, who's his neighbor." Marcus told her.
My smile vanished. Oh, he's hitting back in the teasing now?
"Oh really? How's this neighbor of yours, Sebastian?" Betty asked me.
I took a sip of the wine, "Just call me Seb, Betty. This girl... I met her yesterday," I told her. "I was getting drunk late at night, and then suddenly I heard a knock at the door, claimed she had a problem with a lock, and asked me for a lubricant, the WD-40. She was very hot, I'd say. And today morning, I had a cup of coffee with her."
She widened her eyes, "Well, that was fast." She told me.
"Fast is putting it mildly," I said, swirling the wine in my glass. "But there's something about her that's... different. Intriguing, like I said."
Marcus shot me another warning look, but I was already committed to the conversation. Besides, what harm could there be in talking about a beautiful neighbor?
"Different how?" Betty asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
"Well, for starters, she moves like a dancer. Or maybe a gymnast. Very... graceful. And she has this way of looking at you, like she knows something you don't." I paused, remembering the way Felicia had studied my apartment that morning. "Plus, who needs WD-40 at midnight? Most people would wait until morning, call a locksmith."
"Maybe she's just independent," Betty suggested. "Some women don't like asking for help unless they absolutely have to."
"Or maybe," Marcus interjected, his voice carrying a note of warning meant for me, "she's the type who creates her own problems so she has an excuse to solve them."
I looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing specific," he said, but his eyes were serious. "Just that in our experience, when something seems too good to be true..."
"It usually is," Betty finished, though she was looking at Marcus now with renewed interest. "You two are very cautious, aren't you? Almost like you're used to people having hidden agendas."
The server chose that moment to approach our table. "Are you ready to order?"
"I'll have the deconstructed salmon," Betty said, handing over her menu.
"Make it two," Marcus added quickly, clearly eager to change the subject.
"The ribeye," I said. "Rare. And another bottle of wine."
After the server left, Betty returned to her previous line of questioning. "So this Felicia – does she work? Study? What's her story?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I'm planning to find out."
"Be careful," Marcus said quietly. "New neighbors, especially attractive ones who show up at your door at midnight, they sometimes have their own reasons for being friendly."
Betty's eyebrows rose. "That's quite cynical, Marcus. Maybe she just needed help."
"Maybe," he agreed, but his tone suggested he didn't believe it.
My phone buzzed. A text message from an unknown number: Thanks for the coffee this morning. I was thinking about what you said about poker. Maybe you could teach me sometime? - F
I stared at the message, my pulse quickening. How had she gotten my number? I hadn't given it to her.
"Everything okay?" Betty asked, noticing my expression.
"Fine," I said, slipping the phone back into my pocket. "Just work."
Marcus gave me a look that said he knew I was lying, but he didn't press. Instead, he raised his wine glass. "To new beginnings," he said, though his tone was anything but celebratory.
"To new beginnings," Betty echoed, clinking her glass against his.
I raised mine as well, but as I did, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was toasting something that might be more dangerous than any of us realized. Felicia Hardy was proving to be more resourceful than I'd initially thought – and in our line of work, resourcefulness in others was rarely a good thing.
"So," Betty said, settling back in her chair, "tell me more about this poker game you mentioned to your neighbor. Do you play professionally?"
Marcus nearly choked on his wine. "It's just a hobby," he said quickly.
"A very profitable hobby, apparently," Betty observed with a slight smile.
I decided to deflect with humor. "What can I say? I'm lucky."
"Lucky," she repeated thoughtfully. "Or skilled?"
"Both, I hope."
The food arrived, providing a welcome distraction from Betty's increasingly perceptive questions. But as we ate, I found myself thinking about Felicia's text. There was something about the timing, the way she'd phrased it, that felt deliberate. Almost like she was fishing for information.
Marcus was right to be cautious. In our business, coincidences were rare, and attractive women who appeared out of nowhere asking the right questions were usually bad news.
But even knowing that, I couldn't shake the image of her silver hair catching the morning light, or the way she'd looked at me like I was a puzzle she was eager to solve.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the same number: I hope I'm not being too forward. I just have a good feeling about you.
This time, I didn't try to hide my smile.
"Good news?" Betty asked.
"Maybe," I said, already planning my response. "Sometimes the best things in life come with a little risk."
Marcus set down his fork with more force than necessary. "And sometimes," he said quietly, "the biggest risks come disguised as the best things."
But I was already typing back: I have a good feeling about you, too. Dinner tomorrow?
The response came back almost instantly: It's a date. I'll surprise you.
She knew my number, she knew about Marcus, and she asked me to teach her some poker. What's her game? Interesting woman...
"So, what about you guys? When are the little nephew and niece coming along?" I asked.