-CHAPTER TEN-

It was a little strange to wake the following afternoon after a fitful morning of rest following my first ever experience with being accosted. At first, the night's events had felt like a dream. One of those nightmares about being chased into a dark alley or free-falling from a cliff. Or one where you make the dire, whimsical mistake of getting your high school boyfriend's name tattooed to your boob. But then, even through the relentless streams of yellow sunshine blazing across my room, reality set in to leave me feeling nervous and afraid.

My whole life I'd been protected, sheltered, spoiled… And now, not only were bad things happening, but I had the distinct feeling that darkness would increase before we saw any glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. It left a metallic taste in my mouth, similar to blood.

I stumbled from bed and trudged to the bathroom with a change of clothes. In the shower, I stood under the hot, steamy water for way too long trying to get rid of a headache now forming at the base of my neck from lack of caffeine. After a salt scrub to wake me up, I dried off and pulled on a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black and grey rocker shirt. Perhaps dressing the part of bad-ass would give me courage for the day. I even wore a bold silver ring and a bunch of black hair ties around my left wrist.

By the time I left the bathroom, it was nearing noon, and I couldn't put off calling Dad any longer. He turned out to be in a meeting, so I was left to pace for twenty minutes in front of a slightly gaping front door before he called me back.

"Hey sweetie, what's up?" Dad always got right to the point. His never wanting to waste precious time on sentiment was likely the reason for my apathy toward, well… everything.

"Hi Dad. Bad time?" I asked, matching his hurried tone.

"Well, we're dealing with another merger today. Poor bastards never like being put out of work." He didn't sound all that sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Good ol' Dad. "Is anything wrong?" he asked.

Now, I knew I couldn't just tell him the truth. Doing so would evoke a measures of protection including a helicopter rescue that would leave Sarah and Cat on their own. I sighed to buy time for a good lie to materialize. "Actually, I was hoping for an advance on my allowance."

"Advance?" Dad sounded shocked. "Have I taught you nothing about financial management? And aren't you living in the ghettos of New York these days? Should be fairly affordable." His disdain for my living arrangements had never been much of a secret.

"Dad, I don't live in the ghettos," I answered while staring at my broken front window. "It's inner city. And it's expensive here." When your roommate has a coke addiction.

"Mm hmmm," he murmured. "Kid, I don't know anyone who can spend money like you can. I just gave you a raise from twenty five to fifty because I could never swallow all that bullshit about not spoiling your children."

I'd heard this beloved speech before. I loved this speech. "Yep."

He continued. "But you decided you didn't want to work for me here in California. You wanted to stay in New York after graduation. Get a taste of real life. Make your own way. And that's fine. But me giving you six hundred grand a year isn't really supporting your decision."

No, no, no… This was not the direction I'd wanted this conversation to go. "Wait. Are you saying no to the advance?"

"Kid, I'm saying no to the advance," he answered forlornly. "And I'm saying no to future funding of your little Disneyland ride. If you want to be on your own, you gotta be on your own. That means finding a job-"

"Actually," I cut him off, "I did find a job."

"Well, that's a step in the right direction! Where at?" he asked.

"Bookstore." My headache was no longer threatening – it was worsening, letting me know I needed coffee bad.

Dad laughed. "Bottom rung, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm not making much money yet. Can't you just give me like two months worth and then take away my allowance? I'm in really hot water here!" I pleaded without any thought to personal pride.

"I don't think so, sweetie. This'll be good for you," he tried convincing me before we got off the phone. "It'll give you grit."

Yeah, grit. That's what I would have between my teeth in two more days, I thought, hanging up.

Sarah was still sleeping; her snoring could be heard from the kitchen where Cat had left me a note to call her at work. After dialing, I cradled my cell in the crook of my neck and fumbled through the fridge for our coffee canister which turned out to be empty.

"Hello?" Cat must have been sitting by the phone waiting for my call. It only took her half a ring to answer.

"Shit." I slammed the canister back onto the shelf and closed the door to the fridge. "Why are we out of coffee?"

"I sold it to pay the loan sharks. It was high end stuff."

"I would know," I answered on a note of sarcasm. "I bought it."

She chuckled.

"So glad you're finding this funny," I growled.

"You talk to your daddy?" she asked. And her teasing name for my father wasn't even supposed to be a joke. It was habit for her to call him that.

"Yeah, bad news," I sighed into the phone, closing my eyes against the throbbing behind them. "I kind of talked him out of giving me money at all, let alone early."

"He cut you off?"

"He's backing my decision to live in the real world," I told her with the tone I usually reserve for children. "You know the one – that decision to move in with you and Sarah because I thought it would be fun."

"Look, don't be crabby with me just because Daddy finally cut the pseudo umbilical cord."

"What do we do now?" I asked.

After several terse moments, Cat sighed in reply, sounding exhausted. She had about as many ideas as me when it came to solving our dilemma.

Everything felt up in the air, with no possibility for resolution. Well, all but one thing. I knew for certain, if I didn't get caffeine into my bloodstream, I'd be fending a migraine. So, as soon as we hung up, I stuffed my socked feet into a pair of black suede boots and donned my jacket. The last thing I grabbed before heading out was a pocket-sized, spiral notebook and a pen I could click while thinking of a plan to get a fake ID and move to Bangkok.

Outside, the sun blared through intermittent wisps of snow. The streets had been plowed, and I had to step over a foot-high bank of ice and gravel to reach the front doors of the coffee shop. Inside, I stomped my feet and pulled my hood back. The room was only partly crowded today, even considering it was lunch time.

I ordered my usual twenty ounce, caramel, something or other, with an extra shot and found my way to a table against the left wall. Somehow, even knowing my fate of a shattered rib cage in just over forty eight hours, I felt safe here in the coffee shop. The creaking, mismatched dinettes; the windows painted in holiday themes; the lack of overhead lighting during daylight... They were all viable comforts.

Mere minutes after my first sip, the headache began to ebb, leaving a little room for creative power. I opened my notepad and drew tulips on the top right corner, a little frog at the bottom. He was holding a leaf umbrella to fend off rainfall, a metaphor to my predicament.

How serious was the situation, I had to wonder. How powerful were Sarah's new friends? Would they be able to track down my personal information? My location? Not that I would jump ship. All I had was twenty thousand or so, and that wasn't enough to live on for long. I'd be forced to go home to 'Daddy' or get a real job. Either choice would dig deep into my time – time needed to game. During my reverie, I'd sketched out a poem:

The cloud presses downward, enveloping.

Dust and debris become chaos, desiring.

I stand and wait for the end, relenting.

Eyes closed; the rush of wind in my ears.

Mind closed; the thought of death, no fears.

"A bit morbid, are we?" The voice came from over my shoulder, startling me.

"A bit nosy, are we?" My tendency toward thoughtless retorts preceded any tact I might scrape together. So the biting quip was out before I'd turned to see Mason standing there with a teasing smile and one eyebrow raised in defense. I cringed.

Without asking permission, he took the seat across from me. "No, just curious."

I tried not looking too flattered as I closed my pad of paper. "About me?"

"You're interesting."

"Where did you come from?" I asked, a little perturbed at having been caught off guard. After all, I was facing the doorway.

"I was sitting right over there when you came in." He glanced passed the line of patrons dividing the room, lifted one finger nearly imperceptibly off the table to point.

"So you decided to sneak over here and spy on me?" My challenge was direct, meant to counter the spastic butterflies in my gut. But honestly, I was happy to see him. Happy he thought me worthy to seek out.

"Like I said," he chuckled. "You interest me."

And you interest me, I thought, meeting his steady gaze. On the outskirts of my peripheral, I noticed a Celtic design across the front of his hooded sweatshirt. Also, a dark t-shirt was visible at his neck, and a beanie was pulled down over his head. The sharp blue of his eyes had been washed out by all the black he wore, leaving a soft, intelligent grey.

"Planning to rob a bank?" I had to ask as I took a long drink of my latte which was now the perfect temperature.

He laughed and lounged back, one long leg stretching out far enough to block me from leaving. His black boots were laced backwards so the X's were on the inside. "You know, robbing a bank would probably be less scary."

I scowled at his insinuation. "Then talking to me?"

He laughed again, this time nervously, leaning in and wrapping both hands around the ceramic mug he'd opted for over the typical paper cup. I couldn't help but notice how short his nails were. Either he gave credence to the metro-sexual lifestyle of manicures and facials, or he stressed over everything. Including me. "So, jobless, poet Laura-"

"Not jobless," I interrupted quickly. It bothered me to have him think of me as lazy.

"Oh?"

I relished in the twinkle his eyes offered. "As a matter of fact, I now dust shelves at Barnes and Noble."

"Wow," he laughed and removed his hat, tossing it on the table between us and pulling black hair behind his ears. Bits weren't yet long enough – they fell forward immediately, curling around his temples. And his ears were pierced, not with studs, but plugs. Little black circles of plastic had widened the holes ever so slightly. "So, I guess we won't need to rob that bank after all."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far…" I grumbled under my breath.

His teasing sobered into concern. "Everything alright?"

After leaving my father out of the loop, I couldn't very well tell Mason the truth. In fact, if these drug dealers were the real deal, anyone who knew about them would be in deep shit. "Just having money trouble."

"Even with your prestigious position at the book store?"

My eyes rolled in a circle; I shook my head. "It would take me a lifetime to earn the money I need to pay off in two days."

Mason bit his lip, narrowed his eyes. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it." I tried shrugging off the conversation. "I shouldn't have brought it up. It isn't even my debt. It's my roommate's. She owes some guy money, and he's a little pissed off about it. But it's nothing."

The way in which Mason leaned forward made me feel secluded. As though nobody else around us even mattered. The sound of the brass bell clanging against the glass each time someone opened the front door, the murmur of discussion, the machines foaming milk, were all faded into the background as I stared into Mason's intimidating eyes. "Doesn't sound like nothing," he stated quietly.

I tried pulling together a sarcastic deflection, but nothing came to mind. For the first time ever, I was at a loss for banter. And all I could do was fidget and mutter, "Seriously, not your problem."

"Okay." He drank from his cup not looking away from me. The guy seemed torn between desires.

I changed the subject. "So, why aren't you at work right now?"

"I was up late last night. Too tired to go in this morning." He shrugged as he watched his own finger tracing a circle around the top of his cup. I watched it, too. "Besides, I don't do the whole nine to five thing."

"Oh."

"I do freelance work. So I pretty much get to choose my own hours."

"Right..." At my obvious confusion, he laughed. I could feel the vibration through my palms resting on the table. "No, I get it. You work one job at a time, like an electrician, or something."

"Yeah, like that. Only with less opportunity for electrocution."

"That's always good."

"I think so." He smiled. "Right now I'm re-writing a security system for a company around here."

"Which one?"

"They don't like me to say," he answered with an air of mystery.

My heart skipped a couple of beats. "Sounds sketchy," I joked.

"No, the jobs are straight," was his response. "Getting into my line of work was a little sketchy…"

Listlessly, I picked up his hat and checked the inside. He watched my expression as I noticed the Versace label.

"A twelve hundred dollar ski cap?" I asked dubiously, lifting the soft cashmere to my face and taking in the sweet scents of skin and Pert shampoo. "And your jobs are totally legal?"

"Legal…" It was a whisper, and he seemed to be entranced by my thoughtless action. His eyes glazed over slightly; he bit his lip again, but not with enough force to hold it in place.

After waving my hand in a slow arc between us and watching him refocus, I suddenly realized my social err. "Sorry," I offered, setting the hat back on the table and meeting his heated gaze.

Mason bit his thumb nail, dispelling any qualms I had about his habits of hygiene. But he didn't say anything. Just left the discomfort there between us like a thick fog. My cheeks burned, and it seemed to give him satisfaction because he smiled. Clearing my throat, I drank down the remainder of my latte, now merely a thick stream of salty caramel, and checked the clock above the door. Was it really only one o'clock?

"In a hurry?" he asked.

"I have another half an hour to burn before I have to be at work."

"If you want, I'll take off and leave you to your suicidal poetry." He may have offered, but I could see he didn't want to go. Not yet.

"I'd rather hear more about your shady, and unreliable, employment."

The way he leaned his forehead in his hand and looked up at me was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Some overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss him was trying to take over, but I contained it just in time. It didn't help that he looked to be thinking the same thing. "It's actually pretty reliable. I'm highly sought after."

He wasn't kidding. Only three times seeing him, and I already wanted him. Guardedly, and in a motion to give us distance, I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. "Yeah?"

"I got into a lot of trouble in high school," he began in explanation. His voice was soft and gravely with the memories from his past. "It wasn't keeping my attention, so I found other shit to do. Mostly breaking into websites and databases. Once, I made the mistake of cracking a server linking all the courthouses. I altered a few cases that were going on, thinking it was funny, and ended up getting arrested."

I couldn't respond. The picture of Mason in handcuffs was a little unnerving, and not because I was suddenly scared of him, but rather, even more intrigued. The guy not only looked the part of delinquent – sexy delinquent (sexy delinquent who models for GQ during his parole) – but he had the rap-sheet to justify all the black he wore, the I-don't-give-a-shit hair, and the sarcastic glimmer in his crystalline eyes…

Mason chuckled at the look on my face. "I was a minor. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I mean, most of the cases I changed were minor offenses."

"Good justification."

"Don't worry, I got what I deserved. The system staved my trial for over six months so they could try me as an adult."

I knew a little about the law. I knew that even at seventeen, if you committed a high-end crime, one that needed planning and intellect, they would assume you were mature enough to take the punishment of an adult. "But it wasn't a violent crime? Why would they do that?"

"You'd be surprised what the government allows themselves to get away with." He sat up in his chair again, finished what looked to be a mocha, and offered an easy smile as though he wasn't at all perturbed by his past. "No worries, I was out in eighteen months, and companies all across the country were begging me to work for them. Test out their security systems to see if I could break in. It's pretty lucrative."

"Wow," was all I could come up with as I watched him pick at the callouses gracing the fingertips of his right hand.

"Does that bother you?" His words sounded far away as I thought about Sarah and her drug addiction, Catrina and her sudden dependency on me, a broken front window...

"Not at all," I answered, because I had very little room to judge.

My day was supposed to go like this: Fret about money, call Dad, get money wired, have coffee, go to work, go home, drink wine, play game. So far, nothing was going the way I'd hoped for, and one thing was going better.

Mason insisted on walking me to work, and by the time I'd ended my grueling four-hour session with little miss control freak Jen, he was waiting to walk me home. As soon as I came out the front doors, coat zipped up tight against the wind, I could see him waiting with hands in his pockets, the bottom of his right foot resting against the brick at his back. He seemed to be concentrating on the stream of cars passing through the grey of dusk.

"Hey again," I called, approaching hesitantly, because there was a chance he wasn't waiting for me, after all. Maybe he was waiting for someone else.

But he smiled shyly. "I'm not stalking you. I promise."

Unable to contain myself, I laughed. He couldn't know the reason, and I didn't inform him. "Maybe I like stalkers," was all I said

He offered a quirky, sideways glance. We started in the direction of my apartment building, me slightly in the lead. Every few feet we walked through a cone of white light from the streetlights.

"Maybe this is your way of finding out where I live…" I said, only half joking. The prior day had left me even more pessimistic about people.

"Actually," he paused as a bus splashed loudly passed us. "I have your first name and a basic physical description. I wouldn't need much more to find your address."

"No way." I shook my head, disbelieving his claim.

"True story – but I wouldn't." He kicked a soda can that was in our way. "I was just thinking about the money your roommate owes, and…" He trailed off and shrugged. For a guy who'd only met me twice, he was a little overprotective, but I didn't mind.

"You worried?" I asked him.

"Maybe."

The little butterflies came alive again. I was supposed to go home and argue with Cat and Sarah about who was first to work the streets. (I mean, Cat has the business savvy, but Sarah has the experience...) Then I had a date with the game, microphone and all… Still, here I was, letting a very sweet, very mysterious, very attractive guy walk me home. A guy who made a ton of money and chose his own hours... What was a girl to do?

"Well, I was a little worried." He smiled down at me. "But I was a lot bored."

"Oh, yeah?" I laughed. "So glad I could fill that little void."

We joked, and teased, and grew even more comfortable in each others' company. Soon we were stepping out of the elevator leading to my tenth floor apartment. The sound of fighting came through my open front door, because Craig, the manager, was fixing the deadbolt.

"Laura, Laura," he muttered, shaking his head from side to side. "This is trouble, I tell you. And we talked about this when you moved in. I said to myself, these are nice girls! Not girls that cause trouble!"

"Yeah, Craig." Even though I was only barely above five feet, I could meet him eye for eye. He was a little, balding Italian who used a lot of hand motions whenever he talked. "Sorry. Won't happen again."

Hopefully.

Mason was eying us both with confusion.

Craig went on - even though Cat was inside shouting about loan sharks and bleeding to death. "I just don't want to see anybody getting hurt now," he told me.

Mason whispered, "Loan sharks?"

"Yeah, that's the part of the story I left out earlier," I answered in a sheepish whisper of my own. "You might as well come on in…"

I led the way through the half-open door. We emerged onto a scene where Cat was trying to open a bottle of wine, and Sarah was crying.

"Hey guys!" I offered with sarcastic cheer.

"Fuck!" The cork broke off half way, angering Cat. But as soon as she saw Mason, she changed her tone. "Why, hello..."

I could tell by the look on her face what she was thinking, that he was her soul mate. Both Cat and Mason were decked out in all-black, but the former was more goth, the latter punk.

Mason removed his hat and wiped his feet on the mat that ironically claimed our neighbors had better stuff.

"I'm Sarah," Sarah whimpered before slouching down into the couch.

"Cat. Wanna glass of wine?" Cat asked him. "I wish we had something stronger, like crack or morphine…"

Mason looked around with uncertainty. "I'm Mason. Mason S-"

"Is this her second bottle?" I asked Sarah, thereby interrupting the rest of Mason's cordial introduction.

"I hope not. She just got home."

"We're having a bad day," I explained, going to help Cat de-cork her Merlot before she flat out broke the bottle against the counter and drank from jagged glass.

After downing the first half of her ten ounces, Cat waved a sloshing wine glass at the room. "Well, this is great. Really, truly fantastic. Now Mason knows. Not that I have anything against you, Mase. You seem like a nice enough guy. It's just… Are you cheating on your game?" she asked, turning back to me. The wine was already going to her head.

"Not really the time, Cat," I warned. Telling Mason about my addiction to online role playing was not on the top of my list.

"She has this thing with Craft World," Cat expounded to both mine and Mason's bewilderment. We were each confused but for different reasons.

Craig poked his head into the entryway before I could explain. "So, I have you all fixed up here with new locks." He lumbered over and set two keys on the counter. "You're gonna have to get a third key made, but you can take it outa the rent. And I know this guy who does windows. Will one of you girls be here tomorrow?"

Teary-eyed Sarah said that she had nothing to do; Craig left, but not before offering a warning for us not to let people break in anymore.

"Oh sure," Cat laughed. "We'll give it our best shot. Even though the first time was so much fun!"

"You had a break in…?" Mason was staring at the front window with a strange look on his face. It was weird enough that he was even here, let alone finding out all our little, dark secrets.

I tried to brush aside his concern. "It happens in New York all the time."

"When?" he asked.

"Uh…" When does it happen? Or when did it happen to us? And how much information was too much?

"Last night," Cat answered, finishing her glass of wine. "Two guys actually sawed through the locks."

"Really?"His look of confusion cleared up instantly. Maybe he'd seen it in the news. "Wow, last night?"

"Well, this morning," Cat went on, re-filling her glass. "By the way," she tossed me a plastic bag, "I went shopping and got you those. But don't leave 'em open. They'll dry out," she warned on her way to the sofa.

I glanced at the label on the snack bag. "But they're dried bananas."

"You know what I mean," she said. "They'll get stale. But they were the closest thing to real food that tastes like candy, so I knew you'd eat them. We can't have you dying when you're our only way to pay the thugs!"

"Okay… Mason's leaving now." I dragged him back toward the entrance to keep him from hearing any more of Cat's tactless sharing. Outside, I gave him my best 'surprise!' expression. "Yeah, my life is a total mess right now. I shouldn't have brought you up here."

He followed me over to the elevator, but made no move to press the down arrow. Instead, he pushed his hands farther into the pocket of his sweatshirt and looked down at me with curiosity. Maybe he was trying to figure me out. Finally, he spoke through the silence. "Which roommate owes the money?"

"Uh…" I faltered. "I don't know how much you should be aware of. This might be a pretty serious situation, and I don't wanna drag you into it."

"I get it."

"But if I end up in prison for say, robbing a bank, you can come and visit me, right?" I asked. "Give me some tips?"

Mason chuckled at my dark humor. "Don't lose your cup."

"My cup?"

"Precious commodity. You only get one."

I laughed even though it wasn't really all that funny to think that the best place I could end up would be prison. "It's more likely, you'll be visiting my grave stone."

"Don't say that."

Sighing, I pressed the arrow pointing down, lighting it up. "Just kidding. I'm making this out to be something much bigger than it actually is."

Mason took a small step forward and looked down at his feet. Or my feet. His scent wafted toward me, something dark and spicy. "Are you?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Splaying my hands, I nodded. "They're just a couple of typical New York vandals who want their money. They acted all tough, doing shit they saw in the movies. But honestly, if they were serious thugs, we would already be deep in salt water by now."

Mason's look softened.

"Seriously," I assured him further. Just then, the elevator doors slid open. I threw my foot on the track to keep them from closing.

"You coming with me?" Not only did he smile, he winked.

I almost passed out. "Uh, no uh… I just."

"Not that I would mind."

Blushing profusely, I explained how the elevator only gave you about three fourths of a second to get in before the doors slammed shut with enough force to take off a finger. "Craig was supposed to have it fixed, but…"

He looked to want to say something, or not want to say something. "How about if I give you my number? I'm renting about four blocks from here. If anything happens, you can call me, okay?"

"Alright." I pulled my pad of paper out from the inner pocket of my coat, the pen from another pocket.

When he held the notepad against the wall and started writing, my earlier suspicions were confirmed. "You're left handed," I told him.

"Yeah, I noticed," he teased, handing back the pen.

In that instance, I took his hand and touched the tips of his fingers, one by one. "And you play guitar," I mentioned, not in question.

"Yeah, I do." Mason's answer came out a rasp. "How'd you know?"

"Callouses. They were the reason I quit guitar lessons when I was ten." I let his hand drop to his side, looked up. Sighed. "Sorry about today. You must be really shocked by all this." I waved toward my front door.

He shrugged before stepping into the elevator and turning to face me. His parting words left me warm and confused. "I already knew about your life of danger," he told me with beautiful, narrowed eyes. "It's what drew me in."

CHAPTER NOTES:

So, for those of you still reading - what are your thoughts? Aside from, Get your lazy ass in line, Jules, and finish this friggin' story!'