Penalty Kill

Harper

There's a highly annoying, incredibly persistent barrage of knocks being rained upon my apartment door, and I am beside myself wishing that whoever it is would simply vanish off the face of the earth forever.

I've spent the last week holed up in my apartment after coming back from Wisconsin. Mostly because I caught one hell of a cold that won't seem to release its grip on me, but also because I really am just not ready to be an active participant in my own life yet. Both Jake and Felicia insisted that I not spend Thanksgiving alone, but it was something I had grown used to over the years—making this one in particular hard, but not unusual for me. 

Mariella has graciously given me a generous amount of time off from work, doing what she can to get as much of it to be paid as possible. Felicia has come by to see me once. She insisted on standing in the doorway, as her fear of catching colds and sickness from people overpowered her desire to comfort me in person for too long. She dropped off a new pretty green plant and some books, which is really all I could ask for.

Jake's been busy with practice and games ever since we got back, and he just drove upstate to be with his family over the holiday weekend. He's been trying his damndest to come over any chance he gets, but I keep turning him down—I most certainly didn't want to be the one who gets him sick, especially before driving up to see his family.

He got back yesterday, and he'd mentioned having practice today and then checking in with me when he was headed home to walk Huey. I hadn't planned on moving from my couch burrito position until he called, but whoever this fuckhead is pounding on my door has other plans.

With a string of colorful curses, I pick Clover up and off my chest, his disgruntled meows trailing after me as I walk around the pile of boxes from my mom's house and make my way to the door. Looking through the peephole, I let out a gasp, along with a "You little shit," as I see Jake with what looks like food containers tucked under his arm along with flowers.

Shaking my head, I fight the smile spreading across my face and attempt to look as disgruntled as possible as I crack the door and peek over the chain.

"You were given very specific instructions to not come here, Bryers."

"I tripped and fell onto your doorstep. Oops." He bends down to where my face is, and I pull back quickly before he can even think about kissing me and my gross cold.

"How the hell did you get in without buzzing?" I watch with raised brows as he draws in a huge breath, and I can tell a tale is coming. 

"First off, I nearly had to fight that little old lady with the white yipper dog who has definitely seen me here a few dozen times by now. Secondly, I'm pretty sure she cussed me out in some ancient language when I snuck through the door, and I'm probably cursed now. Thirdly, if you don't open the damn door, I will be forced to take drastic measures, and we both know this door is no match for my masculine determination."

With a nice long eye roll at all of his dramatized trauma, I sigh and try to fend off the smile twitching on my lips. "Okay, okay, fine."

I close the door to get the chain unlocked, and sneak in a quick adjustment of my messy bun and do some tugging on my unintentional gray sweatsuit combo. I admit defeat in the looks department and curse under my breath as I reopen the door to my overeager golden retriever.

There he stands with a wide smile on his face, showing off his prized mustache as he steps forward to place a kiss on the top of my forehead before strutting inside with a "Merci." The faintest hint of his post-practice shower cologne makes it through my clogged sinuses as he breezes by me, and I can't help but appreciate his unexpected presence a little more.