Walking The Line | ✓

Chapter Five

When the doors opened on the seventh floor I had made up my mind. I was getting inside his apartment whether he liked it or not.

I'd reluctantly accepted on my way up that it was the right thing to do. Leaving him to manage on his own would be rude --although the thought was tempting -- I could hear my abuela's reprimand inside my head, 'El que es perico, dondequiera es verde.' Her voice reminded me.

Right.

Even though he hadn't given me one miserable reason to be nice towards him since he'd moved in, I wasn't the kind of person to walk away from someone in need. Not when I was fully capable of lending a hand. Though the stubborn set of his jaw made me want to curse the good-hearted genes that strengthened my resolve.

I couldn't leave him alone in his condition, I just couldn't. I knew myself well enough to know that I'd spend the night staring at my bedroom's ceiling, learning every single stain, if I didn't at least know he was resting his feet. And that was something I wanted to avoid. It was enough I had to put up with his glowering during daytime, I wasn't about to give him reason to stare on my nights too.

So it was settled.

I couldn't care less if receiving help from a woman hurt his big badass ego.

The choice of place was a no-brainer, what good would it be to let him lay on my couch if at the end he'll have to move to his own anyway? It was the smartest choice, the logical one, so why did I feel my heart climb up my troat with every step that took us further into the hallway?

A quick glance at his face told me he wasn't fond of our closeness. For a bystander he was the picture of cool and collected, but the tight set of his lips gave it away.

Five inches.

That was the distance between our bodies. I could feel his heat slipping through my clothes and hopelessly prayed my outside looked half as smooth as his.

  The deep breaths that came out of his mouth ruffled the few hairs that managed to escape my ponytail and matched the rithm of our footsteps against the floor as we walked in silence, me gripping his side as he leaned his tall body over mine dropping his weight on my shoulders.

I was tall for a girl, but man, he still was a whole head taller than my 5.8.

As attractive as that was, I didn't let my thoughts linger there or how the firm, hard muscles of his chest bunched under my touch.

The forty feet from the elevator to his apartment were beautiful torture.

I waited as he took his keys to open the door then his body turned towards me. His eyes looked everywhere but my face, "I can handle it from here." He said, leaning a shoulder against the door frame.

There it was, I was wondering when macho man would make his appearance.

I stared at him, reconsidering the pros of leaving him there. He met my gaze with his own, unfaltering. Then his head tilted slightly to the side and I had my answer.

He wanted me to piss off, the jerk.

Well, too bad for him.

In my mind I flipped him the bird. In reality I put on a smile and hoped my eyes conveyed the message 'kiss my ass' loud and clear, "I know you can. Now are you going to let me in or what?"

The lines between his brows told me he was frustrated. Good. It was about time for him to realize I never did what people told me to, especially when said people were complete strangers. Although it had gotten me into more trouble than not, it was a trait I'd learned to accept.