Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Jade

It wasn’t like I was in the habit of making out with somewhat random men in laundry rooms.

But, well, this particular man was ridiculously gorgeous, charming, and—miracle of all miracles—he was kind.

Kind enough to offer to help complete strangers with their seemingly hopeless situation.

I adored Lily and her family.

Lily and Curtis had been the first people in the building to say hello to me, to tell me that if I had any questions about the building or area, to let them know.

I’d babysat for them when there had been conflicts in schedules. And I went out of my way to get a few minutes playing with their sweet baby a few times a week.

I’d come across Lily sitting outside her apartment door sobbing in private so her kids wouldn’t see her breaking down when she’d gotten the call from Curtis saying he was arrested.

I sat with her for as long as possible, crying with her, before the kids became too unruly, and I had to go inside to try to placate them while their mom got herself together.

I was new to the area, new to this sort of neighborhood. It was hard not to feel my heart crack and splinter every day at the sadness I saw all around.

Single moms struggling to make ends meet. People in need of money falling prey to payday loans. The addicts who needed help, but all they found were dealers. Kids from disenfranchised families have no choice but to work as scouts for local criminal organizations. The homeless begging for spare change just to be able to feed themselves.

It was such a change from the world I’d grown up in. A happy, middle-class upbringing where I was insulated from so many of the hardships in life.

It made for a happy, well-adjusted childhood. But I couldn’t help but think it gave me a very skewed outlook on what the world was really like.

I tried as much as I could to help. But I wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. Hence why I was staying in this building where the air conditioning was spotty at best, the hot water almost never worked, and I was pretty sure some of the paint around was actually still lead.

It had only been a month, yet it seemed like I was often the only one who was trying to do any good.

Then there was Levee.

Taking care of his grumpy uncle.

Then offering to help a complete stranger to try to get him cleared of his charges.

What can I say?

His do-goodery was a surprising aphrodisiac.

I couldn’t wait to get him alone.

The second that Lily and the kids were out of distance where my actions wouldn’t scar them all for life, I reached up, grabbed the sides of Levee’s stupidly good-looking face, and pulled him down to me.

I expected sparks.

I got fireworks.

Desire surged through my system as Levee’s lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss.

My hands slid from the sides of his face to wrap around his neck, holding on tight as I pulled myself up.

Sensing my intentions, Levee’s hands slid down my back to sink into my ass, helping lift me up.

My legs wrapped around his hips but his hands stayed planted, massaging my ass as he turned and walked me backward until my back met the wall.

A moan escaped me, the sound swallowed up by Levee’s lips.

His hips ground into me, his jeans doing little to hide the bulge of his desire.

My head fell back, and his lips moved down to my neck, making goosebumps rise up on my skin and need pool in my core.

As if sensing that, Levee ground himself against me, making a low moan escape me.

“Fuck, you smell good,” Levee groaned as his nose teased up my neck.

My hips rocked against him but it wasn’t nearly what I needed.

“Why are your clothes still on?” I asked, fingers moving up under his shirt to feel his warm skin.

Levee’s chuckle vibrated against my earlobe.

“Mainly,” he said, pulling back to look at me with his heavy-lidded eyes, “a possible indecent exposure charge.”

The little whimper that was starting to escape me broke off on a moan as his hand moved between us, pressing up against the material between my thighs.

A rumbling sound moved through Levee. “So wet for me already,” he said, fingers teasing up my cleft to find my clit through the material, and starting to work me.

Keeping one arm around him, I reached between us, yanking my panties out of his way, so his fingers could touch me without the barrier.

“Yes,” I moaned as his thumb moved to my clit, and two of his fingers slid inside of me.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Levee groaned, his forehead pressing to mine for a moment as my walls tightened around his fingers, eager for some movement, some friction. “That’s it,” he said as my hips started to rock. “Ride my fingers.”

But then his fingers were fucking me. Quick and hard, just like I needed.

He worked me relentlessly, seeming to have a sixth sense for when my little whimpers were going to become full moans, making him lean in and take my lips again, muffling my sounds as he drove me right to that edge, then sent me tumbling over.

I buried my face in his neck, crying out my release against the material of his warm, soft t-shirt. He worked me through it, dragging it out until I was spent.

I was still clinging to him and his fingers were still inside of me when there was a loud crash outside that had us breaking apart.

I dropped down onto my feet, pulling my skirt back into place as Levee turned so his back was to the doorway, blocking anyone’s view of me while I adjusted.

With a smug little grin toying with his lips. Then, gaze on me, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, tasting me just before two teenaged girls and their mother came into the laundry room.

“Mrs. Jackson,” I greeted her, feeling a bit like I’d almost gotten caught messing around with a boy by my own mother. “Talia. Aaliah,” I said, nodding toward the tall, thin girls who both had these big hazel eyes that they’d inherited from their mother.

Those hazel eyes of Mrs. Jackson were honed in on Levee right then. Likely seeing the things I’d seen with my own eyes when I’d first seen him.

A man too handsome for his own good. The mischievous light in his eye. The cocky grin.

“Everything alright here?” she asked, speaking to me, but pinning Levee with a disapproving-mom look. “Who is this young man?”

“Mrs. Jackson, this is Levee,” I said. “He takes care of William. You know, my neighbor.”

Mrs. Jackson made a clicking noise at that information.

“Ma’am, I apologize for anything my uncle may have said or done. I’m sure all of it was inexcusable,” Levee said, making Mrs. Jackson relax her stance.

“That’s right,” she agreed. “But you’re a good nephew for caring for his rotten soul anyway,” she said, shooting Levee a little smirk before turning to help her daughters start their laundry.

I took the opportunity to move my bedding along and by the time it was done, Lily and her kids were back.

Talia and Aaliah entertained the kids as Mrs. Jackson plucked the baby from Lily, the two women talking in hushed tones, likely discussing Curtis.

I noticed that a lot of the moms in the building really tried to close in around each other. All of them living similar experiences and trying to help one another as much as possible.

“Jade,” Lily called as Levee finished folding the last of William’s clothes. “Mrs. Jackson wants to talk to you about hiring you to do portraits for her girls.”

“They have their school pictures coming up, but those are never any good.”

“Of course I will do them. But no charge,” I insisted as I moved toward the women.

“You need to make a living,” Mrs. Jackson insisted.

“Fine then. Twenty bucks each.”

“School pictures would be around one hundred for both of them. More if I want digital files.”

“Okay. How about an even seventy-five, with access to digital files at no extra charge?” I asked, vaguely aware of Levee’s phone ringing. But much more acutely aware of his absence just a moment later.

I had to stay there discussing portraits, pretending there wasn’t a crushing sort of disappointment moving through my system, realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to continue what we started here. That I was likely not even going to see him for another whole week. If then.

When I made my way back upstairs half an hour later, the only sounds coming from William’s apartment were his usual sports replays.

I knew without knowing that Levee was gone.

Sighing, I turned back to my apartment. My whiteboard had some new additions to it. Namely, the shading I’d told the kid that the coffin needed. I took a second to jot a little note encouraging his progress, then made my way into my apartment.

“Hello, my pretties,” I cooed at the fancy goldfish swimming happily around their tank that was practically the size of my bed.

Goldfish were the first thing that I really mastered drawing when I was a kid and won one at a carnival.

It didn’t occur to me until a few years later how cruel it was to give away live animals as pets to small children who had no idea how to care for them.

I still felt guilty about the four goldfish that died early on my watch before I finally learned how to take care of them.

There was something truly beautiful about them, though. Their colorful scales. Their fanned tails.

It helped, of course, that my first true subjects were rather slow moving and unchanging, giving me a chance to really study and perfect them.

Ever since then, I’d been keeping goldfish in increasingly larger and more ornate tanks.

My current setup featured actual sea grass that I grew myself from seed. There were also fifteen varieties of live aquatic plants in the tank, creating natural hideaways for the fish and helping to keep the water clean.

“Are you hungry?” I asked as I flipped open the lid. It was a rhetorical question. Goldfish were little pigs; they always wanted to eat.

Lunch and laundry handled, I made my way over toward the windows where I had my easel set up.

Keeping a few feet back, I eyed it, trying to figure out what it was about the painting that was bothering me, that didn’t feel quite right.

I was being hypercritical. But I’d been working on it for three weeks now, and I really needed it to sell for a decent amount of money to make up for the time spent on it.

I never put all my eggs in one basket, of course. One thing you learned when you were an artist for a living was to diversify.

I sold it all.

Originals, prints, greeting cards, bookmarks. Print-on-demand items. Everything from sweatshirts and mugs to wallpaper and coffee tables.

I had shops on every single social media site, artist sites, my own website, you name it.

It… paid the bills.

I wasn’t exactly rolling in it, but I was getting closer each passing week to having the hope of moving up in the world. Maybe getting myself a sweet little bungalow close to the beach.

I reached for the canvas, taking it down and putting it against the wall to deal with another day.

I set my phone on the easel with the pictures Mrs. Jackson sent me of her daughters, then picked up my sketchpad to get some rough drawings done.

I got lost in the work, wanting to do something really perfect for Mrs. Jackson. Before I knew it, the sun was setting, and I needed to get up to start flicking on all the lights so I could keep working.

I made a quick dinner and a cup of tea. I was about to finish my preliminary sketches when there was a ruckus in the apartment above mine.

The guy from the dumpster who I’d seen getting his face beat in was a relatively quiet upstairs neighbor. I mostly only heard him swearing at or taunting other players that I assumed he was playing video games with.

There was no loud music.

No sex sounds late at night.

And never any visitors. At least not that I’d ever heard.

That streak was ending tonight, though, it seemed.

Several sets of footsteps charged across the floor, then there was a loud thud. Loud enough to make me jerk, my tea sloshing over the rim of my cup and burning my hand.

My heartbeat tripped into overdrive, pulsating in my chest, wrists, and throat. I stared up at the ceiling, like if I tried hard enough, I could see right through it and know what was going on.

There was more slamming.

Then grunting.

Footsteps.

The slam of the door.

And an eerie silence.

I rushed over toward my window.

I’d lucked out with a view of the front of the building, including the entry itself, letting me always know what was going on.

There’d been three open units when I came to take a tour. The owner expected me to want to take the one with the view of the back of the building that was just an open lot.

Nice and quiet, he’d said.

But I hadn’t wanted quiet.

I’d always liked being in the hub of activity. I felt like it sparked my creativity. And, well, being a woman living alone, it made me feel safer being able to watch the various goings-on.

Just a few moments later, four men emerged from the building.

I had no reason to assume that it was the same men from near the dumpster the week before since I couldn’t actually see them now, nor did I see them then.

But that was what I thought regardless as I saw them start to emerge.

It wasn’t until I saw that they seemed to be struggling to carry something heavy and awkward between them.

My heart sank but before I could see what they were carrying, they took a sharp turn, heading toward the side of the building next door instead of heading back out to the street.

My gaze slid up to my ceiling, praying to hear some sort of sound.

Footsteps.

Water running.

His video games playing.

Something.

Anything.

But no sound came.

Not that night.

Not the whole next day.

And I couldn’t help but worry that the thing the men had been struggling to carry between them… was my neighbor.