Sunset Beach Condos

It was late at night and Kim had been driving for the past twenty hours. It felt like every muscle in her body was rebelling against her. Her back ached, her eyes burned and her thoughts dragged like they were moving through sludge.

Her stomach twisted the second she saw the building. It looked even worse up close. The architecture was outdated, soulless design that only looked decent when it was new. Now, years of neglect had dulled its edges, the exterior stained with grime. Rust streaked down from the balconies like the building itself had been crying. Dark patches dotted the concrete, ominous and unidentifiable. It was the kind of place where people kept their heads down and their doors locked, where tenants cycled in and out like ghosts and no one asked questions.

She had known it would be bad. The price had been a warning, the lack of background checks an even bigger one. It was literally all she could afford and that fact alone told her everything she needed to know.

Parking her car in the nearest open spot without thinking, the idea of assigned parking never even registering. Her brain was too fogged with exhaustion to care. The eerie quiet of the lot prickled against her nerves. No hum of anything near, no distant murmurs no sign of life. Just the ocean in the background, its waves rolling in a slow, rhythmic crash.

Already before entering the city, she had seen the scenery of the open ocean unfold before her eyes, the dark stretch of water illuminated only by scattered lights in the distance and the reflective lampposts on the boulevard she passed by. But now, with the engine cut, she could hear it, too. The steady, rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore. She avoided looking at it. It made her feel too much. Something she wasn’t ready to deal with. Instead, she grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat, stepped out and slammed the car door shut behind her, the echo swallowed by the wind and water.

She moved quickly toward the building, but not because of the eerie quiet, or the way the lot felt strangely empty. No, she was running from the ocean, from the sound of it, from the memories it stirred that she refused to let surface. She would get used to it. She had to, but for now, the serene sound of crashing water felt too loud.

Inside, the building reeked. A mix of mildew and something worse, rotten and damp. The walls were yellowed, the floor sticky in places she didn’t want to think about. The elevator was a rusted out husk, its buttons cracked and useless. It might have worked a decade ago, but not now.

With no immediate light as she entered, Kim sought along the wall by the entry, looking for a lightswitch, but when it was located and switched on, no light emerged. Of course. Kim sighed, fishing her phone from her back pocket and using the screen’s glow to guide her through the dark hallway.

Her door was just ahead. 104. The numbers were barely readable on the old door. She pulled her keys out, the metal clinking as she fit the key into the lock and turned.

Nothing.

Her brows furrowed in brief confusion. She turned it again. And again. The lock didn’t budge. She jiggled the key, rattled the handle. Nothing. A slow, burning frustration crept up her spine.

Her jaw tightened. Not now.

Her fingers were numb from gripping the key too hard. With a sharp jerk, she pulled it out, checked it, shoved it back in, and twisted with all the force she had left. The door refused to give.

“The fuck…” she muttered, barely a whisper.

She braced a shoulder against the door, pushing as she twisted the handle. It held firm. Her exhaustion was making her sloppy, but each failure chipped away at what little patience she had left. Her heart pounded with a dull, irritated rhythm, her breathing harsh through her nose.

The keys slipped from her hands, landing on the doormat with a dull, metallic clink. Kim stood there for a second, jaw clenched, eyes burning, not from tears, just sheer exhausted rage.

She inhaled through her nose. Exhaled and squatted down to pick up the keys.

This place already felt like a mistake.

He had been awake for sixteen hours and of those sixteen hours, twelve of them had him standing in front of a hot stove and an even hotter grill. Dean had gotten home from the bar where he was the solo chef, for now, about half an hour ago. Just long enough for him to peel the sweat soaked clothes off his back and step into a freezing cold shower.

As his body temperature lowered, he brought the water temperature warmed until the water was hot enough to start giving relief to his tired muscles. He was soaping his body when he thought he heard something - the jingle of a key. He reached out with his wolf-like hearing. 'Yep jingling keys, must be a neighbor,' he thought and dismissed the sound as he went back to scrubbing the scent of grease off himself.

He was about to start giving himself a little manual relief of some pent up aggression when he heard the unmistakable thud of a shoulder being thrown against a door. Dean stopped his efforts of release and turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower and was reaching for a towel when there seemed to be a full on assault on his fucking door.

Dean was normally a level headed guy but he was tired and he needed to jerk off and nothing could piss a guy off more. Emotion clouded his reason as he stormed out of the bathroom, which happened to be in the fucking kitchen and right next to his damn the door. The shoulder throwing seemed to stop the moment before Dean threw the door ready to swing a powerful fist at whatever motherfucking junkie was trying to bust into his place.

Dean, tattooed from head to toe, surly looking as hell, naked, with a semi hardon and fists raised like he was about to lay a bitch out peered into an empty hallway. He looked down and saw a lady squatting in front of his door. “The fuck?!" came his deep, commanding voice. Dean dropped his fists to his sides as he looked down at her almost level with his manhood. “May I help you with something?"

A mistake indeed.

The creak of the door swinging open sent a sharp jolt through her spine, her grip tightening instinctively around the key. Her body snapped into a heightened state of alertness, her heart pumping as adrenaline flooded her system. She registered the shift in light emerging from inside the now open door, bathing a blockage in the doorframe from behind. A warning shot of fear attempted to rise.
The moment her gaze lifted from the key, her view was immediately obstructed from further ascending. Something was in her way, something close. Her vision expanded in realization and her stomach twisted violently.

A half erect cock.

Right there, level with her face.

Kim’s breath caught, eyes widening in sheer shock as she recoiled.

“Fuck me!” she blurted out, her voice laced with raw disbelief as she fell backwards, landing hard on her ass. The impact was a brief moment of grounding before she surged back up to her feet, ready. Eyes now snapping upward, she finally took in the full form of the man standing before her. The thick scent of soap, the lingering warmth of steam, it all went unnoticed. The darkness in the hallway, casted a stark contrast between the ink covered muscles being lit from behind and the surrounding darkness.

Eyes that looked dark in the moment, met hers. Wet and dark disheveled hair clung to his forehead. Tattoos crawled over broad shoulders, up his throat and along his temples.

And he was naked. So naked.

“Mate, who the fuck answers the door like that?! What the fuck?! Put on some bloody clothes!” she screamed, her voice slicing through the silence. The Australian accent that usually softened her words was now sharp and raw, syllables flattening, intonation rising. It had been hours since she’d last spoken, her voice briefly rough before giving way to full throated outrage. She barely registered the thin walls of the building, nor did she care if she woke anyone up.

Her fingers fumbled, clumsy in her stunned state and the key slipped from her grasp again. It clattered against the floor, but she barely registered where it landed. Instinct drove her gaze downward, but it only made it to his chest, no, lower, stomach, hips…
Dark ink sprawled across his abdomen, carved into taut muscle. Her brain screamed at her to stop looking, but her eyes betrayed her, dragging lower instead of toward the key. A brief, damning glance in between his legs, before she snapped her gaze back up, anger surging hotter to burn away the embarrassment.

Fuck.

“It’s mine,” she bit out, the words sharp. “It’s my apartment.”
There were a thousand other things she could have said, should have said, but her mind was white hot with fury and disbelief. She had no clue why he was naked. No idea how the fuck he was in her apartment.

Once he realized it wasn’t a junkie trying to break into his condo he was hit with a stunned silence. What the hell was this girl doing smashing herself against his door in the middle of the fucking night? He looked at her with a curiosity that would have shown like anger in his dark eyes and stoic expression. He watched her with a hunter’s gaze, assessing her actions and her body language. Though she screamed at him, disguising her interest with annoyance, he saw how her eyes devoured him. He didn’t speak, not yet. He let her yell, and he let her accuse him of…possibly stealing her condo?

With the glare still in his eyes and his jaw still set in like he was pissed, he moved out of the doorway to let her enter. “If it’s yours, you should come in then.” Leaving the door open, he stalked through the small kitchen, through the living room and disappeared int the bedroom. While he left her alone to enter into his personal space, he considered a few things. One, she was cute. The accent was hot, and he liked a woman who was not afraid to yell at him and put him in his place. He usually didn’t go for blondes but there were always exceptions to the rules, right?

Thirty seconds after disappearing he emerged from the bedroom wearing only a pair of black cotton shorts that did not hide the fact that he was still sporting a chubby. He stopped in the living room, his face still wearing a mask of annoyance as he crossed his thick, inked arms over his broad, well-defined chest. “Care you explain why you were throwing yourself against my door?”

Kim stood frozen in the threshold, staring at his naked ass disappearing from view, leaving her gaping, as she processed what had just happened. He had just… stepped aside. No shouting. No demands. No threats. Just calm, almost dismissive in the way he moved past her, like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"Wa-... What?" she exhaled, blinking rapidly.

Her jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists for a moment. Was he calm? She could see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of restrained annoyance in his otherwise impassive eyes. It looked like pure, hardened indifference, like he didn’t give a shit, while at the same time, there was an air of irritation beneath it, The kind of barely contained exasperation that made it look like he was two seconds away from dragging her out by the scruff of her neck. Or was she just imagining? Possible projecting, cause that was how she felt.
He turned and walked out of her view. Her pulse was still hammering in her ears as her mind caught up to what had just happened. This man, this stark-naked, half-hard stranger, had just invited her inside?

"No thanks, I have better survival instincts than that," she muttered, though her voice had lost the raw edge from before, settling into something more controlled.

She bent down, snatching her keys up from the floor. Using the light now streaming from the apartment, she turned them over in her fingers, scanning the numbers. 104. The digits were worn, the grime dulling their clarity, but there was no mistaking them.
She hesitated, stepping one foot inside, pressing her sole firmly against the doorframe like a boundary. Her gaze darted quickly around, scanning the small apartment in a desperate attempt to make sense of this. It was lived in.

The open bathroom door still let out a thin curl of steam, the last remnants of his shower clinging to the air. At least he was alone, that was a small mercy. This entire situation was already a fucking disaster; if she'd walked in on him and someone else, it would have been ten times worse. She barely had time to register her own relief before he returned.

Well, at least he had put something on. Sort of. Black cotton shorts sat low on his hips, the fabric doing little to hide the fact that he wasn’t fully… settled yet. Feeling her frustration burning hotter than any embarrassment, she settled her eyes on his face. Kim exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose between her index and thumb, her patience thinning by the second.

"I thought the door was just… stubborn? I got an apartment here and my key says 104, but apparently it doesn’t fit, and apparently, you're here," she said, her words clipped with exhaustion. Lowering her hand, she leaned against the doorframe, her fingers pressing against the wood. Her entire body was begging for rest, but instead, she was standing here, locked in a standoff with a stranger.

"Look, there’s been a mix-up of some sort, and I am way too bloody tired to deal with it right now. And- " she inhaled sharply, fighting against the overwhelming frustration that threatened to spill over, "- I really gotta fucking pee." She didn’t wait for an answer. Barely gave him a moment before she pushed off the doorframe, purposefully avoiding eye contact as she made a beeline for the bathroom. The bathroom door shut with a firm click behind her.

So much for survival instincts.

It was plain to see this girl was exhausted, frustrated, probably hungry, and had been given incorrect information regarding her living arrangements. None of which were either of their faults, just one of those fucked up twists of fate that just happened. Dean was a pro at reading a room. Though his nature was to be sarcastic, he didn't feel it was the appropriate scenario for it. This girl was mad, and rightfully so, he would have been pissed as hell if the tables were turned.

Like before, he let her talk as he stood resolute and stoic. There was still a hint of annoyance at the situation as a whole, but he was trying to not release his agitation on her. Though, he was convinced he would be on the receiving end of her frustrations.

When she entered his apartment and stormed into his bathroom, locking the door behind her, he made his way back towards his front door. He closed the door to keep anymore problems from entering the apartment. He ensured the door was locked and secured before he wandered over to the fridge which, awkwardly enough, was right next to the bathroom. He pulled out two bottles of beer and shut the fridge door. He literally turned around and set the bottles on the opposite counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out a bottle opener. He popped the caps on both bottles and tossed the opener back in the drawer. He closed the drawer with his hip as he grabbed both bottles and the caps and headed to the living room. He tossed the bottle caps in the trash can as he left the kitchen area.

When she emerged, if she emerged from the bathroom she would find him standing by a low, dark wood coffee table, one of the beers in his hand, the other on the table close to the couch. The expression on his rigid face hadn't changed, keeping the mask of the hard ass on. He motioned to the beer and the couch, “Relax and let's figure this out." There was a tenor of command and a quiet confidence about him. “If we put our heads together, we can find a solution."

Kim washed her hands thoroughly in the small bathroom, scrubbing with an almost obsessive focus. The water ran warm over her fingers, the only comfort she had felt in the past hour. At least she had remembered to close the door behind her. Some habits stuck, even after years of using bathroom stalls without doors. Exhaling sharply, she dried her hands before stepping out. The moment she emerged, her eyes went straight to the front door, expecting it to be as she left it; open, but it was closed. Was it locked? She could see the lock on the inside, a simple turn lock and it would be unlocked in the case it actually was. That thought comforted.

A new kind of awareness crawled up her spine, her body tensing instinctively. She was standing in an unfamiliar apartment, confined in a too small kitchen with a stranger who, despite his calm and cool demeanor, was still an unknown variable.
The thought of just leaving pressed on for a second, but she felt her feet carry her deeper inside.

The sight of him standing by the coffee table, bottle in hand, made her slow. He gestured toward the second bottle on the table, condensation beading on the glass. The fact that he had the same drink in his hand settled something in her, but not enough to convince her to fully let down her guard. Still, the icy droplets tracing down the dark brown glass made it hard to ignore just how thirst clenching that looked. She lingered in silence, letting his words settle into the room. Her breath came a little deeper, her shoulders laxing ever so slightly, though the tension never truly left.

"I think I’ll pass out if I sit down," she admitted, using it as an excuse to stay standing as she neared the couch. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, lifting it with slow deliberation. She turned to face him, mindful to keep the space between them. He was being kind. Or at least, his offer was, but Kim’s instinct wasn’t to accept kindness without questioning the motive behind it.

"It’s all right, don’t bother. I’ll be out of your hair and sleep in my car. It won’t be the first time," she muttered, lifting the bottle halfway to her lips before she even realized what she was doing.
The first sip was like a balm against the dryness in her throat, cool and bitter, carbonation fizzing lightly against her lips. It wasn’t until she was halfway through that first gulp that she remembered she was supposed to be careful. She caught herself before she took another, though the temptation lingered. Why was he even bothering? This wasn’t his problem. It was hers. An issue between her and the landlords, or whoever the hell had given her the wrong information. There was nothing he could do about it, no reason for him to care, but he had let her in. Given her a drink. Treated this like it was something that concerned him.

Kim had no idea what to make of that.

Putting the bottle down on the coffee table again, evident on leaving it there, she instead fished up her phone from her back pocket, swiping her finger over the screen to unlock it.
“I’ll check my confirmation email,” she offered no more to her thought process than that.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took two large gulps of the yeasty brew. He wasn't big on beer, but he thought he might get more suspicious if he offered her a shot of whiskey. He breathed in scent and smelled fear above anything else. Fear over the scent of dirty clothes, oily hair, and he guessed that's what her car smelled like.

Because he smelled fear he was careful with his movements and words towards her. Her perspective of this situation was probably something along the lines of her being too close to a potentially dangerous guy who was coming off as nice but really was laying the ground work to hurt her - it wasn't true, but he understood that. It was for this reason he didn't hand her the beer or tell her where to sit. He presented options, not instructions.

He lowered the bottle from his lips and swallowed down the liquid. The bottle lingered about at his belly button, held by the neck between his thumb, middle and fore fingers. He cleared his throat and eyed her. “Listen," it was a statement to get her attention, not something meant to be an order. Though his tone radiated authority. “Take the bedroom. You can lock the door. Your shit will be safe." He lowered his eyes and shook his head, “I can't in good faith send you to sleep in your car."

He set the bottle on the coffee table, his movements slow and projected as he sensed her emotional climate. He held out a large, very warm to the touch, tattooed hand to her, “Dean." If she didn't accept the hand shake he would get it. If she did accept the hand shake it would be a firm grip but not so firm it caused pain.

Kim wanted to protest. Instinct demanded it, a stubborn streak deeply ingrained in her. The irony wasn’t lost. Sleeping in her car wouldn’t be an issue. She had done it since being released, had adapted to it and yet, she had counted on a bed tonight, in her own apartment. But there was authority in his voice, steady and unwavering, pressing against her exhaustion like what he said was a fact.

“I’m tough,” she muttered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. A sliver of resistance, unnecessary yet persistent. A vague, tired smile tugged at the corner of her lips, acknowledging the redundancy of her statement but unable to keep it from surfacing. Logically, rationally, his offer was the best option. Resisting it was pointless.
There wasn't hesitation when she took his hand, but exhaustion slowed her movements. Normally, her handshake was firm, but it didn’t compare to his. Steady and strong, his grip carried warmth, the residual heat of someone who ran naturally hot.

“Kim,” she greeted, voice void of real animation, but something in her shifted just slightly. Standing there, meeting his eyes, she felt a little less wound up. The tension in her frame didn’t vanish, it never would, but it loosened, just enough to breathe easier. Pulling her hand back, she took a few slow steps toward the bedroom door. She assumed that’s what it was, since there were only two other doors in the apartment, and she already knew where both of those led; to the hall and to the bathroom. No thought was given to asking if there was a time she needed to be up and out. He likely had a job he needed to get out for. She didn’t think about brushing her teeth or grabbing a drink of water before crashing.
Just before entering the bedroom, she hesitated. Turning back, she forced the words past the part of her that resisted gratitude.

“Thank you.” The words didn’t come easily, but they were there and they were sincere.

Leaving the bedroom door open, figuring he might need to grab his things, she stepped inside. Every cell in her body screamed for sleep, demanding she crash land directly onto the mattress. But she fought it, forced herself to sit down instead, hands resting on the mattress below her. Her shoulders sagged and her blinking became heavy.

Sleep was inevitable.

They shook hands and he didn't attempt to keep her hand in his, just a handshake and then a separation. He grabbed his beer and finished it, tilting his head back as she backed slowly towards the bedroom. When the contents of the beer were gone he dropped it to hang out around his waist again. He watched her, but it wasn't with any malcontent. He just watched her. There was something fucking sexy about her, but he wasn't about to act on that impulse.

When she entered the room he saw she didn't close the door. He went into the kitchen and threw away his empty bottle. He then opened a cupboard and retrieved a plastic cup and a bottle of off brand painkillers. He filled the cup with tap water and brought the two items into the bedroom. He paused in the door and showed her what was in his hands before he proceeded to the nightstand and placed the water and bottle of pills.

He then walked over to his dresser and pulled out a black tank top and some cotton shorts like the ones he had on, only in grey instead of black. He carried them over to her and placed them next to her on the bed. He made to leave so she could get herself situated, but the way she swayed a little made him nervous.

“Do you...need help, Kim?"

Kim stirred at the sound of his voice, consciousness pulling her up from the depths of exhaustion. A sharp inhale filled her lungs as she shook her head, eyes heavy and always threatening to close.

"No, I'm good," she murmured, voice thick with sleep. Forcing herself to move, she watched as he stepped out before she reached for the bedroom door, pulling it shut and twisting the lock with what little energy she had left. The soft click was a small comfort. Turning back toward the bed, she registered the folded clothes he had left and the items on the nightstand. Thoughtful. She took a mental note of it, but exhaustion outweighed any further contemplation.
With slow, sluggish movements, she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, shoving them down her hips and shimmying out of them. Kicking them aside, she remained in just her T-shirt and underwear, too tired to change anymore than that. As soon as her knees hit the mattress, her body collapsed onto the bed, arms curling around the duvet beneath her. A deep inhale pulled in the lingering scent of a wood scent she couldn’t identify and something else, something faintly masculine, but she barely registered it before sleep swallowed her whole.



Waking up felt like rising from a deep trench, slow and disorienting. Kim’s body remained exactly where it had landed, sprawled out on her stomach, face buried in the sheets. A dull ache resonated at the base of her neck from the awkward angle she had slept in. Groaning lowly, she rolled onto her side, the duvet naturally following the movement, blanketing her as she teetered on the edge of wakefulness.
Sleep still tugged at her, begging her to sink back down, but then a sound registered, a rhythmic crashing, distant but constant.

Waves.

Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings as the events of the night before caught up with her. She knew what had happened, where she was and why she was here, but she still went through the events in her mind. The apartment. The mix up. The stranger. Dean.

God, she had been rude.

A small jolt of embarrassment hit, enough to make her grimace and decide to fully wake up. Sitting up, she reached for the plastic cup, the cool water washing away the dry and acid taste in her mouth. A quick swipe of her fingers through her hair only reinforced the realization that she desperately needed a shower. Her gaze landed on the folded clothes, undisturbed from her lack of tossing throughout her sleep. Grabbing the stack, she rose from the bed and walked to the bedroom door, pressing her side against it as she listened for a moment. Hearing if she could locate him or if he at all was still there.

Fingers rested on the lock for only a moment before she twisted it, then cracked the door open just enough to peek out. The living room stretched beyond, careful to keep most of her half dressed form hidden behind the door.

Dean was shooed out of his own bedroom in such a hurry she nearly hit him with the door when she closed and locked it. He gave the door a surly look, his eyebrows pulling together in a scowl. The couch was his bed for the night and he settled himself on it. As he laid there, he was reminded of a little business he had needed to take care of earlier, but was interrupted. He commended his stress relief exercise and ended up using his shorts for something other than covering himself. Yeah, he was not about to sleep in those now. He removed them and cast them onto the floor. He got comfortable and, with his stress dealt with, was able to drop into a comfortable sleep.

The Next Morning... Dean was awake about an hour after the sun rose. He couldn't get new shorts so he couldn't go to the gym. Instead, he moved the coffee table and did his morning work out in him living room. He wasn't loud when he worked out so she wouldn't hear an excessive amount of grunting or anything. When she poked her head out of the door he was on his fourth rep of one hundred push ups. His muscles were swollen with pumping blood and there was a slight sheen of sweat on him. And yeah...he was naked...again.

She might have been scoping out the room but because she didn't say anything, he didn't notice. He transitioned from push ups to crunches. His back was to her, feet tucked under the lip of the couch. He would continue his exercises until she notified him she was conscious.

Kim barely had time to register the scene before instinct took over. The door snapped shut in her grip, the sound of it closing much louder than she expected, a loud bang in the otherwise quiet morning. Her back pressed firmly against the wood, heartbeat spiking in a mix of alarm and sheer exasperation.

"Of course, you're naked again," she voiced, more irritated than she had any right to be.
A hand scrubbed down her face as she let out a slow breath, trying to rein in the flood of reactions. Annoyance? Yeah, that was in there. Embarrassment? Definitely. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already done some reflection on her behavior from last night. Not that she regretted getting pissed; she stood by that reaction. No one wanted to be greeted at the door with a dick at eye level, but the situation had turned out differently than she’d assumed. There was no threat, just a guy who, apparently, had zero interest in wearing clothes in his own home. A guy who had let her sleep undisturbed in his bed while he took the couch.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her head against the door. "I swear you had shorts on last night," she muttered, half to herself, half in disbelief, like saying it out loud might confirm she wasn’t losing her mind. Had she imagined that tiny shred of decency?
A part of her knew she had no real right to be mad about it, about anything. This wasn’t her apartment, no matter how much she had thought it was yesterday. If he wanted to prance around in the nude like this was a goddamn nudist colony, that was his prerogative. But seriously, could he just keep his damn clothes on for five minutes?
Still gripping the handle, she cracked the door open, just enough for her voice to carry but not enough to risk seeing any more than she already had.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?" The words came out more demanding than she intended, but she didn’t backtrack. That was what she’d come out to ask in the first place, standing there with his clean clothes still clutched in her arms.
She hesitated, lingering on the edge of the doorway. Her pride still itched at the idea of seeming like she was overstaying her welcome, but she needed a shower.
She felt the grime of the drive clinging to her skin, the stiffness in her hair and the weariness still clinging to the corners of her mind.
"I swear I’ll be out of here after," she added, an attempt at reassurance, though she wasn’t sure if it was for him or for herself.

Dean was mid-crunch when he heard the door close with a bang. One of his hands dropped from behind his head and planted firmly on the ground behind to support his upper body as it twisted so he could see the door to the bedroom. He listened then. He heard her heart hammering and listened as she talked to herself. The shorts, or lack thereof, seemed to be the biggest issue for this girl. But, as he thought about it, he understood her annoyance. Though, tables turned, he wouldn’t be mad a cute girl walking around her apartment naked in front of him.

When she finally got up the nerve to ask if she could take a shower, he responded in his low, serious way. “Yeah. Shower is all yours. But, before you come out, can you open the bottom drawer in my dresser and grab me another pair of shorts. The ones from last night got…messed up.” He snickered to himself about how they got messed up, but he wasn’t about to share that information with her.

Her tone wasn’t any more friendly this morning. He had hoped that one she took care of her exhaustion problem she might sing a different tune, but this must just be her. He waited for the shorts and, whether she gave them to him or threw them from behind the door to the bedroom, either way, the shorts went on and he pulled himself up from the floor and walked towards the bathroom in front of her. He leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out two fresh towels for her to use. “If you need a toothbrush, there are some spare ones wrapped in plastic in this drawer.” He tapped the drawer with the knuckle of his middle finger. “Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash is all in the shower. I hope you like the scent of ceder wood, because they is the scent of the stuff I got.”

He then stepped out of the bathroom and went back into the living room. He was going to give her space. He sat back down on the floor and resumed his crunched, just with shorts on this time.

Kim’s gaze flickered to the dresser as soon as he mentioned it, already feeling a fresh wave of irritation brewing beneath her skin. How did someone manage to mess up a pair of shorts that quickly? And when he was supposed to sleep, no less? A sharp inhale filled her lungs, steadying herself before she let the thought fester. No. No, she wasn’t going to waste energy on this. It wasn’t her business.

Crossing the room, she pulled open the bottom drawer, fingers grasping the first pair of shorts in the stack without giving them a second glance. With the bundle of clothes still secured under one arm, she walked out of the bedroom, keeping them strategically positioned by her stomach as a shield. The shorts dangled from her other hand as she approached, eyes locked on a random spot on the wall. Only in her periphery did she see him take the shorts. As soon as her hand was free, it immediately joined the other, gripping the pile of fabric tighter against her body. Her stance shifted subtly, an unconscious effort to cover more of herself, despite it being her own choice to prance out in underwear and t-shirt.

Only once she was certain he was clothed did she let her gaze return to him. Watching his broad, sweat-slicked back as he moved ahead of her, leading her toward a bathroom she already knew where was. Watching him move the short distance, she saw his muscles were swollen from exertion. He must have been working out for a while before she woke up. Either she had slept much heavier than usual, or he had been eerily quiet. Or maybe… he had been careful to be quiet. The realization settled into her, another consideration directed at her, another reason for her mistrust to be so misplaced.

Before stepping into the bathroom, she grabbed her backpack, which had been left outside the night before. A quick nod in his direction acknowledged his mention of the toothbrushes. Then, her gaze flicked briefly toward him as he motioned toward the soaps. Cedarwood. So that’s what she had smelled on the sheets.

“Thanks. I have my own.” The words came out more as a reflex than anything else, a way to assert some sense of self-sufficiency. It wasn’t about rejecting his offer, but more about reminding herself she still had control over something, that she didn’t need all of his alms. Everything she owned, her toiletries, spare clothes, a towel even, was stuffed inside the bag or in her car. That was everything, everything she owned.

But her towel was dirty. Her clothes were dirty.

She had counted on being in her own apartment by now, on having access to a washer and dryer instead of scrubbing fabric clean in the sink of some truck stop bathroom. So yeah, she’d take his towels. Two of them, even. A luxury. Closing the door behind him, she turned to setting her bag down by the sink and took out her own shampoo and conditioner, placing them on the floor of the shower. Then, she started stripping down.

The shower knobs turned with a creek, water bursting from the showerhead. A quick hand under the stream told her it was ice cold, so she pivoted to another task while it warmed up. Finding her toothbrush, she started brushing while the water ran. Another check on the water; warmer now. Satisfied, she stepped in, letting the building heat cascade over her.. Fifteen minutes. That was all she needed. Showering wasn’t about luxury, not for her. It was a necessity, a way to get clean. They used to shut the water off after fifteen minutes where she came from, so she really didn’t need anymore. She could indulge when she wasn’t in a foreign man's apartment.

One round of brushing her teeth wasn’t enough. She squeezed another pea-sized amount of toothpaste onto the brush, running through the motions again. The artificially floral scent of her shampoo and conditioner filled the space, smelling way too strong to be anything other than cheap, but it did the job of cleaning her. She lathered the shampoo into her scalp, fingers raking through strands as she worked the suds in, massaging away the remnants of sweat and grime.

Rinsing, she repeated the process with conditioner, combing it through her hair with her fingers before letting it sit while she reached for the soap. Lathering her hands, she scrubbed away, dragging her palms over every inch of her skin as if she could wipe away more than just the visible grime. The stale smell of highway rest stops, old car upholstery and a long, restless drive washed away with each stroke. Slowly, bit by bit, she started to feel like a person again.

Dean smiled to himself as he resumed his crunches. While the shower ran and he finished the last fifty crunches of his workout, he pondered Kim. She was abrasive to the point where he was just waiting for her to belt him. She was aggressively independent. She didn't like needing help. She liked accepting it even less. He was going to be labeled as an asshole no matter what he did. These were the truths as he understood them from his short interactions with this strange woman. “Fifty," he said he he sat up for the last time.

He climbed off the floor and went into the tiny, narrow kitchen. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a bag of coffee. He prepped the coffee maker and started the pot. He went over to the fridge and opened the door to see what he had to offer for breakfast. He pulled out a carton of eggs, some fajita meat he had cooked the previous day, cheese and some tortillas.

He warmed up the meat in the microwave - it wasn't the best but it was the fastest. He then scrambled six large eggs, mixing in cheddar cheese as the scrambled eggs cooked. Once the eggs were done, he deposited them on a plate and warmed the tortillas in the same pan he cooked the eggs.

He heard the water shut off and, since the bathroom was in the kitchen, he stood outside the door and said in his surly way, “Breakfast tacos and coffee is ready."

He got two coffee mugs out of the cabinet and set them on the counter next to the sugar bowl. He then exited the kitchen, giving her space so she didn't feel crowded as she came out of the bathroom. He was sweaty so he didn't want to sit on his couch. He just stood straight faced, muscles swollen, sweat covered, in the living room with his hands in his pockets. This was his way of showing her he wasn't going to fuck with her.

Kim stepped out of the shower, wrapping one towel securely around her hair and using the other to dry herself off with brisk efficiency. The lingering warmth from the water clung to her skin, but the cool air outside the shower quickly reminded her of reality. With the towel still around her, she bent down to gather her bottles from the shower floor, shoving them back into her bag with methodical movements.

The borrowed grey cotton shorts were the next task, pulling them up and drawing the strings as tight as possible to make sure they stayed put. They sat low on her hips, a little looser than she liked, but they’d do. Her gaze flicked toward the black tank top he had left her, analyzing the wide armholes with disapproval. Not ideal. A quick rummage through her backpack confirmed that anything of hers was too dirty to be a proper substitute, so she resigned herself to wearing only his clothes completely.

Both towels found its place on the spare hooks in the bathroom and she raked her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it back so it wouldn’t cling to her face. As she moved toward the door, a new scent overtook the artificial floral of her soap; the rich, unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It filled the air, seeping through the door and was quickly followed by his voice announcing breakfast.

Breakfast? Fuck. He was being too nice.

She hesitated for just a second before stepping out, adjusting the waistband of the shorts as she did. Outside, the sight that greeted her was almost disorienting. A full pot of coffee. A plate stacked with cheesy scrambled eggs. Warm tortillas still in the pan on the stove. A steaming bowl of chicken and peppers. It looked like a spread to her, not just some half assed meal.


Putting her bag down by the front door, she walked to the livingroom, her gaze darted to locate where he was, finding him standing there, watching, but not intrusively. Just standing. His hands tucked in his pockets. It looked disarming and he kept his distance.

Quickly, she retreated the few steps back, moving toward the kitchen instead. The coffee was her first mission. Without hesitation, she grabbed the pot, poured herself a mug and took a sip before even setting the pot down again. The warmth hit her immediately, the bitter taste grounding her in a way nothing else, any morning, would ever do. It settled something in her, calmed her movements as she reached for a plate and began assembling a taco, hands moving with practiced ease.

With the plate and mug in hand, she returned to the livingroom and took to the couch, lowering herself onto the cushions. She wanted to say something. To express some kind of gratitude. Apologize properly for the way she had barged into his life, the way she had treated him with suspicion despite every action proving otherwise. But it hurt. Physically, deep in her chest, it ached to accept this kind of help. Because there was always a catch. There had to be. That’s how it worked and Kim was just waiting for it to erupt.

His movement drew her attention, and she saw him head into the kitchen. Her lips pressed together as she dropped her gaze, letting it fall to the plate in her lap. Fingers lifted the taco, head tilting slightly as she took a bite. The moment the flavors hit, she had to stop mid chew.

The softness of the eggs, the melted cheese blending perfectly, the warm tortilla soaking up the juices from the chicken and peppers in that slightly spicy fajita mix. It was fucking good. Her taste buds hadn’t been particularly well treated over the past decade, but this? This was something else.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, sitting up straighter, taco still hovering over her plate as she swallowed the bite. Her eyes lifted to where he was standing.

“This is really good. Like, really fucking good.”

Dean exited the living room when Kim entered. Not out of rudeness or dislike, he just knew she was a person who needed space. He entered the kitchen and grabbed the second coffee cup and filled it from the pot. He added one teaspoon of sugar and stirred with one of the spoons on the counter. He had just taken his first sip of coffee when she erupted from the couch. Dean sighed, expecting to be berated for his food being shit or something. But the opposite happened. She seemed to be enjoying the breakfast he pulled together for her. Nodding he said in his steady tone, “Eat your fill."

He stepped into the bathroom then and closed the door behind him. Another shower was in order after that morning's workout. He bathed in the cedarwood scent of his shampoo and body wash. He dragged a razor over his face to keep his face as smooth as a baby's bottom. He used the razor a few other places to maintain his grooming regiment. When he was done, the water was shut off, and he stepped out.

He dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. He brushed his teeth, gargled some mouthwash, applied some aftershave lotion to his face and then styled his hair with a shiny gel. He put a copious amount of deodorant on, hung up the wet towel over the shower rod, and pulled on the shorts.

He exited the bathroom, checked on Kim who he was sure was making herself at home, and entered his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a light blue t-shirt that hugged his body tightly, showing off the edges of his muscles. He stepped into some black Converse sneakers and re-entered the living room.

He continued to stand back, away from the skittish woman who thought he was going to assault her with his every move. He pushed his hands back in his pockets and just hung out by the bedroom door. He glanced around the living room and the kitchen, observing without judging.

Kim had pissed him off. She didn’t blame him for that. The sharpness in his voice, that ever stoic monotone tone, lingered in her ears as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water following almost immediately. It felt like a cue and a reminder that she needed to get her shit together and get out, just as she had promised.

Another bite of the taco, a reluctant farewell to a meal that, quite honestly, she didn’t want to stop eating, but she forced herself to put the plate down, pushing it onto the low coffee table before standing. She headed straight for the bedroom to gather her things. Her jeans and phone were easy enough to grab, but before leaving, her gaze swept the room, scanning for anything she might have forgotten. Her eyes lingered on the bed. Should she make it? Strip it, at least? If the situation had been reversed, if she had let a stranger crash in her bed, she wouldn’t want to sleep in it after them. The thought tugged at her for a moment, but eventually, she let it go, leaving the bed as it was before stepping back into the living room.

A well placed and well aimed throw sent her jeans landing neatly on top of her bag by the door. She had just dropped herself back onto the couch when she heard the water shut off. Without missing a beat, she picked up her plate again, greedily taking another bite and chasing it down with a sip of coffee. God, this food was good. If she had the time and the audacity, she could have eaten ten more of these.

One hand held the taco while the other flicked her phone screen to life. The battery was running low, but there was no surprise there. Hadn’t she meant to check her confirmation email last night? It was hazy, but she remembered thinking about it, intending to go through it before exhaustion dragged her under. Now, she followed through. Scrolling through her emails, she found the one from the apartment complex. Her texts with her parole officer were right there too, listing the address she had given them.

Apartment number 401.

Her stomach twisted. The key… she had been so sure. Getting up again, she dug through her bag until her fingers found the small, piece of metal. Pulling it out, she turned it over, bringing it close to her face to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

104.

It wasn’t a late night delusion. It was real. Relief rushed through her like a hit of caffeine, a sudden realization that maybe, this wasn’t some elaborate scam. She hadn’t been conned. She had just been tired and mixed up the numbers and well, the key apparently bore the wrong number too, easing over her mistake in her mind. The bathroom door opened, and Kim looked up just as he emerged, heading straight for the bedroom. His movements were quick and efficient. If she hadn’t already assumed he was irritated, this would have cemented it. Her hands worked faster, shoveling down the last bite of food before carrying her plate to the kitchen.

By the time the bedroom door reopened, she was stepping out of the kitchen, the key still in her hand. Her gaze landed on him, now fully dressed, leaning casually near the bedroom door, observing her.

“I’ve got the wrong apartment,” she announced, the words sounding obvious the second they left her mouth. A dismissive wave of her hand brushed away the need for further explanation. This was still her problem, not his.

“Do you need me to do anything before I leave? Strip the bed? Wash the dishes?” The offer came out casually and genuinely.