Yesterday, 03:25 PM
The morning air in the suburbs was a revelation—crisp, cool, and devoid of the metallic tang of smog that had choked her lungs back in Southern California. Sep breathed it in deeply, her sneakers rhythmically slapping the pavement. Unlike Reza, who viewed physical exertion as a bug in the system of life, Sep craved the clarity that came with a high heart rate.
As she pushed herself into a sprint, her mind drifted. She thought of the unfinished boxes, the lingering scent of Reza’s hair gel, and the strange, unsettled energy that had taken root in her since the move. She was so lost in thought that she didn't see the jagged fracture in the asphalt where the suburban perfection crumbled.
Her left ankle buckled with a sickening pop.
"Fuck!" she shrieked, the sound tearing through the quiet morning. She hit the ground hard, the impact jarring her shoulder and hip.
Pain, white-hot and throbbing, radiated from her ankle. She clutched the joint, her eyes watering as she tried to pull herself upright. One attempt to put weight on it sent a fresh bolt of agony straight to her spine. She collapsed back down, panting. Great. Just great. She reached for her phone, only to see a spiderweb of cracks dancing across the screen. "Typical," she hissed. She began to navigate to Reza’s contact—he was out hunting for a specific router for their home network—when a shadow fell over her.
"Sep! Are you alright?"
The voice was a deep, resonant rumble that she recognized instantly. Her heart, already racing from the run, executed a frantic leap. She looked up to see Vicky jogging toward her from the opposite direction.
She felt a sudden, sharp sting of embarrassment. She was sprawled on the ground, sweaty and disheveled, while he looked like a bronze statue in motion. Even after a run, he wasn't gasping; his breathing was steady, his presence commanding.
"You alright?" he repeated, slowing to a stop beside her.
"Hey... not really," Sep managed, trying to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I think I sprained the hell out of my ankle."
Vicky looked at the road, then kicked a loose chunk of asphalt into the grass with a disgusted grunt. "I saw you trip on this garbage. The city needs to get their act together out here."
"I shouldn't have been running so close to the edge," Sep admitted, her face flushing.
Vicky’s dark eyes moved over her, and for the first time, he saw her without her thick reading glasses. Her hazel eyes were wide and striking, framed by dark lashes. He took in the sight of her—the way her fitted tank top strained against her chest as she panted, and the curve of her hips in the pink Lycra shorts. God, she’s even better than I thought, he mused.
"Can you walk?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I don't think so. I was just about to call Reza to come get me."
"Nonsense," Vicky insisted, a playful, confident smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're light as a feather, and I was heading back anyway. Let me carry you."
Sep hesitated, her mind spinning. "I—uh... it’s a long way, Vicky. Really, I should just call my husband."
"Reza’s probably halfway across town looking for computer parts," Vicky countered smoothly. "I’m right here."
The logic was sound, but the prospect of being held by him sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the injury. "Umm... okay," she stuttered, unable to find a polite way to refuse—and, truth be told, not entirely wanting to.
Without a word, Vicky leaned down. He scooped her up in a single, effortless motion, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. Sep gasped, instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck for balance.
The transition was jarring. She was used to Reza’s slight frame; Vicky felt like solid granite wrapped in warm skin. As he began to walk, she was overwhelmed by his scent—a potent, masculine mix of sweat and some clean, underlying musk. It wasn't unpleasant; it was intoxicating.
She looked down and saw his large, dark hands stark against her pale thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into her skin to keep her secure. A sudden, treacherous heat bloomed between her legs. What is wrong with me? she thought, her face burning. He’s just being a good neighbor. Stop it.
Vicky, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the soft weight in his arms. She smelled like vanilla and sweat, a combination that made his pulse quicken. He could feel the bounce of her breasts against his chest with every stride, but he kept his gaze fixed forward, not wanting to spook her.
"You doing okay?" he asked softly when they were halfway home.
"Yeah," Sep replied, her voice barely a whisper. She found herself leaning into him, feeling a strange, primal sense of safety in his grip that she hadn't felt in years.
When they reached their building, she expected him to take her to her door. Instead, Vicky used his shoulder to nudge open his own apartment door across the hall. Before she could protest, he was crossing his living room.
"Wait, Vicky—"
He ignored the protest, gently lowering her onto his oversized leather couch. The cool material felt heavenly against her skin. He straightened up, heading toward the kitchen.
"Stay put, Sugar. Be right back."
Sep sat back, her heart drumming against her ribs. She looked around his apartment—it was minimalist, masculine, and smelled exactly like him. She was alone in a strange man's home, her husband was nowhere to be found, and for some reason, she wasn't in any hurry to leave.
As she pushed herself into a sprint, her mind drifted. She thought of the unfinished boxes, the lingering scent of Reza’s hair gel, and the strange, unsettled energy that had taken root in her since the move. She was so lost in thought that she didn't see the jagged fracture in the asphalt where the suburban perfection crumbled.
Her left ankle buckled with a sickening pop.
"Fuck!" she shrieked, the sound tearing through the quiet morning. She hit the ground hard, the impact jarring her shoulder and hip.
Pain, white-hot and throbbing, radiated from her ankle. She clutched the joint, her eyes watering as she tried to pull herself upright. One attempt to put weight on it sent a fresh bolt of agony straight to her spine. She collapsed back down, panting. Great. Just great. She reached for her phone, only to see a spiderweb of cracks dancing across the screen. "Typical," she hissed. She began to navigate to Reza’s contact—he was out hunting for a specific router for their home network—when a shadow fell over her.
"Sep! Are you alright?"
The voice was a deep, resonant rumble that she recognized instantly. Her heart, already racing from the run, executed a frantic leap. She looked up to see Vicky jogging toward her from the opposite direction.
She felt a sudden, sharp sting of embarrassment. She was sprawled on the ground, sweaty and disheveled, while he looked like a bronze statue in motion. Even after a run, he wasn't gasping; his breathing was steady, his presence commanding.
"You alright?" he repeated, slowing to a stop beside her.
"Hey... not really," Sep managed, trying to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I think I sprained the hell out of my ankle."
Vicky looked at the road, then kicked a loose chunk of asphalt into the grass with a disgusted grunt. "I saw you trip on this garbage. The city needs to get their act together out here."
"I shouldn't have been running so close to the edge," Sep admitted, her face flushing.
Vicky’s dark eyes moved over her, and for the first time, he saw her without her thick reading glasses. Her hazel eyes were wide and striking, framed by dark lashes. He took in the sight of her—the way her fitted tank top strained against her chest as she panted, and the curve of her hips in the pink Lycra shorts. God, she’s even better than I thought, he mused.
"Can you walk?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I don't think so. I was just about to call Reza to come get me."
"Nonsense," Vicky insisted, a playful, confident smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're light as a feather, and I was heading back anyway. Let me carry you."
Sep hesitated, her mind spinning. "I—uh... it’s a long way, Vicky. Really, I should just call my husband."
"Reza’s probably halfway across town looking for computer parts," Vicky countered smoothly. "I’m right here."
The logic was sound, but the prospect of being held by him sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the injury. "Umm... okay," she stuttered, unable to find a polite way to refuse—and, truth be told, not entirely wanting to.
Without a word, Vicky leaned down. He scooped her up in a single, effortless motion, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. Sep gasped, instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck for balance.
The transition was jarring. She was used to Reza’s slight frame; Vicky felt like solid granite wrapped in warm skin. As he began to walk, she was overwhelmed by his scent—a potent, masculine mix of sweat and some clean, underlying musk. It wasn't unpleasant; it was intoxicating.
She looked down and saw his large, dark hands stark against her pale thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into her skin to keep her secure. A sudden, treacherous heat bloomed between her legs. What is wrong with me? she thought, her face burning. He’s just being a good neighbor. Stop it.
Vicky, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the soft weight in his arms. She smelled like vanilla and sweat, a combination that made his pulse quicken. He could feel the bounce of her breasts against his chest with every stride, but he kept his gaze fixed forward, not wanting to spook her.
"You doing okay?" he asked softly when they were halfway home.
"Yeah," Sep replied, her voice barely a whisper. She found herself leaning into him, feeling a strange, primal sense of safety in his grip that she hadn't felt in years.
When they reached their building, she expected him to take her to her door. Instead, Vicky used his shoulder to nudge open his own apartment door across the hall. Before she could protest, he was crossing his living room.
"Wait, Vicky—"
He ignored the protest, gently lowering her onto his oversized leather couch. The cool material felt heavenly against her skin. He straightened up, heading toward the kitchen.
"Stay put, Sugar. Be right back."
Sep sat back, her heart drumming against her ribs. She looked around his apartment—it was minimalist, masculine, and smelled exactly like him. She was alone in a strange man's home, her husband was nowhere to be found, and for some reason, she wasn't in any hurry to leave.
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