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  "Yeah, I’ve been hesitant to go digital. I just don’t want to be tied to a computer for hours at a time editing. My professor complains about it every class, but…"

  "Hey, hold that thought," said Marley. "I have to pee." She retreated to the bathroom, making her escape. Once Ben got going about class, there was no stopping him. Looking back over her shoulder, she added, "I blame you guys and your devil caffeine."

  Marley took her time in the bathroom. It was a crazy piece of architecture, almost European-hostel style with slanting ceilings and the most economical use of space with pipes exposed and a tiny trashcan perched on top of the sink counter. Marley wondered every time she used the facilities at the Basement if two people could actually fit inside and pull off some hanky panky. Not that she ever would—not here, at least. There'd be Ben and his pouting to deal with, and Jenna would have a conniption fit.

  She pulled her pendant out from between her breasts where it hung casually, almost as though it hadn’t been missing the last five years. She hoped Jenna’s break was soon and the girl was over Marley’s jerk-off behavior last night because she needed to talk. The crazy factor was creeping up, a little part of her personality that might be an obsessive/compulsive kind of thing. Once her mind started spinning something, there was no stopping it until she reached at least a balance of comfort with the not knowing or not understanding. Right now, she was a goddamn teeter-totter.

  Really, where had the pendant come from? That morning when she made her death march into her bathroom to do the absolute bare minimum an outing required (getting out of her cigarette-stank clothes and brushing the velvet off her teeth), she stopped to open her jewelry box to put away her hoops, and there it was—sitting on top in an act of imperialism. Her heart registered the shock before her brain did, first skipping a beat and then pounding into a frenzy.

  She thought about Julian, the asshole ex. From the get he’d inspired feelings of unease, feelings she chose to bench instead of starting in the big game. Instead, she suited up her less reliable, but somehow always first string players, Greed and his sidekick, Deliberately-Obtuse. Greed had performed well, landing her a month of all-expenses paid security, but Deliberately-Obtuse fumbled the fucking ball and before she knew it, the turn over lost her control of the game.

  Marley remembered Julian’s fist coming at her face, and even now, five years later, the wind seemed to vacate her lungs all over again, just like it had when he followed up his right hook with a gut-punch. Her stomach went all flippy-flop as she relived the physical feeling of being pushed down a half-flight of steps and her head ricocheting off concrete.

  Marley took a few calming breaths as she let the pendant drop from her fingers. She’d heard Julian was killed shortly after she left him, so how did her Grandmother’s pendant end up in her apartment? Freaky.

  Marley couldn’t hide from Ben in the bathroom forever, so she took one more breath, and went for the door. Maybe Ben’s break was almost over. Maybe her little toilet sabbatical had been long enough to waste his determination for the rest of the morning. Marley knew he was going to come right out and ask her on a date before long, but the longer she could delay that event, the better. God, let today not be the day he grew a pair.

  She opened the door, walked out and saw Ben back behind the counter. Sweet.

  Then she looked to her table and saw a man sitting in her chair. His back was to her, but she knew who he was.

  Last night was more or less a blur, but pissing Jenna off wasn’t the only clear memory, now was it?

  It was him. Mr. Roman Numeral from across the street.

  Chapter Three

  Marley couldn’t move. It was him, she was sure of it. He’d been lounging in the back of her mind, nagging at her minute by minute since she saw him on the street last night. Of course, his timing would sync up with the nagging of her teaspoon-bladder.

  Roman Numeral boy sat ramrod straight in front of Marley’s cup of coffee, not moving while she watched him from behind. She didn't know how she knew, but it was him. Last night she’d thought maybe he was just some guy visiting his friend at the university, in town for the big game or something, but maybe he was local. Wouldn’t she have seen him before now, though? The party scene wasn’t that extensive.

  Marley was a balls-to-the-walls kind of girl, so why not charge him before he realized he was at a table that was already taken? Then again, he was sitting directly in front of her probably lukewarm coffee. She might not be talking about a genius here. Marley wasn’t so much into the slow type, but a nice pair of eyes and sizeable…portfolio…went a long way, didn’t they?

  Her own stream of consciousness had her smiling as she approached, that was until his posture turned severe, his torso a lower case i dotted neatly by his head. He kept his back to her, and sucked in a sharp breath, inflating the i until it was more like a t now that his shoulders squared.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was quiet, and he sure as shit wasn’t talking to anyone else; the tables around hers were empty, and something about that formal posture on her approach clued her in.

  That question was for her.

  Instead of surprise in his voice, something she would have expected to partner with a question like that, what Marley heard was contempt. He stood up and allowed his head a slight pivot, giving her an abbreviated glimpse of his profile. It was only enough for a glimpse of the contours of his face, and even then she could barely guess at his eyes. Were they blue? Green? His hair was glossy black, so maybe a pair of browns?

  Marley was stuck in place by the menace of his energy as he stood there, not really looking at her, but cocking his head just enough in her direction that it was clear he actually was talking to her.

  What the hell was she supposed to say? She was just about to pull out the oh-no-you-didn’t-finger, but before she could decide on just the right listen-here tone to go along with it, the guy cut and ran. Only it wasn’t so much running out the door as dematerializing with a factor eight fast-forward feel.

  What the hell? Obviously he didn’t want to talk to her, discourteous fucking frat-boy, so what was all that about? Had some stranger come all the way to The Basement just to make her feel like crap? Did she offend his delicate sensibilities last night or something?

  Marley reserved a little of her ire for her own damn self, too. No big deal to have a guy reject her; it didn’t happen often courtesy of the long red curls and track-and-field body, but it wasn’t unheard of. And furthermore, what an asshole. Sure, maybe he was hot—a big maybe now that he’d insulted her, but she didn’t know him from Adam, so consequently, said rejection didn’t matter.

  So why was her heart fish-flopping around behind her ribcage?

  Why the hell hadn’t she lit into him? Come-backs flooded her mind (a little late), even as the color receded from her cheeks. Marley was the kind of girl who took the helm and steered, not the docile communications specialist in the background, trying to decipher pings and chatter. Marley had always lived in a world where men said what they meant loud and clear, even when they thought they were being elusive and cryptic. They were men, after all. Every last one of them spoke a universal language that boiled down to four verbs: fuck, suck, cook and clean. How hard was it to sift through the useless babble and figure out how many of the four they wanted in the moment?

  But this guy was bilingual, and she had no idea how to translate the meaning behind his question. What the hell was she doing here? It sounded straightforward and she detected no attempt to slip in a fuck or suck anywhere. Was he really asking?

  Did she really care? Jesus, shake it off woman, she told herself.

  She waved Jenna over to her table, and sincerely hoped Ben wouldn’t follow. Now was not the time, and she truly was trying to look past his annoying habits.

  "That was him!"

  "Who?"

  "Him him."

  "Hotboy from last night?" asked Jenna. "I knew you remembered."

  "I still don’t
know what he looks like up close."

  "Well, allow me to describe him. Hot, but a little scary."

  "Scary as in?"

  "Scary as in intense. Yeah—intense hot."

  "Did you see how fast he left?" Marley nodded her chin toward the wider, main stairs that led to the big double doors. She could see up to the street through the glass, but he was nowhere. "I think I’ll call him Turbo." The two girls laughed, Marley with a hint of nerves, and Ben glowered from the counter.

  "Where’d he go?" asked Jenna.

  "Hell if I know."

  But Marley was going to find out. To hell with shaking this one off.

  Chapter Four

  Marley had trouble falling asleep that night, and not only because of Turbo-Guy. She was a road warrior, always had been, and until recently, presumed she always would be. Here, however, tucked up against the Rockies in Fort Collins, Colorado, she felt like she belonged (despite a certain someone who wondered what the hell she was doing here).

  She rolled over and kneaded her pillow, trying to meld with the thing. Even though her bed lacked the Tylenol pm factor tonight, this place—this new city—felt good. It felt like home. So why did that feel so alien?

  Oh yeah, eleven years of trampoline action from one pad to the next, one asphalt roller coaster to another might have something to do with it. She’d never felt that home-is-where-the-heart-is kind of crap. And as for her heart, it was nothing but a remnant of the Disney hopes and dreams of a six year old, only boot-stomped and horse-kicked until her fantasies were more about the next showdown with evil Ursula than swimming alongside Ariel.

  Shit. She was going to have to get a job. The little bit that remained of her parents’ life insurance policy would buy her maybe another month or two of food, and less than that of liquor. If she deprioritized the food thing, which she had been doing more and more lately, she could squeeze out at least a couple months of the booze.

  When exactly had she started measuring her cost of living against how many handles of Popov pipe-cleaner style vodka she could afford?

  Marley didn’t know precisely how much was left in her account. She’d been hitting the policy since she her parents were killed (slaughtered according to the six o’clock news) when she was twelve, and the money she scraped together before leaving Vegas was almost gone. She didn’t want to bleed her savings to the bone. Fort Collins might not seem so welcoming once she had to clock in and out and put on a hairnet.

  Her worries kept her company the next two nights, too. She swore she saw shadows and thought she heard the quiet rustle of fabric, the sound of chunky thighs in ladies nylons whisking past each other—swish, swish, swish. By this time, Marley had already lived in her apartment for more than a month, but sleepless nights were a new development. Maybe she’d just seen too many Scream masks with Halloween approaching. If she heard Monster Mash one more time, she was liable to commit an act of terrorism and blow up every radio transmitter in a forty-mile radius.

  With a combined total of 11 hours of sleep under her belt in three nights, Marley finally just got up, flipped on the light even though it wasn’t even five a.m. yet, and looked at herself in the mirror, eyes straying to her pendant. There were things to do. She’d wasted the last three days of her life (eleven years if she was being honest with herself, which was rare and always painful). So she tied her hair back, fired up her laptop—the only expensive thing she owned—and started searching Craigslist for a part-time job…

  And three hours later, she finished searching for a part-time job. Jesus, was this what the real world was all about? Hostessing and cold-calling and fucking work-from-home pyramid schemes?

  Marley dragged herself to the liquor cabinet (never mind it was only eight o’clock in the morning), and knocked back two shots of vodka straight to the belly. Fuck Craigslist. One more shot, just to be sure. She wasn’t planning on seeing anyone today, so even if she was a little loopy, no one would be taking the witness stand against her.

  What she really needed was some nature. This place was all about the purple-mountain-majesty, and if she hiked high enough, she could look to the east and even cash in on the amber-waves-of-grain. She grabbed her keys and left the apartment to head up to the trail on a bike Ben sold her for a laughable price. She was a little ashamed of taking advantage of him like that, but only a little. After all, the purchase took most of what remained of Marley’s walking around money. She would find a job. Really, she would. Gainful employment was a given…starting Monday. For now, a Friday morning hike to kick off a long weekend of blissful ignorance sounded like just the ticket.

  Marley took a detour (in the complete opposite direction from the mountains) past Fraternity Row on her way to the trailhead. Fat chance, but maybe she’d cross paths with Turbo the Roman Numeral asshole again. Looking for him betrayed a hundred promises made to herself over the years, not to mention the fact that he was—you guessed it—an asshole, but Marley couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  She weaved around in the bike lane courtesy of the three shots, pissing off drivers who thought she was just an elitist biker rider who didn’t know her designated place on the road. After an hour of this, most of her feel-good juice was metabolized, and she gave up the search. Who was the asshole now?

  With a frustrated huff, Marley headed due west toward the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and hopefully a peaceful hike that would help center her.

  She locked her bike up to the racks in the empty dirt parking lot of a trail up near Horsetooth Mountain. It was cloudy but warmer than most late-October mornings, and she was pleased to see that hers was the only bike.

  She walked along the trail, focusing on her breathing. Being alone suited Marley just fine. The sound of the birds and soft touch of the breeze had a calming effect on her nerves. Three nights without sleep had taken their toll, making her a jumpy, nervous mess. The unfathomable number of large coffees she’d ingested at The Basement didn’t help matters, either.

  As her mind wandered, she became aware of the silence. Just moments before, the birds were chirping and squirrels were busying themselves with their various squirrel responsibilities. Now Marley could hear nothing but the crunch of the path beneath her feet. Wondering if it was fatigue-induced paranoia, she shot a quick glance over her shoulder, honestly expecting to see nothing other than the overcast sky and trail lengthening behind her.

  "Holy Shit!" The silence on the trail magnified the sound of her shock. Mr. Mystery was there, close enough to be her shadow.

  It was the first time she was able to get a good look at him, and he was by far the most exquisite thing she’d ever laid eyes on. Credit to Jenna—intense was the perfect descriptor.

  His dark shag hair hung around his ears and covered most of his neck. His eyes, so blue they were practically neon, held her prisoner, trapping her in his gaze. He smirked, calling her attention to his lips, which were a just a shade redder than seemed natural. He nodded once at her.

  She couldn’t respond—only gaped up at him with her mouth wide open, feet planted in the middle of the trail. She couldn’t move save nervous fiddling with her pendant; it had always been part of her anxiety repertoire, and old habits were easily resurrected. Because, good God, those eyes.

  His amused smile, which she thought should have faded by now, went on and on.

  Finally, she found some words. "Should I answer your question now?"

  He tilted his head to the side and gave her a quizzical look.

  "You know, what the hell am I doing here? Or are you going to take off again?" Not exactly a burn, but yeah, that was more like the old Marley. A part of her screamed to be careful, to look at the circumstances. This man could apparently come and go as he pleased, kind of like an employee from the gas company who somehow had license to stomp all over your property without notice or consent to read the meter. She hadn’t heard him come up on the trail behind her, and in fact almost didn’t notice that the animals had silenced until he was practically scrapin
g her heels. How did he sneak up on her like that?

  And why weren’t the birds chirping?

  And how did he know where to find her? Coincidence? She thought not.

  Honestly though, the questions didn’t matter. The magnetism…did.

  His smile still lingered, even as he finally responded. "No. That was a rhetorical question. You’re not supposed to be here, that’s all."

  As if the question hadn’t been a big fuck you three days before. "Okay. Where am I supposed to be?"

  "Not here. In the west, where you’re safe. Where it’s harder to feel you." He looked at her with intensity Marley was forced to absorb. She’d been stared down a hundred times, but never like this. Usually it was meant to intimidate, an interrogation tactic used by high school deans the country wide while they wasted the requisite amount of time making a kid squirm before the meaningless punishment was administered. This was something else entirely.

  She squinted at him from under the bill of her cap. "Okay. Mind if I ask you the same?"

  "By all means."

  "What the hell are you doing here?" She motioned around the trail. The gentle breeze hadn’t stopped like the sounds of the wildlife had, and her gesture covered an expanse of beautiful countryside. Pine trees stood proud, Aspens swayed, and huge boulders were scattered everywhere, results of the Rockies shaking bits of themselves off like fleas. It was the perfect place for this confrontation—beautiful and majestic. It was the worst place for this confrontation—deserted and distant.

  "I’m here…looking for you." His was a calm, almost blasé voice. And the shit didn’t match his laser-beam eyes.

  "You found me, at least twice now since I’ve started paying attention, which worries me." This was more like it. She was starting to find her voice, her catty way of getting down to the nitty gritty.