There’s a knock on the door.
A thrill runs through me.
d’Artagnan is here!
I stare at the door, knowing my life will forever change when I open it and officially let him invade my private space.
d’Artagnan
Standing at Zella's door, waiting for her to let me in, a door opens to my right, and a little dog enters the hallway, followed by a little old lady. Immediately, it starts sniffing the air, wagging its tail, and straining against the leash to get closer. When the little old lady enters the hall, she locks her door, then completely ignores me. I chuckle as she drags Mr. Sniffy nose away toward the elevators.
The sound of the deadbolt turning beside me brings my focus back on Zella, and a smile spreads across my face. She pulls the door open and waves for me to come inside.
As I enter, I tell her, "I guess you order pizza often."
"I do, but why do you say that?"
I turn to face her, "The driver asked if I was your boyfriend."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I set my duffle bag down and lean in for a peck. "I told him I was your fiancé."
She hesitates to give me a kiss, but I don't relinquish my request, so she puckers up and places a light peck on mine. She glances at my duffle bag and says, "I'll have to make room in my closet for your clothes."
I shrug, "I can hang my shit up anywhere. Let's eat. I'm starving." I head toward the bar where she has the plates set up and place the pizza boxes on the hot pad. "I need to get out of this uniform, though. Where's the bathroom?"
She smirks as she points to the only door in the apartment. "You get one guess to get it right."
I laugh at her humor, and as I cross the room, I tease her, "I was right. Your place is cozy."
Zella
Dear Lord! He’s a sexy shit!
He comes out of the bathroom in only his white tee shirt and white boxer briefs. My mouth waters at the sight of him. His body is perfection, and his cock is tucked up tight but bulges in his briefs. I lift my beer to my lips and suck down the liquid, needing a drink to calm myself, realizing I’m going to be sharing his world for at least the next three weeks.
He has his uniform folded in his hands with his hat sitting proudly on top. He sets them on the table next to my MacBook Pro. When he looks up at me, he asks, “Do I get one of those?”
“Oh! Yes.” I blush, busted that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I set my beer down, then open the freezer door and take out the ice-cold Bud I put in there for him.
“Ah! Thank you!” He smiles that smile that melts my inhibitions. Then he pulls out a barstool to sit on, making himself at home.
As I bring his beer, he opens the pizza box, takes the first piece, and puts it on my plate. Then he serves himself. I offer the ice-cold beer, and he takes it, raises it, and says, “To us.”
I clink the bottle, take a nice long drag on the beer, and sit next to him. Before he takes a bite, he says, “Our unit had a K9. His name is Lucifer.”
“Oh,” I tilt my head. “I suppose that’s quite a fitting name for a K9.”
He chuckles, “Your turn. Give me a random fact about your life.”
“I dyed my hair hot pink when I was fourteen. It’s my favorite color.”
He laughs, “You look fantastic in hot pink. I used to let Cathy paint my fingernails.”
“Hahahahaha!” I burst out laughing, and for the next twenty minutes, we speed-date random facts while we finish off the pizza and the beer.
When I stand to clean up, he lays his hand on my arm and says, “It’ll keep.”
