Chapter 6: Fire Escape Confessions

Sarah’s heart was still hammering when she heard the soft scrape of her own door opening onto the shared fire escape. The three knocks had cut through her like a live current, freezing her mid-breath on the bed, the vibrator suddenly silent in her hand. She’d yanked on the oversized sleep shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs and stepped into a pair of plain cotton panties, legs still shaky from the interrupted release. Wine glass in one hand, half-full and slightly trembling, she pushed outside before she could talk herself back in.

The warm April night wrapped around her bare legs like a secret. City lights glittered far below, the low thrum of traffic a distant heartbeat. The metal grating felt cool under her feet, the railing worn smooth from years of tenants leaning on it. She set the glass down on the narrow ledge and gripped the iron with both hands, trying to steady the rush still pulsing between her ribs.

Seconds later, Alex’s door clicked open.

He stepped out with a whiskey tumbler in one hand and a cigarette pack in the other, moving like he’d meant to be casual about it. The faded black T-shirt clung to the lean lines of his chest, the hem riding up just enough to show the sharp cut of his hip bones above low-slung jeans. Stubble darkened his jaw, and the faint trace of bar smoke still clung to him, mixing with the clean, sharp bite of whiskey. His tattooed forearm flexed as he closed the door behind him, the inked lines shifting under the glow of the streetlights.

Their eyes met across the three feet of open air that suddenly felt like nothing at all.

Neither spoke for a long beat. The night breeze stirred the hem of her shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of her thighs and raising faint goosebumps along her arms. Sarah felt the heat of his gaze travel over her—messy hair, flushed cheeks, the way the thin cotton outlined the soft weight of her breasts and the generous curve of her hips. Alex’s throat worked once, his fingers tightening on the glass.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, voice low and rough, carrying that gravel she’d heard through the wall more times than she cared to count.

Sarah managed a shaky laugh. “Something like that.” She picked up her wine, took a sip that did nothing to calm the flutter low in her stomach. “You knock on all your neighbors’ walls at midnight, or am I special?”

His half-smile was slow, crooked, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He dropped onto the top step, back against the brick, legs stretched out so his bare foot nearly brushed hers. “Only the ones who sound like they’re having a better night than I am.”