Midnight Muse

Jade eyes turn from a lush forest to a menacing storm, ripping needles from branches and limbs from trees. It causes my stomach to flip, a shiver working its way down my spine. The light in the hall seems to fracture with his mood change alone and I want to shift my weight with the sudden unease that accompanies it but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Maybe I shouldn’t be fucking with him.

Before I have the chance to tell him that I’m only joking, he slips back inside of his apartment and slams the door in our faces.

For the second time today, I have the urge to pound my fists against the door and curse his name, even if I don’t know it.

I don’t have to, though, because Rory’s doing it for me, rapping her knuckles against the thick wooden door with a frown on her face, her eyebrows slanted downwards in annoyance.

It isn’t the same asshole that answers the door this time. No, it’s another astonishingly good-looking boy with an aura to him that makes my knees a little weak. Rory flinches away from the door at his sudden appearance, her cerulean eyes shuttering at the sight. His shaggy blond hair swoops perfectly back from his face. It’s a little shorter than his friend’s, but it suits his sharp features perfectly. His cheekbones alone could cut glass.

Again, I feel the need to reach for my pencils, because the color of his eyes is so deep that it feels like I’m looking into the bottom of the ocean. They’re like the opposite of Rory’s ice blues that stand out starkly against her dark chestnut hair. I haven’t seen anything quite like the color of his, though, and I’m amazed as I stare up into them.

What the hell are they putting in the water here?

Rory’s breath hitches as he peeks through the tightly shut door, using the crack he’s opened to peer out at us like we’re some sort of wild animals come to break it down. His body blocks my view when I try to look around his massive form, searching for his friend. I’d shove right through him if I had any muscle left from lugging my life in boxes up the stairs all day.

“Sorry, ladies,” his voice is like silk, and his gaze lights with mischief while he takes a languid look at Rory, drinking her in like she’s a fine wine. He barely flicks his gaze in my direction and I tell myself not to take it to heart. There are more assholes out there than this one. His smooth voice drips like honey as he purrs, “We’re getting ready for an event tonight, but we’ll try our best to keep it down.”

Liar, I want to bark at him. I know it not because of the mirth in his tone or the sparkle in his eyes but because of the soft scoff behind the door when there’s a pause while the songs change from one screeching metal instrument to the next. My fingers curl into fists and I shove them quickly behind my back.

The blond doesn’t leave room for a reply, shutting the door on us with a click.

My jaw is clenched so hard that it aches. I take reign of the situation once again, since Rory seems paralyzed by the last boy’s looks, pounding so hard on the door that my bones rattle with it. I’m tired of this already. Of this building. Of the motorcycle. Of the fucking elevator. I’m exhausted and irritated and they deserve our wrath now.

Sorry mom, but fuck being civil.

Following a few incessant bangs, the door opens again, and this time my jaw goes completely slack.

A behemoth of a boy stands before us. He’s broader than the last two, taller too. And shirtless. His shoulders take up the width of the doorframe he’s leaning against, like none of this is bothering him in the slightest. His pectorals flex when he crosses his arms over his chest, and it makes my mind short-circuit as he stares us down. If he isn’t on the wrestling team or a football star, I’ll be thoroughly surprised. His tan skin on display is mine for the taking and I greedily drink him in like the dehydrated woman I’ve suddenly become.

Tattoos span across his shoulders, wrapping down his arms and covering one of his pectorals in tribunal pattern that is so intricate I find myself leaning closer for a better look. The muscles of his stomach ripple with silent laughter when I catch myself, rocking away so fast I nearly fall on my ass. My cheeks go red-hot and I rip my gaze away from the sweatpants hung low around his waist—so low that I can’t even see the elastic of his underwear.

I swallow dryly. I don’t think he’s wearing any.

Rory is silent beside me, and him in front of me. We’re all staring at each other, the sound of the loud music seems to drown away as my eyes linger. When I raise them to meet his molten chocolate eyes, I catch him biting his tongue, trying to smother a smile. His russet hair hangs loose around his shoulders and is the perfect length for pulling.

Not that I’m thinking about that, of all things.

“Well, hello there,” he greets, his tone a rumble of warmth. His mouth hikes up into a grin that feels welcoming, and my shoulders relax a little at the sight. He seems the most easy-going of the three, and hopefully he’ll be the one to listen to our complaints. “You must be our new neighbors.”

Rory nods, a dumbfounded look on her face. I’m sure it matches the one on my own right now, unable to form a single word. “That’s right.”

“Aren’t you two the prettiest things I’ve ever seen,” he compliments, and I wonder why it hadn’t been him in the lobby when I needed help. Or when we were moving our things upstairs. He’s a mountain of a man, and surely, he wouldn’t have minded putting all of those muscles to good use.

It’s like we’re all stuck in our own little bubble out here in the hall, taking our fill of each other. The friendliness of his voice is settling, smooth, and I know it’s something that women can’t resist.

“Right,” I blurt, cheeks flaring as his attention settles on me once more. The tilt to his mouth is as distracting as his naked chest, but the song inside skips to a new one, startling me back into focus. “About that music…”

“Oh that?” The boy rolls his eyes, waving his hand like it’s no big deal. “That’s nothing. Just wait until later when it really starts picking up. That’s when—hey, wait,” he cuts off his own eager rant, craning his head around the door to speak to his roommates. “Why aren’t we letting them in, again?”

Laughter spills into the hall from the other side and I can barely make out the second boy’s response over the music. “They were mean to Knox.”

The boy in the door returns his gaze to us, disappointment scrawled across his handsome features. “Ah, sorry, ladies. No one’s mean to Knox.” He says it softly, like it hurts him to say it. “Have a nice night.”

The snick of the door shutting is the final nail in the coffin.

The click of the lock is them burying it.