Last Name Unknown

By Nicole Delgado

My name is Addison Walker. Remember that name because I guarantee it’s going to become synonymous with disaster one day.

In all honesty, I am a magnet for bad luck and I have no idea why. I'm a really nice person (most of the time) so I'm not sure why it is that bad luck always seems to plague my every step. You want to know the worst part? I didn’t actually know how good I had it! I'm being serious. I would happily embrace my accident prone bad luck if it meant someone would stop trying to shoot me! And I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I am not equipped to deal with this type of crisis.

In the span of forty eight hours, my once boring and unassuming life is suddenly spinning out of control and I'm running from killers unknown. And to make it worse, I have no idea why! What I do know is that my bad luck turned deadly when I met my new neighbor, tall, dark and dangerously sexy Kade (Last Name Unknown). Now I'm trying to avoid further head injuries while I dodge bullets, visit old creepy abandoned houses I have no business being in, determine whether not I can actually trust my sexy new neighbor, and oh yeah...avoid tripping over anymore dead bodies.

I would kill for a cup of coffee right now...and maybe a bullet proof vest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole Delgado
• Release date: Jun 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310551000

Nicole Delgado

Nicole Delgado hails from the always-under-road-construction metro Detroit area where she still resides today with her three young sons. Writing since childhood, Nicole has amassed a variety of stories of various genres but recently decided to take on the challenge of putting her overactive imagination to paper and becoming an indie author, self-publishing her first stand alone book Last Name Unknown, and co-authoring a dark take on the Wizard of Oz, the Oz Will Fall series.In Last Name Unknown (published as Danielle Real), having always been a fan of the damsel in distress turned unintentional heroine, Nicole created her most passionate and sadly most relate-able character, Addison, a woman with a knack for getting into trouble and a natural talent for creating disaster wherever she goes. Did we mention her fondness for mental forehead slaps? Using the people around her for inspiration, and maybe even a few qualities of her own, Nicole tries to embody humor and sarcasm to bring her newest heroine to life.In partnership with her best friend, Nicole co-authored a new series bringing a dark twist on the well known and beloved Land of Oz. Things have changed since Dorothy was a child, and the Land of Oz is no longer what it once was. With new characters, a growing and violent darkness, and wickedness lurking in every shadow, the Oz Will Fall series tells the tale of what happens when happily ever after isn't the end of the story.As a passionate reader herself, Nicole enjoys a variety of genres, especially those in mystery and suspense, though from time to time she will unwillingly admit she’s enjoyed a few romance novels (and is even considering writing one.)Nicole is currently working on the second Walking Disaster Mystery featuring the naturally disastrous Addison Walker, and the fourth installment in the Oz Will Fall series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Son of bitch!

Grabbing the slippery door handle with both hands, I yanked and pulled, kicking and swearing, as I tried to open the driver side door of my less-then-esthetically-pleasing piece of junk car. I knew my attempt was pretty futile considering I had locked my keys inside, but it was way too early in the morning for that type of logical thinking to occur.

After a tirade of swear words that would make a trucker blush, I leaned against the cold window, squinting against the downpour of rain, to see if I had left my keys on the seat again.

Nope.

Angling for a better look, I smacked my forehead against the window. Hard.

Ow! That’s smart.

No doubt I would end up with a beautiful purple bruise by tomorrow, conveniently located in the center of my forehead. There was no credible lie I could think of to explain how I got it, and damned if I was going to be so honest as to say I smacked myself with a window. So as I had become accustomed to doing, I started plotting the layers of makeup I would need to expertly apply in order to hide yet another painfully avoidable injury I had given myself. Clearly I needed more sleep in my life.

Seeing the wee morning hours after a completely sleep deprived night was a clear indicator this was going to be a very, very bad day. Locking my keys in the car had only confirmed my suspicions.

I should have known better then to venture out at this unholy hour but my body had literally been dragging when I finally pulled myself out of bed this morning. Seeing six am was unnatural and anyone that actually got up at that unholy hour on any day, especially a Saturday, should be drawn and quartered for being an idiot. In my case, the new neighbors above me had had another night of fighting and what I could only assume was a marathon of make-up sex. The walls had not stopped shaking all night. It was only after I finally dragged my butt out of bed that I got a reprieve from the noise. Apparently after their non-stop marathon, they had decided to re-fuel. It was the banging against their front door twenty minutes later that had me exiting the building post haste to get coffee. The fact that it was cold and rainy didn’t matter to me when the promise of a hot cup of coffee, porn free, was just a few minutes away.

Of course, in all my rush to get my first taste of ambrosia, I had forgotten my keys…again.

Using my hands as a shield against the bucket-o-raindrops beating down on my head, I contorted myself into an odd angle in hopes of seeing if I left my keys in the ignition, which I may or may not have been prone to doing from time to time. Why I didn’t use common sense and just look through my passenger side window is a moot point at this juncture. The point is, I finally found my keys, hanging from the ignition where I had clearly forgotten to remove them when I quickly jumped out.

It was wet, cold and too early for my morning to be starting off this way, but there you have it. Apparently I had done something really bad to warrant this waste of what should have been a perfectly quiet and leisurely Saturday morning. Common sense said I should have stayed my happy ass in bed (neighbors be damned), slept until noon and avoided going out into the chilling rain at all costs. If only I had listened to myself. Instead, here I was, rubbing my forehead in hopes I didn’t get a goose egg for my troubles and my coffee getting cold, if not water logged.

Life could be so cruel.

I looked up the heavens asking why me when a crack of thunder broke what had been a fairly quiet morning. I couldn’t be certain, but I was almost willing to bet that the big guy upstairs was laughing his butt off at me right now. All I can say is that I was not amused. While I myself enjoyed a good joke or two, I was never one to enjoy it when I was the butt of said joke.

Grabbing my coffee from the roof of my car, I sprinted back into the coffee house and got comfortable in one of the overstuffed chairs that sat by the window and fireplace. I sat forward, hoping to get warmed by the fire, but cautiously stayed far enough back to ensure that I didn’t accidentally set myself on fire. The way my morning was going, it was likely to happen.

Who was I kidding? If the last three months were any indication, catching fire would probably be the most likely item next on the list of avoidable accidents anyways, with or without a fireplace present.

I sat back with a sigh and reflected over the last three disastrous months of my life. I would love to say that I moved with grace and ease, but that would be a big ol' lie. Nothing I did was ever graceful or done with ease. Not to say that I was always a disaster magnet, but lately, it seemed whenever I attracted trouble, I was doing it in spades.

Over the last three months, I had fallen down the concrete stairs outside of the courthouse where I was currently temping, managed to almost get run over crossing the street, and inadvertently ingested poison. And that was just the major accidents that happened. That didn’t count the numerous times I managed to lock my keys in the car or lose them completely, slept through my alarm and was late to work, fell down the stairs at home simply because I am unable to figure out how to navigate up and down the stairs in a pair of sling-backs, backed into my neighbors car (though I have yet to admit that little boo boo), and mistakenly opened a package meant for my new upstairs neighbors and was rendered speechless (which is a very rare occurrence) at the number of hard core sex toys they had purchased online. Talk about an awkward conversation.

I sighed again.

I have no idea why I seem to be a magnet for more than my fair share of bad luck lately, but I was exhausted dealing with it and my boyfriend Sean was starting to reach the end of his rope. Okay, he was at the end of his rope. Thanks to another avoidable injury at his job, I was the running joke at the PR firm where he worked. All because I had innocently not noticed that someone had stepped out of a conference room and left the glass door open. I had been so wrapped up in a conversation with his secretary Lily that I hadn’t been looking forward and walked straight into it.

Now something as simple as a face plant into a glass door should be a joke that dies a quick death, but in my case, I hit it with enough force that the hinge snapped on the door, sending the entire door crashing to the floor with a shatter that could be heard across four floors. Not to mention the big ol’ purple goose egg I sported on my forehead for two weeks. (But in my defense, a hundred and … pound female should not be able to knock a door of the hinges that easily. I’m still blaming shoddy workmanship.)

Sigh. Just another day in the life of Addison Walker.

I took a sip of my coffee, burning myself in the process, and decided to bite the bullet. It was barely after six and I knew that Sam would kill me for calling, but I was in desperate need of a rescue and calling Sean was out of the question.

Rifling through my oversized bag, I started the futile search for my cell phone. After about five minutes of searching, I finally found it conveniently located it at the very bottom of the bag. I have no idea why I always put it in there knowing I’m never going to find it later.

Blowing out a defeated sigh, I hit number two on my speed dial.

It was picked up after two rings.

Someone had better be dead, was the welcoming response I received.

Good morning to you too beautiful, I said with a smile in my voice that I knew would only annoy Sam more.

Jesus Addison, do you have any freaking idea what time it is, she asked.

Unfortunately I know all too well.

What do you want, she asked, suddenly suspicious.

Nothing much…just a little rescue, I said, blowing on my coffee and taking a careful sip to avoid burning my tongue off.

She sighed. What did you do now?

I shrugged as if she could see me. Nothing much…just locked my keys in the car, I said, leaving out the well implied again.

Another groan. Please tell me you didn’t really call me for this.

The sudden sound of a baritone voice in the background told me I had obviously interrupted something juicy.

Do you have company, I asked with a grin.

She hesitated a second too long before answering. No.

I laughed. Liar. I want all the juicy details.

Did you use the spare key, she asked, completely ignoring my request for gossip.

I almost choked on the sip of coffee I had just taken.

Say what now?

She sighed again.

For all the things she put up with when it came to me, Sam was a saint. For that reason alone, I ignored her tendency to talk to me like a five year old when she was annoyed with me…which come to think of it, was usually always. Why the hell did she put up with me?

Do you remember the last time you locked your keys in your car? We got a small little magnetic box that we put under the car so that when this happened again, you could grab the box, open the box and use the spare key inside the box to get inside your car in order to retrieve your keys.

Double mental forehead slap.

Of course I remember. I was totally testing you to see if you remembered, I replied pathetically.

Bye Addison, she said as she hung up.

Here I was, sitting alone in Starbucks on a wet, rainy, cold Saturday morning all in a failure of an attempt to avoid my neighbors whose sexual marathon was exhausting even me, while Sam was cuddled up nice and warm with one of her many gorgeous boy toys. I wasn’t jealous…much. I mean really, what did I have to be jealous of? Sean and I had a perfectly healthy sex life…a perfectly routine, always missionary, always on a bed with the lights off, vanilla sex life. (I wonder if they serve Bailey’s here?)

Downing the rest of my coffee, and burning my tongue off in the process, I grabbed my things and walked out to my car.

The rain had let up slightly, but if those clouds were any indication, there was about to be monsoon unleashed. If I could get in my car and get home before that happened I could try to salvage what was left of a perfectly good Saturday morning. Maybe even jump back in bed since the sex-a-thon above me had to have finally exhausted my neighbors.

Reaching under the back car bumper, I retrieved the box and key, unlocked my door, and then carefully placed the spare key back in the box before tucking it back under the car so that when this happened again tomorrow, I wouldn’t be screwed yet again.

Getting in my car, I let out a shuddering breath. The temperature outside was plummeting and I had a warm bed calling my name.

Grabbing tissue from the box I kept in the counsel between seats, I mopped rain water off my face and untangled the long, dark strands of hair that had whipped loose and were now plastered to my face. My blue eyes looked pale in the early morning light, or maybe it was because of the large dark circles under my eyes. No amount of concealer was going to mask those babies.

I shivered as I turned on the heat. A few minutes in the rain had soaked through my clothes and chilled me to the bone. Looking down, I could now understand why the barista (or is it baristo?) had been so attentive this morning. Clearly leaving the house in a white t-shirt sans bra had not been the smartest idea, especially now that it was soaked, practically invisible, and form fitted to my chest. I looked like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest! (Fortunate for me I had always been well endowed so there was no doubt in my mind I would have taken first place.)

Slamming the car in reverse, I chastised myself yet again for having locked the doors. The dull pulsating pain of my head injury was a constant reminder that I was an idiot. Who on earth was going to steal this piece of junk? I should be so fortunate! Hell, I would probably have to pay someone to take it off my hands, but I had my pride so I wasn’t willing to dip into my trust fund or ask mommy and daddy for help. If driving a POS car was what it took to drive home the fact that I was an independent adult, then so be it. The fact that I had given the coffee guy a full frontal show of the girls and then injured myself with a window for my troubles was completely irrelevant.

I had just turned on to the main road when the down pour started again.

Great. It looks like I was going to drown twice in the same morning.

Fortunate for me, it only took three minutes to make it back home. All the smart people were burrowed in their beds at this hour so traffic was non-existent. Only real idiots (this gal right here) would venture out in this god forsaken hurricane. That settled it. Someday soon, probably not too much in the near future because I had a busy social calendar, I would make it to the store and actually stock up on coffee.

I pulled into my reserved spot right outside the front of my building. Home sweet, probably should be condemned, home. It was ugly. It was questionable. But it was cheap and all mine. Well, mine barring the six other people living in the building.

I sat motionless for a moment, debating the wisdom of actually going back out into the down pour. Looking behind me, I contemplated how comfortable the back seat would be and if it would just be wiser to curl up back there for a few hours of sleep then risk looking like a drowned rat again. I still wasn’t warm from the last excursion in the rain, and I wasn’t particularly looking forward to a repeat performance.

It was what I saw in my rearview window that steadied my resolve to suck it up and make a run for it.

An intimidating and seemingly dangerous black SUV sat parked across the parking lot again. Over the past week it had been appearing at random, both day and night. It didn’t seem to park in the same spot twice, and I hadn’t seen anyone exiting or entering. I don’t know why, but I got the distinct impression that someone was definitely sitting inside watching. What the hell they were watching for or who, I have no idea. I had taken the liberty of asking my neighbors if they knew who the owner was, but they all looked at me like I was crazy when I brought it up. Apparently none of them had noticed this mysterious vehicle so I think the overall consensus in the building was that I was just imaging things. To hell with them. Just another reason why none of them were on my Christmas card list.

Seeing as how I was oh so subtlety staring at the mysterious figment of my imagination, it was pretty obvious to me that I wasn’t crazy after all. The SUV was there. It did exist. And now it was officially suspiciously questionable.

If I were any kind of true bad ass, I would walk over and find out who the hell they were and what the hell they wanted. But reality is I wasn’t brave enough (read: stupid enough) to do anything that crazy so I decided that braving the elements was a much smarter decision then potentially pissing off some Tony Soprano wannabe sitting behind the wheel and finding myself outfitted with cement boots.

Stealing myself for the cold blast of air that would come once I opened the door, I psyched myself up like I was a quarterback about to run on to the field for the big game. Opening the car door, I took careful measure to grab my keys, and ran like hell to the front door. Fortunate for me I only got modestly soaked by the time I got up the stairs and into the foyer.

Shaking myself off like a giant dog, I sighed as I stared up at the three floors above, lamenting in the fact that at this early hour I was going to have to trek it up two flights of stairs to get to my apartment. I prayed I had the energy to get past the first four steps. The elevator in the building had been out of commission since the days of Reagan and was not likely to be repaired prior to the invention of the time machine. (Hey, I said the place was cheap, not functional.)

So why did I live on the third floor in a building with no running elevator? I can tell you it’s not because I am a health nut that finds the exertion relaxing or enjoys hefting an armload of grocery bags up two flights of stairs. No, I live here simply because I thought it was pretty. I know. Sound reasoning.

The truth is the most endearing quality about the building was the architectural beauty of the open floor plan that gave you an unobstructed view of the cathedral ceiling painted in abstract bright colors lit only by the large picture windows scattered around the fourth floor hallway. That had been the lone reason why I had decided to move in, completely bypassing the common sense reasons that most people looked for in their future dwellings, such as running water, working elevators and locks that actually locked.

After a painfully long hike up two flights of stairs, I stopped in the hallway just outside my door listening to hear if the bunnies I called neighbors above were going at it still. I sighed in contentment at the silence all around me. Doing a little happy dance, I unlocked my apartment door and went inside; throwing my bag and soaking coat over the chair I kept by the door for such occasions.

I made it precisely four steps into my living room when I realized I wasn’t alone.

What exactly happened after that, I’m not sure.

The only thing I remember was the floor rushing up to meet my face.

Chapter 2

Jesus! What in the hell just happened? I sure as hell hope someone got the license plate of truck that backed over me.

Seriously, what the hell just happened? And how long had I been lying here, I wondered as I finally managed to peel my eyes open. They protested the forced action. They felt rough like sandpaper, and I wanted nothing more than to close them and curl back asleep on the hard floor.

Taking a deep breath, I made the mistake of actually trying to sit up, and crumpled into the fetal position in hopes that the thousand tiny knives stabbing every part of my body would mercifully stop. If I hadn’t been lying on my living room floor I would have assumed someone had actually run me over, but the lack of tread marks on the entry floor confirmed that had not been the case.

My head felt like it was going to explode and was sensitive to any direction I purposefully attempted not to move it in. Carefully I reached behind my head and felt around for the source of my crippling pain. The knot the size of my fist was the first thing I noticed. The blood that came with it was the second.

Now, I’m not the type that normally faints at the sight of a lot blood…in movies. In reality, I would like to think I wouldn’t. Fortunately I hadn’t actually been in a position where that was an issue before, but I’d like to think of myself as having an iron stomach when it comes to this stuff. Of course, with the amount of accidents I have, it’s not unusual for me to bleed. This was the first time however that I bled this much. And I could now say with complete conviction, I did, in fact, not have an iron stomach.

I spent the next couple of minutes on the floor counting to a hundred and back again in hopes that the spots in front of my eyes would disappear and the tight clenching of my stomach would relax.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, I finally managed to pull myself up carefully and began to walk slowly towards the living room in hopes that a few hours of sleep on the couch was all I needed to recover from my run in with the…whatever the hell it was.

Dark spots were invading my vision and I felt sluggish and disconnected. Sadly that was normal considering the circumstances (I can attest to the fact as I have managed to knock myself out before), but this was a whole new level for me. I had never managed to walk myself backwards and crack my head open to the point of gushing blood.

Using the entry wall that led into the living room for support, I chastised myself for being an idiot and knocking myself out, though I couldn’t figure out for the life of me how the hell I managed this one. In all fairness though this would not be the first self-induced accident I had that I couldn’t account for how the hell I managed it.

Fumbling around for the light switch, I winced at the sudden assault of light on my eyes and stopped mid step as I looked around my living room.

What had once been a relatively clean living space was now the center of total destruction. Furniture and various items had been tossed around. Couch cushions overturned and ripped apart. Books torn apart and thrown across the room. There was not a single inch of space in the room that didn’t have the same pattern of destruction.

Now, I’m not always the neatest of people, but I can say with a hundred percent conviction that when I left my apartment (less than hour ago), my place had not been this bad.

Swallowing the bile I was sure was going to make its way up, I stumbled over to my bag, slamming my shin against the overturned coffee table in the process, and dumped the contents all over the floor searching for my cell phone.

Dialing 911, I waited for the operator to connect and started to babble.

My apartment. Someone trashed it. My things are everywhere. They ripped apart my couch and my books. Who the hell does that on a Saturday morning? Don’t they have anything better to do? And when the hell did they get a chance to even break in? I was gone for less than an hour just to get coffee down the street! I’m not for certain, but I vaguely recall coming home and thinking that I wasn’t alone. I think whoever trashed my place was still here when I got home and I think they hit me in the back of the head, which is such a relief because I could not for the life of me figure out how the hell I had managed to knock myself out by stepping through the door. Now I have a goose egg the size of a baseball on the back of my head. How in the hell am I supposed to cover something like that up? My hair is long, but it’s still going to look really odd that the back of head has suddenly been extended by three inches. And oh my god, the blood! I freaked out and I know that if I see any more blood I’m going to pass out cold, but I don’t know how bad the cut is so I think you should probably send a paramedic when you send the police…

Ma’am, said the exhausted feminine voice on the other end. Please, take a breath and calm down. Tell me again what happened. You said your apartment was broken into and you were attacked. Where are you now? Is there anyone else in the apartment with you?

And with those few less-then-reassuring questions, I hit full on panic mode.

How the hell would I know if someone was still here, I practically screamed, my head throbbing with each word.

Common sense and I were not always on speaking terms, and clearly this was one of those moments. Of course, hours later I would probably understand the very rational question she was posing to me, but damned if I could make sense of it right at this moment. The room was spinning and I was doing everything I could to keep the content of my stomach exactly where it was. Considering the circumstances, I probably would have been hysterical either way, but the tilt-a-whirl I was currently on wasn’t helping my situation.

Can you give me the address of your current location, she asked, slamming on a keyboard in the background.

I rattled off my address and only managed to transpose the numbers twice before getting it right. Considering my current state, I thought that was pretty good.

Ma’am, are you still in the apartment, she asked suddenly.

Of course I’m in the apartment! Where the hell else would I be, I snapped.

Ma’am, I need you to listen very carefully. Are you near the front door?

What kind of….

Yes or no? Are you near the front door, she said, cutting me off mid-sentence.

I nodded.

Ma’am, she asked after a moment of silence.

Mental forehead slap.

Yes, I said quickly, very much delayed in the realization that she obviously could not see me nodding like an idiot on the other end of the phone.

I have officers responding and a paramedic in route. I need you to get out of the apartment immediately and wait for the officers outside.

But it’s raining outside!

Double mental forehead slap.

I mean yes, I said quickly, I’m heading outside right now.

Cell phone in hand, I grabbed my keys and ran out the door, checking behind me to see if the bogeyman or any of his henchmen jumped out of the shadows as I ran.

Holding on to the banister for dear life, I rushed down the steps as if the hounds of hell were on my heels, barely paying any attention to what was going on in front of me. As I made it down the first few steps I had an irrational image play over and over in my head of every horror movie I had ever seen where the masked killer chases the hapless damsel down the stairs, ultimately tackling her before stabbing her twenty seven times or strangling her with her own scarf.

Though this was not the case (I hoped!), the fear lodged in my throat told me to haul ass.

I made it down one and a half flights before it happened.

Rounding the last eight or so steps before reaching the first floor, spots danced in my vision again and the tilt-a-whirl took a sudden and unexpected dip. It didn’t help that at that exact moment I slipped on a puddle of water I had undoubtedly left on the stairs on my way in and I went down on my ass in the most ungracious manner.

As you may have assumed, I am not a gracious faller and I suspected that to the naked eye, I looked like something out of an old Abbott and Costello movie, squawking loudly like some giant bird with arms and legs exaggeratedly flailing about in a vain attempt to stop gravity from taking me down. Needless to say, I didn’t succeed. The bitch known as gravity eventually won, taking me down swiftly. A small exclamation of swear word escaped my lips with each hard jolt of the steps, each one more painful than the last.

The bitter stinging on my ass was a very clear sign that my behind was likely to be black and blue in just a few hours, if it wasn’t already. Just another injury to add to the ever growing list of completely stupid and avoidable injuries…just done today! Thankfully I had managed to keep my head from connecting with the steps, but the constant jolts did nothing to help ease my throbbing headache.

Pulling myself up slowly, and quite painfully I may add, I limped out to the parking lot, rubbing my poor behind with both hands. It wasn’t until the first drops of rain hit my face that I noticed my hands were suspiciously empty. Turning back into the lobby, I found my cell phone on the second to last step, smashed from the impact of my butt hitting the hardwood.

I must have made more noise then I suspected (or was willing to admit) because it was at that moment that the door to the only first floor apartment suddenly opened and out stepped what I can only describe as every woman’s erotic fantasy.

Despite the fact that I had been hit over the head, chased down the stairs by my own vivid imagination and managed to slide into home base on the last eight wooden stairs in the lobby, I couldn’t help but stare. Unfortunately for me, I was well aware that my mouth was also hanging open but the synapses between my muscles and my brain didn’t seem to be firing on all cylinders and therefore my mouth didn’t get the message to close.

Rumor about the new tenant had been running rampant since he moved in a few months ago. Okay, so rampant was probably too strong of a word, but Ms. Kingsman in apartment 201 would never forgive me if I ousted her as the source of the building gossip.

I had only seen him twice since he moved in, both times at night and always as he was leaving the building. I could certainly attest that from the limited visibility of those two encounters, his ass alone was dream worthy.

Standing a little over six foot two, my new neighbor was mysteriously intriguing and dangerously sexy. His skin was tan, though in my current state I couldn’t begin to guess if it was natural or from time spent outdoors. I was guessing both. His hair was black and short, just past the point of needing a trim, which gave him a case of sexy bed head. His eyes were a velvety dark chocolate and his lips…yum. I was willing to bet that he had a smile that could (and probably had) melt the panties right off a girl. He had a small bump on his nose that hinted it had been broken at some point, and a faint scar that ran down the left side of his temple to his jaw. Every move he made was eloquent, controlled and screamed of danger. I prayed that I didn’t inadvertently scream out take me; though in my current state I could make no guarantees.

He came out of the apartment wearing jeans and an un-tucked form fitting black t-shirt that detailed broad shoulders,