An errant snowflake lands on my nose, instantly melting against my skin.

I’ve been walking for about an hour with Buster, circling the block, cursing every damn moment of free time. At this point, I’m thinking about going to Rory and asking for softball tasks – visiting elementary schools, anything. The thought of a bunch of germy kids clambering all over my truck while I could be rescuing someone doesn’t sit right but anything has to be better than this.

My apartment building is in sight to my left. I check across the street, making sure my truck is intact. Generally, I live under the assumption that living in the city means your stuff can be violated at any given time, and it keeps me alert to any suspicious happenings. That mentality has helped me save a lot of people on the fly, even if it means I never fully relax.

Well, almost never.

A vision of Scarlett bent in front of me as I thrust into her surfaces. Will she ask to stay with me again tonight? The way she left, I doubt it, but I’m not fazed.

She’s a scared woman in the middle of a hard time. The least I can do is provide comfort in any way I can. If that comfort just happens to come in the form of hot sex, who am I to complain?

My eyes dart across the street, where I notice a car I don’t recognize parked haphazardly in front of my building. Alarm bells go off in my mind, so I slow my pace and gently pull Buster a little closer. Awesome animal that he is, he responds instantly, slowing his pace with perked up ears, ready for danger.

“It’s all right. Let’s just see if there’s something going down.”

As I reach the front door, I slide my key in slowly, turning the knob at a snail’s pace until the door is ready to be pressed open. One inch at a time I push it forward, blocking the outdoors with my body to keep out the cold and the light. The door opens wide enough for me to peek inside, and I do. I am not disappointed.

Gareth is standing outside of Scarlett’s door, his back to me. It appears as though he’s trying to pick the lock and get inside but it’s impossible to tell from this angle. Not one to stand in the shadows, I throw the door open and feel a wave of satisfaction when he jumps, turning to stare at me with wide eyes.

His eyes are gray, his chestnut hair disheveled. He has the kind of beard that is patchy in places, and looks like day-old stubble that got ambitious but fell short of achieving beard-hood. He is my opposite in every way, and I continue to stare at him in silence, the standoff lasting for what feels like a half hour as both of us wait for the other to make a move. His eyes shift from me to Buster and back again, my dog tense but quiet by my side. He knows I’ve got this.

Gareth sees that I’m not budging, the door effectively blocked. I’m going to get something from this asshole before he scurries away. I don’t care what it is.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name earlier.” His tone isn’t friendly, even if his words are placating. He wants to get me to talk. Fine, let’s talk.

“It’s Isaac. I believe you did catch it.”

I don’t care that my own voice is aggressive.

Gareth takes a step back, closer to Scarlett’s door. That is the last place he should think about going. “Well, it appears Scarlett isn’t home this morning. I suppose I’ll just have to catch her another time.”

He clears his throat, his eyes darting to the door with the obvious hint that he would like to be released. My feet stay planted exactly where they are.

“Scarlett and I are kind of a thing. Strange men poking at her door falls into the category of my business.”

His eyes narrow at that comment, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Good. I want him to get mad. I want him to let something slip in his anger that he would have otherwise guarded. I want information as to why this asshole is trying to break into Scarlett’s place. To ransack it, perhaps for a second time?

“Scarlett and I have been friends for a long time, so if anyone’s the stranger here, it’s you.”

I grin, and I can tell that pisses him off. People hate it when their words don’t strike home. I’ve never been less intimidated by a man in my entire life.

“You may be friends but you’re certainly not with her. I am. That’s the way it is. Now kindly… remove yourself.”

“Last I checked, you don’t have authority over who Scarlett associates with.”

“And yet Scarlett isn’t here. I do have authority over who I associate with, and you are on private property.”

“This hallway doesn’t belong to you,” he snaps.

I’m getting to him. Perfect.

“Neither does Scarlett but seeing as how I’m in a position to protect both at the same time, I think I’m going to.”

“You think you’re the one protecting? Get a clue, Isaac.” He says my name like it’s a slur.

I cross my arms as I stare him down. “Oh, yeah?”

I can tell he’s holding himself in check, trying to control his temper. This is exactly where I want him to be. If he gets too emotional I could lose information. I’m still not moving away from the door.

“Scarlett may be interested in you right now but she’s a dangerous girl. If you don’t want to end up a dead man, you’d better stay away from her.”

His words are a thorn in my side, and I take two steps toward him, towering above. My height has always been a fantastic advantage against assholes like this, and I use it to the fullest, glowering down at him.

“Is that a threat?”

To his credit, he continues to stand his ground, even if he does have to crane his neck up to glare up at me. His glare softens as he takes a step back. “No, not a threat. It’s good advice. I suggest you take it. Now, are you going to let me leave or what?”

I stare him down for another moment, allowing my presence to absorb into his mind. Finally, I step aside. “By all means. Have a great day.”

My tone is cheerful, and I consider blowing him a kiss to piss him off but I decide against it. He breezes past me, pulling the door open with force and slamming it behind him as a gust of snow-scented air hits my face.

I can watch this punk leave the lot from the comfort of my own home, and I slap my leg to signal Buster to follow. He trots up the stairs, waiting for me at the door when I catch up, and together we enter my apartment. I head to my front window and stare out at the front street. The car in the front is gone, a pair of black skid marks left on the street in its wake.

A rush of adrenaline pours through me, and I need to release it. I need some kind of action in my life. The only option I have for release is my pull up bar and a set of weights. I pull my shirt off, then my jeans, walking in my boxer briefs to my bedroom where I find a pair of shorts to wear while I lift.

When I get back to the living room, Buster is settled comfortably on the couch, ready for a nap after our walk together. I envy the shit out of him. I want to be content with a life where I can take a walk, feel satisfied, take a nap, feel satisfied, eat food, shit, feel satisfied. If only that could be enough. Dogs don’t have to live day in and day out with every mistake they’ve made.

If reincarnation is real, I’m coming back as a rich person’s pet.

My hands grip the pull up bar, my palms too sweaty to find purchase. I reach for some chalk and slap my hands together, the white powder puffing into the air as I readjust my grip and then lift my massive frame, slowly lowering each time. The burn intensifies with each pull, and I don’t care. I am reliving the conversation I had with Gareth with each pull.

A dangerous girl, he called her.

I think about Scarlett, with her doe-eyed stare and her vibrant copper curls. Her skin is milky white, her frame small even with the curves she has in all the right places. I think of her perfectly shaved pussy, and I long to plunge my tongue into it, to lose myself in her lust and pair it with my own.

Dangerous, my ass.

Scarlett is everything a woman should be and more. Gareth’s words ring hollow in my mind as I try to picture exactly how it looked when I walked in, trying to decipher if he tried to break in, or if I was imagining things simply because I don’t like the guy.

Skin splits along my palm with the weight of my body. I jump down, checking to see the damage. Blood pools with white chalk, and I reach for my chalk stick again, smearing a chunk on my thumb and then rubbing it against the open wound.

Physical pain helps me think better, helps me get my mind focused. I clench my hands on the bar again and pull, my palm screaming as I do. I lift myself, grunting with the effort of it, my torso slick with sweat.

There is one thing that I know for sure in this moment. Whoever the fuck Gareth is, he sure as shit knows more about what happened to Scarlett than she does.

I know exactly where the danger lies, and it’s not with Scarlett.