Quiver: Philia Players Book One, page 2
“Um, hi, Ralph. I can’t get into my apartment. The key won’t work, and I haven’t had a chance to set up the door code yet. Is there someone who could let me in?” I try to keep the exhaustion out of my voice. It isn’t his fault that this trip has been long and with so many obstacles along the way.
“I’m very sorry to hear that you’re having difficulty, Miss Narvaez.” I hear him typing and assume he’s checking to see what can be done. After a brief pause, he sighs, “Unfortunately, for security reasons, our manager is the only one who is able to handle these kinds of issues, and as I mentioned earlier, he is out of the office. He will return at 6:00 a.m., and we can get you all sorted then. Do you have anywhere to go in the meantime?” He sounds regretful, and I can’t say I don’t return the sentiment.
Without a second thought, I reply, “Uh, yeah, I do,” not wanting to worry or inconvenience him. “Thanks so much. Have a nice night, Ralph, and please call me Kat.”
“Good evening, Katarina,” he says before ending the call.
1. Stress Me Out - PLVTINUM
Chapter two
Katarina
Islump against the door to my new apartment, and contrary to what I just told Ralph, I don’t have anywhere to go. Not until Kas gets home from his game, anyway.
It’s just past 11:00 p.m., and their games usually end around 9:00 p.m. Then, they have to take turns on the bikes, shower, get changed into their suits, and board the plane. I figure he should be back around 3:00 a.m., and then I’ll call him to come by and grab me.
He may need to bring an AED to resuscitate me after I make it down those stairs into the lobby though.1
Until then, I’ll make myself comfortable up here. Staring down at the pastel-pink suitcase, I mentally prepare myself for the task and can’t help but think over and over about what’ll happen if whoever lives across the hall sees me out like this. Trying to brush away the thoughts, I start by opening my suitcase and taking out all of my coats to lay down as padding in front of my door, doing my best to stack them in a way that’ll cover enough of the floor for my whole body to lay on while also providing enough cushioning.
When I’m satisfied, I work on unfolding my shirts, laying them down flat on top of one another before rolling them into a shape that should be comfortable to use as a pillow.
Here’s to hoping my hallway mate doesn’t come out and see me like this. Talk about a bad first impression.
Settling onto the stack of clothing, I clench my eyes shut and try to picture my next steps. Sometimes, my brain works too quickly toward a goal that doesn’t really get me to the end result I want, and just the idea of that alone then makes me anxious. It’s a vicious cycle that I’ve learned to control somewhat, but medication helps, and with how my day was going, it only made sense that I’d forgotten to take my pills this morning. It’s such a dumb mistake for something I do every day, but I live by routines, and moving across the country wasn’t exactly a part of my carefully curated routine.
I settle into the nest I’ve made myself and make a little checklist in my mind. First, I’ll write this checklist. Yeah, okay, that’s helpful; I roll my eyes at my own thought. Okay, starting again, first I’ll pick a book to read, then I’ll set an alarm for 2:55 a.m. so I’ll remember to text Kas. I’ll set it to vibrate mode though because I wouldn’t want to increase my chances of having a run-in with my hallway mate. Then I’ll just read until Kas lands, and the time should fly by.
I’ve had an ever-growing TBR on Goodreads since I moved to San Diego for physician assistant school, and then spent another two years doing a neurology fellowship. I have plenty of books to catch up on now that I have some time to read for fun. I probably could’ve fit some fun reading into my schedule, but having ADHD makes it really difficult to juggle multiple aspects of personal and work life, so I was afraid I’d accidentally fall into a hyperfixation and end up reading smut every night when I should’ve been studying. It was just better to avoid the temptation.
Opening my Goodreads app, I scroll through the covers, settling on a sports romance by a Latinx author I adore. The mention of a strong female lead, who also plays soccer and falls in love with her interim coach, is one of my favorite tropes, so she has my attention already.
***
I awake with a startle to the sound of the heavy stairwell door slamming shut, my body practically levitating off the floor as my eyes snap open, heart pounding in my chest. When I look up, I’m greeted by the face of a man who makes Jimmy Garoppolo look like the discount version of himself! The guy is easily six foot five or maybe even taller; it’s hard to tell from my precarious position on the ground. His wide eyes meet mine, and a small smirk curves the corner of his full lips. His dark curls hang slightly over his forehead, grazing his thick brows, one of which is arched slightly with amusement, dancing above his striking light-green eyes.
I’m forced to stop my perusal, okay, outright ogling him, when his deep, silky smooth voice wraps around me in my dazed stupor. “Is everything all right?” he asks me with that same smirk, and his eyes shine brightly under the cool hall lights.
I work to pick my jaw up off the floor, fighting the urge to check whether or not I’ve got drool hanging out of my mouth. My brain short circuits for a moment before I finally answer. “Yeah, I actually live here, I promise. I’m not just loitering in the halls. If that’s your apartment, I’m your new neighbor,” I say as I point to my giant head taped to the door. Who would’ve guessed I’d be actively drawing attention to that ugly picture? “See? It’s me. I’m your new hallmate, I guess? Is ‘hallmate’ even a term that people use?” God, now I’m rambling. He’s either going to think I’m intoxicated or suffering from a traumatic brain injury at this point. Why else would I be lying in the hallway?
As I wait for his answer, my fingers make their way back to the pendant, toying with the cool metal as I work to calm my shaky breathing.
“That unsightly picture of you has been hanging on the door for the last three days, but I’m glad to see that you’re much more beautiful than that picture of you deep-throating a corncob would suggest.” His voice has a lilt to it, and the lopsided grin he gives me nearly makes me forget the reality of what he just said.
I choke on my own saliva and probably add to the “unsightly” scene before him.
Did he just say that I was deep-throating a corncob?! I need my brother to come drag my ass down those stairs and rescue me so I can crawl into his apartment and hide in a closet like the troll that I’ve evidently become. That way, I can search for a new place for myself because there is no chance I can live across the hall from this guy! Not after repeatedly embarrassing myself, and in such a short time frame too.
Oh shit, I’ve just been staring at him with panic in my eyes for a solid thirty seconds. Speak, Kat, speak!
My eyes are quite literally bugging out of my head, my chest heaving with the effort necessary to stand up as I sink deeper and deeper into my panicked thoughts.
I decide it’s best to ignore his comments altogether and instead say, “My brother sent the key to me a few days ago, and it’s not working. The manager isn’t back until the morning, so I’m just waiting until he gets in, and I promise I’ll be out of our mutual hallway. Can we pretend this never happened?”
He takes a moment, studying me and digesting my words before replying, “Listen, it sounds like you’ve had a rough introduction to Philadelphia, and judging by your apartment door, your brother is giving a new meaning to ‘the city of brotherly love.’ So I’ll give you a break, and we can pretend I didn’t find you lying in a heap of laundry in our hallway.” He gives me a small but genuine smile that makes it look like he may be holding in a laugh.
Continuing, he adds, “Would you like to stay at my place until the manager gets back? You can stay in my guest room; it’s got an en suite and a lock, so you don’t have to worry about your safety.” That’s… oddly considerate.
I’m hesitant to accept his offer, but frankly, I’ll take my chances that this guy is an axe murderer if it means I can avoid going down those stairs tonight or spending another minute on this hallway floor. I’m already starting to feel pain lancing its way up my spine, punishing me for the time spent on this hard floor after a day spent on an airplane.
So going against my better judgment, I say, “Do you promise you’re not going to murder me in my sleep?”
His brows shoot upward before lowering, and that same cocky grin spreads across those gorgeous lips. He brings his right hand up, palm facing me, and tucks his pinky under his thumb, the three middle fingers pointing upward, and says, “Scout's honor,” with a deep chuckle.
“Well, all right, if you were backed by the good ole Boy Scouts of America, what, two decades ago, you must be a pretty trustworthy person,” I tell him with a wink. “Offer accepted.”
1. CPR - Summer Walker
Chapter three
Katarina
Saturday, November 4, 2023
After he helped me toss all of my clothes back into my suitcase, we made our way inside his apartment.
I’ll admit, I’m not expecting it to be as nicely decorated as it is. All of my previous experiences with ex-boyfriends had led me to believe that most men live in untidy apartments and rarely understand that countertops should be wiped daily. Frankly, if I hadn’t been treating my ADHD, my apartments would probably have not looked as clean and tidy as they did either, especially not with the long hours I was working and studying.
This guy, though? His floor-to-ceiling wall of windows is spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere, and yet it’s also super cozy with throw blankets tossed over the plush charcoal-gray sectional and even a few decorative pillows. The living room is an open concept with a massive kitchen and an island connecting the two rooms, and the kitchen is spotless with marble countertops, white cabinets, and gold finishings. There are three additional doors that I’m guessing are the bedrooms and maybe a laundry room.
He probably hired an interior designer and has a cleaning service or something. At least, that’s what I tell myself to lessen the jealousy creeping its way into my exhausted brain.
I imagine my apartment will be pretty similar to this one, but I honestly haven’t seen more than a few photos, opting to trust my brother’s opinion because I’m just glad to be near him and finally back in Philly. It didn’t seem I had much of a say in the decision anyway.
I’m hoping my best friend, Aiyana, will be moving back here too, and we can share the overly extravagant penthouse.
“Hey, so before I stay the night here, I just realized I never introduced myself. I’m Katarina, but you can call me Kat.” I smile brightly at him, extending my hand.
He quirks his brow at me, but his expression shifts into a panty-melting smile that shows off the dimple in his right cheek. He takes my hand in his own extremely large one, giving it a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Kat. I’m Alessandro, but you can call me Ale.” He says it with a smirk that tells me he clearly recognizes that I’m affected by his charm, and my nervousness is apparent. I can feel my cheeks heating under his teasing gaze.
He leads me over to the left of the living room and opens the door to a guest room with white walls, a gold metal bed frame, a queen-sized bed covered in the softest-looking white duvet, a matching quilt folded over the end of the bed, and a soft, faux fur throw blanket tossed over the corner of the mattress. There’s a gold dresser across from the bed with a TV mounted to the wall above it and a tan velvet chair in the corner of the room. It’s simplistic but luxe at the same time, and if he actually decorated this room himself, I’ll be extremely impressed. Heck, I’ll have to ask him to decorate my place too.
“This is the guest room; the en suite is the door to the left of the dresser, and the closet is to the right of the bed. Feel free to toss your luggage in there if you’d like. Make yourself comfortable and knock on my door if you need anything.”
He turns on his heel, heading out of the room, and I’m finally starting to recover from my shock at the strange turn of events for the evening when I realize I’ve been super rude. “Ale,” —he turns around to face me— “thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it. I could’ve spent the night in the hallway, but I’m really thankful not to have to,” I tell him with an expression that I hope conveys how grateful I am.
“Don’t mention it, Kat. Have a good night.” He gives me a grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes, those sage-green orbs twisting my stomach. He leaves and heads to his room after turning off the lights in the living room and kitchen. When I hear his door shut, I close my own and lock it, just in case he does turn out to be a serial killer.
God, I really hope he’s not an axe murderer. I just finished a whole lot of school only to be offed by my trusting stupidity.
I make my way to the bathroom and clean up before crawling under the plush duvet and quilt. Something starts vibrating, and I’m reminded of the alarm I set to text Kas. Swiping the notification away, I put the phone on the nightstand, turn on my side, and doze off quickly. I wake up with nightmares often, usually replaying the same horrifying stream of events, but tonight? Tonight, I dream about a mysterious stranger with beautiful eyes and an incredible ass.
Chapter four
Katarina
Iwake up to the sun streaking through the blinds, the smell of food wafting under the door, and I swear I hear a Bad Bunny song playing from the kitchen. 1
It doesn’t take long to realize I’m not in my old apartment in San Diego, and the events of last night come flooding back to me.
“Gosh, how long did I sleep?” I groan to myself, still groggy.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and frown, realizing I forgot to charge it last night, so I’m not sure what time it is. But based on the sun glaring into the room through the soft, white curtains, I’d say it’s definitely after six, so I should be able to set up the door code to my apartment and get out of Alessandro’s hair.
After using the restroom and brushing my teeth, I take my meds with some water from the faucet and make the bed, feeling a little awkward because I’m not sure if I should strip the bed before I go. I shake my head at the intrusive thought; I’m always overanalyzing my every move, thinking people are judging me for totally normal things that don’t really require the extra thought.
I head out to the kitchen, and I’m greeted by the sight of Ale’s tall, tan form, his trim waist, massive shoulders, and bulging back muscles on full display as he cooks. From the smell of it, he’s making eggs and veggies of some sort.
I clear my throat and try to suck back some of the drool pooling in my mouth, and not just from the smell of food. “Good morning, Ale.” I give an awkward little wave before he’s even turned around and abruptly snap my hand back down to my side, realizing how dumb the gesture looks.
He turns around, and if I thought he was gorgeous from the back, the front of him is even more impressive. His abdominal muscles are the definition of “washboard,” and it’s clear his body has been honed by years of physical labor and hard work. His muscles look like they serve a purpose, not just meant to look pretty like that of a bodybuilder. He’s got a tattoo of a Medusa head with three legs in the shape of a triangle on his right outer arm, but there are some details that I can’t quite make out though. Again, he smirks when I stare at him a bit too long and says, “Morning? I’m not sure when you last checked the time, but it’s two in the afternoon, gattina.”
Gattina? I make a mental note to look that up later. It must be Italian or something. Now that I think about it, he does have sort of an Italian American accent, like a lot of northerners do around here. It’s really faint though, almost undetectable.
How is it possibly two o’clock in the afternoon? I look at him sheepishly, embarrassed that I’ve overstayed my welcome. “Gosh, I didn’t realize it was that late. I hadn’t charged my cell last night, so it’s dead. Do you mind if I use your phone to call downstairs so I can get my apartment situation worked out, and I’ll be out of your hair?”
He looks over his shoulder at me from his place at the stove. “No rush, my cell is on the counter. Call them and then take a seat at the island. Breakfast is almost ready. You don’t have any allergies, do you?”
“I really appreciate it, but that’s not necessary; you’ve already helped me out so much.”
“Kat, it’s okay to accept kindness without feeling like a burden. Besides, I’ve already made enough for us both,” he chuckles. “I’m Italian, and my mom has always taught me never to let someone leave my home hungry.” So I was right; he is Italian. “Besides, she’d probably castrate me if she found out I let you leave before feeding you,” he chuckles, turning back to the food on the stove.
“That’d be a damn shame,” I mutter under my breath; my cheeks heat when I realize he’s heard me. His shoulders shake almost imperceptibly, attempting to contain the laughter from my comment.
I stand by what I said though—he’s too gorgeous to lose the ability to procreate.
I’m clearly not getting out of here without eating, and the frittata he’s making looks incredible, so I walk over to his phone sitting on the counter. “The password is one-two-two-five,” he calls out to me without looking, obviously knowing where I’m headed.
That catches me off guard; his password is… Christmas? And he’s actually giving me his password? I wonder if he’ll change it after I leave. I’ve had some pretty long-term boyfriends who wouldn’t even give me the password to their phones. Granted, they were either cheating or doing some other shady crap.
As I unlock his phone, I see him lean over and lower the volume on the Reggaeton music he’s got playing over a Bluetooth speaker. I do an internet search for the manager’s number and give them a call. A gruff-sounding man answers the phone, and after some explanation, he agrees to head up shortly to set up my apartment with the new door code. I tell him what I’d like it set to, stepping out of earshot so I don’t have to give myself a panic attack worrying about Alessandro sneaking in and killing me someday. The manager says I don’t have to be present, so I guess I’m free to eat before I head over. When I’m done with the call, I lock his phone and place it back on the counter before sitting down at the island.
