He turns to look at the door, then back at me, but his hand remains in the same spot, fingers tangled with mine. “I’m sorry about that.” He says as he retrieves his hand, “ I’m here to pick up my friend. He dropped me a pin with the location.”
Of course he did. Rachel has done it again. She found a man as crazy as she is. Because who the hell gets kidnapped and, instead of walking away, uses his free will to stay in the kidnapper’s house and text his friend? He is clearly not that secure to the damn chair if he could text this guy. I would bet he is not tied to it at all. Just pretending to be bound for the plot. Like a good boy playing into my psycho friend’s fantasies.
“Follow me.” I say as I head for Rachel’s bedroom, where his friend is tied to a chair, or pretending to be tied to a chair.
At this point, I can’t tell who’s more insane. The lady who kidnapped the guy? The man who broke her door down? Or the kidnapping victim?Hell, I might be insane as well.
When we arrive, Rachel is frozen in place, looking at the very free biker standing in front of her. The rope is gathered at his feet, and I was right. This man wasn’t really in trouble. He could have walked out anytime he wanted, yet chose to stay here and entertain the crazy lady’s biker fantasy.
“And instead of... I don’t know... Leaving, for example, you thought, ‘This would make great content for my social media accounts,’ like every normal human would do,” Rachel points out, and I am guessing that’s how Leo got tipped off about Neon Sign needing rescue.
Instead of the man with the blue hair, Leo responds; Rachel turns to look at him, and then she looks at me, totally ignoring the man.
“It sounds kind of funny if you put it that way, but it’s very on-brand for him.” Leo says, then offers his hand to her. “I am Leo.” He introduces himself with the same polite smile he did before. And I am ready to jump on the kidnapping train. We can tie them together. No one will know.Damn it.I am starting to sound like Rachel.No, Noah, kidnapping is bad!
I throw my hands in the air, ready to surrender. “Don’t look at me. This dude kicked your door down, introduced himself, and told me he’s here to pick up his friend.” I point with a nod to Leo and then tilt my head to the side so I can see past Rachel. “I’m guessing you’re his friend.” I say directly to the Neon Sign guy who’s standing in front of us.
“Bingo” He winks at me, and right now I am not sure who is prettier: the blond god who came to rescue him or the blue-haired demon who didn’t need rescue to begin with. Maybe they have a third friend who’s even better looking than they are. It can be a why-choose. What are the odds of three hot men being friends? Probably not that likely.
“Let’s go, lover boy.” Leo says, and the demon pouts as he is being dragged away.
I follow because I really need to know they left before I kill Rachel. And Rachel follows because she doesn’t know her own good.Clearly.
The moment they’re out of the door, I turn to Rachel.
“So, do you have any other great ideas?” I say with a smirk, following her into the living room. “How’s our weekend looking like? Are we robbing a bank? Performing a satanic ritual?”
After what I just went through, all of the above seem very likely to happen.This woman needs therapy, and I need to join her. God damn, this man was hot.
Chapter 3
Noah
It’s around 8 am when I finally wake up. I love mornings. I have always been a morning person. It’s the one thing that Rachel and I never agreed upon. I always have the energy to go about my day while she is wishing she would die for the first part of it. When she is finally awake enough to function, it’s usually late afternoon, and our day has almost ended. I swear this woman works on autopilot, takes care of clients all day, and wakes up when it’s time for reading and drinking.I am jealous of that sometimes.The delusion that lives in her mind. But then again, quiet mornings are one of the best parts of my day, and I wouldn’t change that for the ability to not register my work hours in my brain. Besides, I will admit my job is great. I always land the nice customers, and I love working with hair. Someone might even say I have a talent for it. Some people just get comfortable doing a job that only supports their lifestyle, but I love mine. It’s my passion. I love making people feel beautiful. I think it’s a very important job. To have the power to fix someone’s confidence with just a few snaps of your scissors is amazing. It makes me feel needed. Important even.
I immediately reach for the water bottle I have on my nightstand. Hydration after all this wine that me and Rachel had last night is important. As important as it is to make sure Rachel has some food in her before work. As much as I hate her plan to kidnap a biker last night, she is still my best friend. And likeany best friend should, I am planning to make sure she survives today.
I get up from my bed and stretch, carrying my water bottle with me as I head to my small kitchen. I press the button on the coffee maker, which is always ready to go from the night before.
While my coffee is getting ready, I head to my bathroom. I finish my water on the way and grab my phone from my nightstand before I enter the small bathroom. My apartment is nothing compared to Rachel’s big house, but it’s still mine.It’s still home. A safe place. Those are rare. A place you truly feel like home.
My routine is exactly what makes it safe. It’s all about routine. I enable the Bluetooth on my phone and automatically connect to the speakers I have placed around the house. I hit play on my morning get-ready playlist, and music fills the small space. The aroma of coffee spreads from room to room as every note wakes my mind. I shed my clothes and step into the shower. The moment I turn on the hot water, steam fills the space, and I let the stream wake up the rest of my sleeping body. The rest is almost on autopilot at this point. I reach for my shampoo, then my conditioner and shower gel. I clean my hair, apply conditioner, and clean my body before I step out of my shower.
I reach for the towel that hangs next to the sink and dry my body with the soft fabric before I throw it in the laundry basket. Next step is body lotion. I choose the one that smells like caramel because we all need something sweet in our day. I got one for Rachel, too. It’s my favorite.
I take the keratin oil next and use the dropper to place a few drops on my hand before I work it through my hair. I am lucky enough that I don’t need to do anything with it. It will simply dry looking perfect. Even though I am a hair stylist and I could fix any bad hair moments I might have, it’s still nice to be one of the lucky ones who wake up ready to go.
Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take care of myself, and for that reason I open the cabinet next to my sink and take a sheet mask from it. I open the package and place the mask carefully on my face before I step out of the bathroom. While that works its little magic, I open my wardrobe, which barely qualifies as one, and take out a black T-shirt with Danielle’s Beauty Corner logo on the back and my name printed on the front. I chose with it a distressed black pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I go back to my nightstand, open the first drawer, and take out a black pair of eyeglasses. I can see without them, just barely, but I like wearing them. They complete my look and make my life easier. Which is why I have a drawer full of different options that match each of my outfits. I don’t put them on yet since the mask isn’t ready to be removed. I simply take them with me as I go to the kitchen.
By now, my coffee is ready. I pour some into a black mug with a skull on it that Rachel got me for my birthday, and take a sip.That’s good coffee.I drink the rest of it with two long sips, and now it’s time to head to my friend’s house. It’s already 8:30am and Rachel is about to wake up. With how much we drank last night, I already know she's having the worst morning in history. I don’t get hangovers often, or ever, but my friend seems to get them for both of us.
I remove the mask and throw it in the garbage. I rub the excess moisture into my skin and put on my glasses. I place my mug into the sink to deal with later, and grab my keys and my phone. As I exit my small apartment, I turn the music off and lock my door. I take the stairs because it’s the closest thing to a workout I get these days, and I start walking the ten-minute walk to Rachel’s house. The day is gloomy but still warm enough, and the leather jacket is almost a little too much. It doesn’t take long for me to reach Rachel’s driveway. I don’t bother with the front door. After Leo kicked it last night, I made it my missionto avoid it. I go straight for the back, and I know it’s unlocked. Rachel always forgets to lock that door. I get inside and lock it behind me because, after last night’s events, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets robbed while we are at work. I check the living room quickly; Rachel still sleeping on her armchair, exactly as she was a few hours ago.
I go back to the kitchen without losing time. I gather the ingredients for pancakes and start making my special pancakes with chocolate chips that I always loved since I was a kid. I’ve made it a habit to make them for her since we were in cosmetology school. They are delicious, but Rachel always kind of hated them, yet I still make them because I am that type of friend. The loving with spite type of friend. I will love you, and I will show it with every opportunity, but I will still make you suffer for your bad decisions. As the first pancake cooks, I prepare the coffee maker and press the button. The first drops of coffee fill the coffee pot, and I hear the first signs of Rachel coming back to life.
I take her phone from my jacket’s pocket and set it on the table alongside a mug that I fill with coffee. I snooped a little last night before I left, and I can’t wait to tease her about the fact the mysterious biker has already messaged her. If I wasn’t too worried about the fact that this man might be a criminal, I would probably ship those two. They are definitely a good fit from the little I saw of him, both delusional and lacking any survival skills. A match made in heaven, or hell.
Rachel enters the kitchen, dragging her feet as if she has just escaped said hell, and I chuckle seeing her. “ Good morning, sunshine.” I say with a smile, and she shows me the middle finger.