My Roommate Is A Protective Stalker

I returned from a grueling business trip in the dead of night, only to find a complete stranger in my apartment.

He was in nothing but a pair of low-slung gym shorts, mid-pushup in the center of my living room. His shoulders were broad, his waist tapered into that lethal V-line, and the deep groove of his spine looked sculpted. He was radiating heat, drenched in sweat, his skin glistening under the dim amber lamps. He looked like a surge of raw testosterone with nowhere to go.

My flight-or-fight response short-circuited. Naturally, I chose "police." I called 911 and had him hauled away in handcuffs.

"In all my years, I never thought Id be the one bailing someone out of a precinct at 2:00 AM!" My best friend, Maddie, was practically wailing as we stepped out of the station into the biting winter air.

"Technically, you weren't bailing me out." The wind sliced through my parka. I didn't stop walking toward the curb.

"Gia, Im the only one with your spare key! Couldn't you have just texted me first?" she groaned, jogging to catch up.

I pulled out my phone, opened Uber, and punched in my home address. Once the ride was confirmed, I turned to her with a sugary, dangerous smile. "And did you happen to 'text me first' before you rented out my guest room to a stranger?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise..." Maddie gave me a playful, albeit guilty, wink. "Youve been complaining for months that the mortgage on that two-bedroom is eating you alive. I thought I was helping."

"Surprise? Maddie, it was a horror movie intro." I glanced over my shoulder.

Standing a few feet behind her was the man in question. He was easily a head taller than me, possessing the kind of physical presence that felt like a localized weather system. If he had actually been a home intruder, I wouldn't have stood a chance.

Maddie looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. "Gia, seriously. Have you lived alone so long that youve developed a full-blown persecution complex?"

"Have you ever seen that movie 3-Iron?" I asked, stopping at the edge of the sidewa

She blinked, confused. "The Korean one? No, what's it about?"

"To summarize: its about a creep who breaks into people's houses while they're away. He lives in their space, eats their food, uses their shower, and sifts through their closets." I tilted my chin up, looking past her at the man. "He sleeps in their bed, uses their mug, and stares at their photos. Its a violation."

Maddies eyes went wide. "We live in a civilized society, Gia! People don't just do that."

"Don't they?" I gestured vaguely behind her. "Ask him. Hes the world traveler. Hes seen it all, hasn't he?"

Maddie turned slowly toward him. "Is that... a real thing? Do people do that?"

"They do," Brooks Miller said, nodding solemnly. He raised his right hand, a boyish, slightly mocking grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I swear on my life, Im not a 'creep.'"

"The jurys still out on that," I muttered.

My Uber pulled up. I checked the plates and gave Maddie a curt wave. "Im going home."

"Be nice to him!" Maddie hissed in my ear as she leaned in for a quick goodbye. "I picked him specifically based on your 'type.' Hes gorgeous, right? Consider him my late Christmas present to you."

My jaw tightened. I didn't even know how to respond to that level of delusion.

"Just go home, Maddie. I'll call you if Im murdered."

I climbed into the back seat, ready to sink into the upholstery. But before the door could click shut, the front passenger door swung open. Brooks slid inside like he owned the car.

"Get out," I snapped.

"Were going to the same place." He buckled his seatbelt with practiced ease. "And Im paying for the ride."

I thought about my $4,000 monthly mortgage payment. I thought about the twenty-minute drive ahead. My pride wavered.

Before I could protest further, the driver engaged the child locks and pulled out into traffic.

"Lovers' quarrel?" the driver chuckled, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. "Its a cold night to be fighting, folks. The man apologized by paying for the ride; give him a break, sweetheart."

"He is not my boyfriend," I said, my voice flat.

"Sure, sure. I get it," the driver said with a knowing wink.

He clearly did not get it. But the heater was blasting, and the bone-deep exhaustion of a two-week business trip finally hit me. I didn't have the energy to argue with a stranger about my non-existent love life. I closed my eyes and drifted.

When we arrived, Brooks handled the payment without a word. Inside the lobby, the silence between us was heavy. I hung my coat in the entryway, feeling like a ghost in my own home, and stumbled toward the bathroom.

"We need to talk," Brooks said. His long stride easily cut me off.

My reflexes were shot. I tried to stop, but my momentum carried me straight into his chest. As I started to lose my balance, his hand shot out, catching me firmly by the waist.

The scent of himsomething like cedarwood and cold rainhit me instantly. I looked up, startled.

I saw the sharp line of his jaw, the slight pulse in his throat, and then his eyesdeep, dark, and currently reflecting a very disheveled version of me. My heart did a sudden, traitorous trip-wire skip.

"Sorry." He let go immediately, stepping back to give me air.

"Its fine," I said, waving a hand as if I could brush away the tension. "Im just... Im dead on my feet. Can this wait?"

I had been traveling for fifteen days. I had spent the last three hours in a police station. I was done.

"Fine." A faint, almost tender smile touched his lips. "Get some sleep, Gia."

Tender?

Was I so starved for affection that I was hallucinating subtext? I shook my head, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door.

I scrubbed my face, took the fastest shower in history, and collapsed onto my pillows. I fell asleep instantly, only to dream of a warm, shirtless man holding me close. In the dream, I didn't call the police. In the dream, I leaned in and kissed him.

I was startled awake by a series of muffled thuds and high-pitched shouting from the unit next door.

I checked my phone: 1:15 AM.

The "Night Owls" were back. My neighbors were a couple who seemingly lived to argue and rearrange furniture between the hours of midnight and 4:00 AM. Even with my noise-canceling earplugs, the vibration of their voices bled through the drywall.

Unable to get back to sleep, I wandered into the living room for a glass of water, only to nearly jump out of my skin when I saw a shadow on the couch.

"What are you doing out here?" I exhaled, my heart hammering.

The remnants of that dream flashed in my mind, making my cheeks heat up in the dark.

He held up a glass. "Still adjusting to the climate here. My throats like a desert."

"Youll get used to it," I said, heading for the kitchen.

"By the way," he gestured toward the wall shared with the neighbors. "Is this a regular thing, or a special occasion?"

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

He thought for a second. "Four days."

"And how many nights has it been quiet?"

He went silent. The answer was zero.

"They run some kind of wholesale business," I explained, leaning against the counter with my lukewarm water. "They get home at 1:00 AM, screaming at each other, then they start cleaning and moving boxes until 4:00. I have spare earplugs if you want them."

He narrowed his eyes. "And you just... accept this?"

"What choice do I have?" I looked around my beautiful, expensive prison. "I bought this place. I spent a fortune on the renovations. Im locked into a thirty-year mortgage. You can't just 'not accept' a neighbor in a high-rise."

I didn't mention the other sounds they madethe ones that were even more awkward to overhear.

Brooks frowned. "Have you called the cops?"

"Of course. And the HOA, at least a dozen times." I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of helplessness. "It doesn't matter. In a building with three hundred units, the management doesn't care about one noisy couple."

His expression shifted into something unreadable. "Let me try."

He set his glass down and started for the door.

"Wait" I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt.

Because of the angle, my eyes landed directly on his absperfectly defined, even in the shadows. I yanked my hand back like Id touched a hot stove. "They aren't... they aren't nice people, Brooks."

He looked at me, waiting for more.

"See that dent in the bottom of my door?" I whispered, my hand trembling slightly. "The husband did that. He kicked it because I asked them to keep it down once. Theyre bullies."

Brookss eyes darkened. "Stay inside. Don't come out until I'm back."

He reached out and briefly, gently, ruffled my hair. Before I could process the "head pat" or the weirdly protective surge it gave me, he was out the door.

Brooks knocked on their door. Not a frantic pounding, but a steady, rhythmic, polite thrum.

The muffled shouting inside continued, ignoring him.

Brooks didn't lose his temper. He just kept knocking. Three beats, a pause. Three beats, a pause. It was relentless.

"Its the middle of the night! What the hell do you want?" The neighbors door flew open.

I knew that manhe was a wall of aggressive muscle with a temper like a live wire. Panic flared in my chest. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept under my bed and crept toward my front door, ready to intervene.

"Hey, man. I'm the guy from next door," Brooks said. His voice was incredibly calm, almost conversational. "You the owner of this unit?"

"Yeahso what?" the neighbor barked.

"Look, I get it," Brooks said smoothly. "You and the wife work hard. Long hours, late nights. Its a grind, and I respect that."

I blinked. What was he doing?

"But heres the thing," Brooks continued, his tone softening but gaining a razor-sharp edge. "Were corporate types. We need our sleep to keep the paychecks coming. Any chance you could dial the volume down a bit?"

"I pay my taxes! I can talk however I want in my own damn house!" the man yelled. I could hear his wife chiming in with some choice insults from the background.

"You absolutely have the right to speak," Brooks agreed. "But rights have limits. Between 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM, anything over forty-five decibels is a city ordinance violation. I can call the precinctthe one I was just at tonight, actually. Im on a first-name basis with the sergeant."

"Call 'em! I don't give a damn about the cops!"

"I figured you might say that," Brooks said, his voice dropping an octave. "But youre a business owner, right? Public records make it very easy to find your LLC and your tax filings. If the cops don't work, Ill just go through the City Council and the Better Business Bureau. Ill make sure theres a formal noise and nuisance investigation tied to your business address. Constant city inspections are a real pain for wholesale operations, aren't they?"

There was a long, pregnant silence.

"Listen, man... lets not get crazy," the neighbor muttered, his bravado springing a leak.

"Im not being crazy. Im being neighborly," Brooks replied cheerfully. "Id hate to see your reputation suffer over something as simple as a loud conversation. So, are we good? Or do I need to start filing paperwork?"

"We're good. Well keep it down," the neighbor grumbled. The door slammed shut.

I leaned against my door, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. For years, I had lived in fear of that mans temper. Brooks had dismantled him in three minutes with nothing but a calm voice and a subtle threat to his wallet.

For the first time since moving in, I felt safe. Truly safe.

I looked at the door. Maddies "gift" was looking better by the second. Now I just had to figure out how to handle him.