Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Standing, I headed for the fence door as a tattooed arm reached over to unlock and swing it open. “You didn’t have to come over here,” I said. “I can manage this long, treacherous walk.” “Never said you couldn’t.” He stood back so I could exit. “Did you get my note?” “Yeah, thanks. That was neighborly of you.” “Never know when you’ll need a cup of sugar.” He snagged the plastic container from my hand and sneered. “Or edible food.” I craned my neck to scowl up at him. “Stop insulting my food. How do you know I didn’t cook it?” He placed a hand on my lower back to turn me toward his fence door that was right next to mine. “Did you?” “No.” A victorious smile started to curve his mouth until I added, “That’s better than I could do. I’m a shitty cook.” Like he thought that was hilarious and not a shortcoming, I got another of his deep laughs. Even if I was confused—and slightly envious—by how easily he was able to do that, I enjoyed how it looked up close. For a second, at least. Then I tore my eyes away just to see I wasn’t the only one staring. When I’d gotten dressed that morning, it’d been for comfort. For cleaning. For not seeing another living soul. My black leggings and tee weren’t bad—though they smelled like the chemically citrus cleaner—but they certainly didn’t match the level of attractiveness I was looking at. There was only one other woman, and she was stunning. A total smokeshow in biker boots paired with a white crop top and a pretty pink skirt—an odd mix that w...