Arrow to the Heart: A Cupid Romance

Chapter 3

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It's Wednesday. If you're my cute neighbor, that means it's laundry day. So, for me, it's also laundry day. Every time I hear someone walk past my door, I take a quick look through the peephole to see if it's Bree.

Jackpot.

I see her walking past with a basket in hand. She's wearing a white button-up under a light purple cardigan. Her dirty blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail, the pink-dyed tips swishing back and forth with each step. Something seems to fall from her pile of clothing and I resist the urge to open my door and tell her about it. I'm not sure how I'd explain what I was doing in the first place. Not that I'm stalking her like Eli says; I'm just making sure our schedules align.

I check the time; it's 7:12.

How much time should I wait so that it doesn't seem suspicious? Ten minutes seems like long enough.

I turn around and let my head fall back against my door, letting out a sigh as I look at the ceiling.

Fuck, I'm stalking her.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I turn around and look out the peephole again. The hallway is empty; she has already turned down the next corridor. Whatever pink frilly thing she dropped is still lying on the floor taunting me.

Are those panties?

Great, now I've graduated to pervert stalker. Fan-fucking-tastic.

And even though that should be disturbing to me, all I can think about is some other fucker coming along and picking Bree's panties off the floor.

Nope.

I grab my laundry basket and head out the door. Whatever she dropped is pink and frilly, with little red dots on it.

What are the odds that she drops something just a few yards from my front door? Maybe she did it on purpose to get my attention.

I shake my head.

No. Bree is too straightforward for a move like that. She's not the game-playing type.

I walk over and pick it up, holding it out to figure out what I'm looking at.

It's some kind of bra with little fluttery sheer bits around the edges. What I thought were dots are actually little strawberry designs.

Holy shit, Bree just dropped lingerie in our hallway.

I hold back a grin and set it atop my own pile. It looks odd among the wash of black and grey.

I take a few more steps down the hallway before I stop and look back at the garment.

Wait... why is she washing her lingerie?

My stomach turns.

This is not an everyday undergarment. This is the kind of thing you wear when you expect someone to see it.

My throat tightens.

I've never sensed anything from her that would suggest she has a partner in the past. Sometimes—rarely—my wires get crossed and I miss something, but there's no way I missed a thing with Bree. I've spent too much time with her and paid too much attention to make that mistake. But I haven't seen her in a week and things like that can change fast.

Fuck that.

I march toward the laundry room, my boots hitting the carpet with a louder thump than usual.