Silver Stilettos

3 | last name basis

"Did you know your mom just leaves the front door open?" Reed asked.

I couldn't get my hammering heartbeat under control. I inhaled sharply and closed my eyes. "Let me guess - you're going to brag about how you just walked right in?"

"Something like that."

His voice sounded like it held a smile. It made me want to turn around and smash my fist against his perfect, pretty-boy mouth.

"And the way you dropped your keys?" His voice dripped with condescension. "You're a security nightmare, Krishnan."

A guilty thrill raced down my spine at the way his mouth curled around the syllables of my name. "It's Mayuri," I spat back, trying to aim every ounce of vitriol in my size six body at him in a spray.

"I mean, your dad's a cop, right?" He kept talking like I hadn't interrupted him, continued digging the muzzle of the gun into my back. "Didn't he tell you that when you're in the parking lot you should always have your keys in your hand so you don't have to waste time digging for them?"

"For a guy who has a gun on me, you're talking an awful lot about my safety."

I couldn't believe I was daring to sass him when he had my life in his hands - literally.

"Oh. Fuck. Sorry." I heard a muffled thump. "You can turn around," said Reed.

I turned, the movement slow, my hands cautiously held apart from my body to show him I wasn't going to try anything stupid.

Reed's eyes held mine with somber heaviness. "I'm sorry. I just had to be sure you weren't going to scream. I don't even like guns. Never use them."

His head turned and he nodded at my bed. I followed his gaze, feeling ice crawl over my skin as I saw the "gun". What I had thought was a weapon was actually...

"My hair brush," I realized out loud, closing my eyes in frustration. "You threatened me with the handle of my hair brush."

"Sorry," he said again, but his tone wasn't apologetic at all. "I saw it on top of the dresser when I came in—"

"When you broke in," I corrected him. "I'm pretty sure breaking and entering carries a prison sentence, pal."

His eyes flashed. "Look," he said, speaking slowly, like he was trying to calm himself down, "I get that you're pissed. Maybe your boyfriend lets you get away with taking to him like that but I'm not going to put up with this."

"Now you're victim blaming," I snapped. "Maybe that one isn't illegal but it's just as morally bankrupt."

Reed stared, mouth dropping open. The moment dragged out between us, broken only by his rough sigh. He turned to the side and ran his lean fingers savagely through his hair.

"Is this how you thank me for saving your life?" he muttered under his breath, probably not intending for me to hear him. But what he hadn't realized was that I was attuned to him: to every move he made, to the pitch of his voice, and even to the tremble in his hands as he fought for control. Another thing my dad had taught me - observational awareness.

"You, save my life?" I couldn't hold back my snort of derision. "Bloody nonsense," I said, using one of my dad's favorite scathing epithets.

"You do know that someone took a shot at you today at school, don't you?" Reed held out his hand and I flinched, thinking he was going to touch me, but he merely unfurled his fingers, revealing the smooth, golden shell of a .45 caliber bullet.

I remembered the pinging and the metal waste bin. I remembered bending down at just the right second to pick up the kitten. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the shell. Such a small thing and it could have ended my life. It could have broken skin and ripped into organs and whittled against bone.