Wanted Man (Loki Fanfiction - Book #1)

Chapter One

WANTED MAN

CHAPTER ONE

Someday, I’ll learn never to ask what else could go wrong.

All McKenna Carlin wanted was to go home, stand under the hot shower, until she forgot all about the day from hell. Maybe then, she’d stop obsessing over why she asked questions she really didn’t want to know the answers to.  Maybe.

She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. Some days were bad, this one put them all to shame. If it could go wrong, it did. After that hot shower, a glass of wine was a must.

Opening her eyes again, she tried to ignore the sense of weariness creeping into her as she peered around the small apartment that she had, until only that morning, shared with Joe. Now, the pale eggshell white walls were missing pictures she’d grown accustomed to looking at, and the closet to her left would no doubt have a lot more room in it now.

It was for the best. Things had gone sour months earlier, only neither one of them had the stones to admit it. True, there were better ways to find out he’d already moved on than by seeing a text never meant for her eyes, but at least now she knew.

He had Shelley and she had outlines on the walls where photographs used to hang.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed up from the door and bracing one foot against the back of the other, kicked off her left sneaker, and then her right. She thought the run might help. Might clear her head, but it didn’t. Her thoughts were just as heavy as they had been before her run. Only now she was hot and sweaty on top of it.

She padded down the short, narrow hallway to her room, where Cinder, her chubby gray and white cat, lay curled up in his usual ball, sound asleep. His eyes didn’t open, but his motor kicked over as she stretched to scratch him under the chin. Bit by bit, his neck stretched, and then his eyes opened, amber and sleepy. He yawned. He stretched.

He promptly went back to sleep.

Her bathroom adjoined her room, and as she crossed to it, she peeled off her sweaty running clothes. Lightweight jacket. Tank top. All-important sports bra.

She had to shimmy out of the Lycra pants. And did the usual one-footed hop across to the threshold of the bathroom before she wrestled herself free. Everything lay where it fell. She’d get it on her return trip.

The tub, like the rest of the building, was old. But like the rest of the building, it had a wonderful charm that managed to offset the hassle of sometimes not having enough hot water. It was clawfooted and beautiful, and sometimes after a long day, she loved to just sit in it with a glass of wine, a good book, and enough bubbles to make every drain in the building fizz.

But tonight was a shower night, so she turned on the spray full blast and hoped for the best. As the water warmed, she smiled. No one was using their dishwasher just now. Perfect.

The shower was just the right temperature to ease the ache in her leg muscles. She hadn’t run a lot, less than two miles, but in the heat of a late June night, two miles felt like ten and she scrubbed harder than usual to get rid of the sweaty film. She shampooed twice. Conditioned once. And cursed like a sailor when she reached out toward the toilet, only to find she hadn’t taken a towel from the neatly folded pile on the organizer.

The memory foam bathmat soaked up more water than it should’ve, and she winced at the squishiness as she stretched to grab the wayward towel. She was just wrapping it about herself when the entire building lurched and something boomed overhead.