His Territory

2

The doorbell rings just as I straighten the last pillow on the couch. Finally, everything is unpacked.

"Thank God, I'm starving," I say to myself, practically racing to the door. I open it to a young delivery guy standing with a large bag in hand. I hand him a twenty, grateful to end my unpacking marathon with food.

"I'll be right back with your change, miss," he says, a little too sweetly for my hungry mood.

"Keep it. Have a good night," I reply, offering a tired smile.

His face lights up with surprise. He nods, hopping back into his car with a wide grin before speeding off. I close the door, a small warmth lingering at the thought that I may have brightened his evening. My hand lingers on the doorknob, and I take a glance down the street.

The sky is bathed in rich hues of pink and orange. They were right—West Coast sunsets really are masterpieces.

But the moment of peace is interrupted by heavy footsteps. I instinctively glance down the block and meet the eyes of a tall man. He's moving slowly past my house, his gaze already locked on me. He's dressed like the guys from earlier—the same tank top, the same tattoos. A long chain with a cross swings rhythmically with each step, catching the last glimmers of sunlight. His head tilts slightly, studying me with an almost curious expression, like a predator intrigued by its prey.

He takes a slow breath, as though considering his next words.

"You're new," he says, his brows furrowing as he watches me.

"Is he constipated or mad?" I think, studying the lines on his face.

"Yeah, just moved here from New York," I say, trying to keep the conversation light. "It was a long—"

"I didn't ask for your life story," he interrupts, his voice flat. The tilt of his head returns, this time with a blank expression.

Heat rises to my cheeks. "Right. My bad. Enjoy your night," I murmur, ready to retreat back into my house. But his next words make me pause.

"Mujer," he mutters, almost too softly. "Be careful around here. You seem nice—stay out of anything that isn't your business."

He begins to walk away, but something inside me flares. I'm not about to let him have the last word, not like this.

"Does that include you?" I shout, forcing strength into my voice. I want him to know I'm not afraid.

He stops abruptly. His broad shoulders tense before he turns to face me again, his eyes narrowing. My heart skips as he strides up my walkway with deliberate slowness, closing the distance until we're standing chest to chest. He towers over me, his presence suffocating, yet undeniably magnetic. His deep brown eyes, framed by long lashes, bore into mine.

A faint scent of vanilla and whiskey drifts from him, a strangely intoxicating mix that makes my head swim. I shake the fog away, fighting to keep my focus on his eyes—no longer angry, but still burning with intensity.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "I said, stay out of what isn't for you. Right?"

I nod, unsure of what to say.

He leans down, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, "I didn't say what isn't yours yet."

Before I can react, I feel the light tug of my earring between his teeth. A fire ignites on my skin as his breath tickles my ear. Heat floods my face, the blood rushing so fast I can barely think.

He pulls away, smirking as if he knows exactly the effect he's having on me. My mouth falls open, caught somewhere between shock and something I can't quite name.

"LA men have some audacity," I manage to say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

His tongue flicks across his bottom lip, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Just making sure you know where we stand, cosita."

The word "cosita" rolls off his tongue with a strange familiarity. It feels too intimate, too close. My heart pounds, and I force myself to back into the house, nodding weakly as I shut the door behind me.

I slide down the nearest wall, sinking to the floor as my mind races, replaying every moment of the exchange. My pulse quickens, and a deep ache blooms in the pit of my stomach, triggered by the thought of his eyes, his voice.

I stand, unable to resist checking if he's really gone. Slowly, I crack the door open, bracing myself for another encounter.

But relief floods through me when I see him walking away. His pace is brisk now, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice is low, barely audible, but I catch the end of his conversation.

"La nueva, ¿sabes a quien me refiero? Si, watch her."

The words send a chill through me. He hangs up and disappears up the street, heading in the same direction the car had gone earlier.

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mi mujera- my lady, my woman

cosita- little one

mi flor- my flower (vagina, to be straightforward)

La nueva, sabes a quien me refiero?- The new one, you know who I mean?

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Whew yall, this story is getting a little hot.