Key to Trouble

Rory POV

I stood outside the diner, the cold night air slapping my face. My hand gripped the key Leo gave me, its edges digging into my palm. My heart was still pounding from what he’d said—“You look like trouble I’d like to handle”—and the way his breath had tickled my ear. I could still feel his fingers on mine, warm and rough, and my skin buzzed like it was alive. I looked up at the building, the casino lights flashing next door, and spotted a rusty staircase leading to the apartments above. 3B, he’d said. His place. His couch. For me.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sand. What was I doing? I didn’t even know this guy, but my feet started moving anyway, climbing the stairs one creaky step at a time. My stomach flipped with every step—half nerves, half something hotter I couldn’t name. His smirk kept flashing in my head, those full lips curling like he knew something I didn’t. My cheeks burned just thinking about it.

When I got to 3B, I stopped. The door was old, paint peeling off in flakes, and the number hung crooked. I held the key up, my hand shaky, and took a deep breath. What if this was a mistake? What if he was messing with me? But then I pictured his eyes—dark and hungry, locked on mine—and my chest tightened. No way I was sleeping on the street tonight, not with this chance in my hand.

I slid the key in, turned it, and pushed the door open. The place smelled like him—spicy and smoky, with a hint of coffee. It was small, just a beat-up couch, a tiny kitchen, and a bed shoved against the wall. Clothes were tossed over a chair, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the counter. My eyes stuck on the bed—sheets all messy, pillows dented like someone had just rolled out of it. I wondered what it’d be like to climb in there with him, feel his heat next to me. My face got hot again, and I shook my head to snap out of it.

I dropped my bag by the couch and kicked off my shoes. The cushions sank under me when I sat, soft and worn, and I let out a long breath. It felt good to stop running for a minute. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and my hand slipped into my pocket. The job application was still there, crumpled from my sweaty grip. Tomorrow at noon, I’d be a card dealer at The Siren’s Call. Because of Leo.

I smiled a little, thinking about him leaning over the counter, teasing me. “You got a nice smile, Rory. Should use it more.” My heart did a stupid flip. Nobody’d said stuff like that to me before—not my dad, not anyone. I rubbed my bruised cheek, the ache still there, and wondered what Leo saw in me. A drifter with nothing but a torn shirt and a growling stomach. But he’d given me food, a job, a place to crash. Why?

I stretched out on the couch, my legs hanging off the end. It smelled faintly of him, and I turned my face into the cushion, breathing it in. My body felt heavy, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his grin, heard his voice—low and rough, like it could pull me under. My hand slid down my chest, brushing over my stomach, and I stopped, heart pounding. I wanted him. Bad. It scared me how much.

The clock on the wall ticked loud, cutting through the quiet. It was past one now. Where was he? That guy in the hoodie had called him out—“Boss wants you”—and he’d left fast, like it was urgent. My stomach twisted. Was he in trouble? Was I dumb for taking his key?

I sat up, running a hand through my hair. The apartment felt too still, like it was waiting for something. I got up and wandered to the kitchen, poking around. There was a pack of smokes by the whiskey, a lighter next to it. I grabbed one, lit it, and took a drag. The smoke burned my throat, but it calmed my jittery nerves. I leaned against the counter, staring at the bed again, imagining him sprawled out there, shirt off, all lean muscle and tan skin. My jeans got tight just thinking about it, and I groaned, embarrassed at myself.

Then I heard it—footsteps on the stairs. Heavy, quick ones. My heart jumped into my throat, and I froze, the cigarette dangling from my fingers. The door handle rattled, and I held my breath, waiting. Was it him? Or someone else? I didn’t know this place, didn’t know who he was mixed up with. My eyes darted to my bag, wondering if I should grab it and bolt.

The door swung open, and there he was. Leo. His hair was messier now, his tie gone, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, showing a peek of his chest. He stopped when he saw me, his eyes widening for a second before that smirk came back. “Well, damn,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him. “You look good in my place.”

My face burned, and I dropped the cigarette into the sink, fumbling like an idiot. “Uh, hey,” I said, my voice cracking. “Hope it’s okay I’m here.”

He stepped closer, slow and easy, like he was sizing me up. “More than okay,” he said, his voice dropping low. My pulse raced as he stopped right in front of me, close enough I could feel the heat off him. He smelled like smoke and sweat now, mixed with that spicy scent I liked so much.

“You smoke?” he asked, nodding at the sink.

“Sometimes,” I said, shrugging. My hands twitched, wanting to touch him, but I shoved them in my pockets instead.

He grinned, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lighting it. He took a drag, blowing the smoke out slow, and my eyes stuck on his lips again. “Good to know,” he said, leaning against the counter next to me. Our arms brushed, and my skin lit up like a firecracker.

I swallowed, trying to play it cool. “Long night?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin fading a little. “Work stuff. Keeps me busy.”

I nodded, not pushing it. That guy in the hoodie flashed in my mind, but I didn’t ask. Not yet. I just wanted to stay here, close to him, feeling this buzz between us.

He turned his head, catching my eye. “You settling in okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling a little. “Couch is comfy.”

He laughed, short and rough. “Better than the street, huh?”

“Way better,” I said, and my smile got bigger. His eyes softened, and my chest felt warm, like something was melting inside me.

“Good,” he said, taking another drag. Then he leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. “You’re starting tomorrow. Nervous?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “Never dealt cards before.”

“I’ll show you,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “Stick with me, Rory. I’ve got you.”

My heart flipped again, and I nodded, too choked up to say anything. He stubbed out his cigarette, his hand brushing mine as he did, and I swear he did it on purpose. My whole body tensed, wanting more.

He straightened up, stretching, and his shirt lifted just enough to show a strip of skin above his jeans. My mouth went dry, and I couldn’t look away. “Gonna crash,” he said, nodding at the bed. “You good out here?”

“Yeah,” I croaked, my voice barely working.

He smirked, like he knew what I was thinking, and started toward the bed. Then he stopped, turning back. “Rory,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“Yeah?” I said, my heart pounding.

He stepped closer again, right up to me, and my breath stopped. His hand lifted, hovering near my face, and I froze, waiting. His eyes locked on mine, dark and deep, and I felt like I was falling into them. “Sleep tight,” he said, his fingers brushing my cheek—just a light touch, but it set me on fire.

Before I could say anything, a loud knock hit the door. Hard. Angry. Leo’s hand dropped, his jaw tightening. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to the door. “Stay here.”

He moved fast, grabbing something from a drawer—a knife?—and headed for the door. My stomach dropped, fear mixing with the heat still burning in me. Who was that? What was happening?

He opened the door a crack, and I heard a low, rough voice. “We’ve got a problem, Navarro. Now.”

Leo glanced back at me, his face hard, and then he slipped out, shutting the door behind him. I stood there, my heart slamming against my ribs, the key still warm in my pocket. What the hell was going on?