The dog barked again, more sharply this time, baring its teeth towards the shadows.
Addy let out a small, irritated exhale.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, but the words weren’t tinged with fear.
She leaned casually into my touch, her tits brushing my chest for half a heartbeat, and in that contact her hand slid down my torso and pressed flat against my abdomen.
It was a quiet, deliberate pressure — a plea and a command all wrapped in one.
Don’t.
Then she pushed off the wall, stepped forward and seamlessly placed herself between the old woman and me. She blocked the line of sight without ever acknowledging what she was doing. Her voice brightened instantly, as if the hallway were nothing more than a social gathering rather than the edge of something irreversible.
“Good evening, Mrs. Mendoza,” she chirped, her voice warm and animated. Stepping toward the woman, she crouched down to pet the little rat. “Oh my God, is that a sweater? Benito, you’re making the rest of us look underdressed.”
I swear the fucking dog actually looked smug.
The old woman blinked, her attention snapping entirely to Addy. She adjusted the tiny knitted vest on the animal with mild indignation as she began to respond in a voice carrying a sense of familiarity.
Addy laughed lightly and turned her body, forming a barrier so natural it almost looked accidental. She continued talking, filling the space so completely there was no room left for suspicion.
And I stayed where I was, watching her, my muscles tense and ready to spring into action.
My little devil had stepped between me and a decision I would not have hesitated to make in order to keep her by my side.
My jaw tightened as I watched her perform, using her softness as armor. I could still feel the warmth of her palm against my abdomen. Without words or questions, she had understood exactly what I had been prepared to do.
Addy was chaos personified: reckless, bright, and far too unguarded for this world. She had just protected a stranger from me as easily as breathing.
I remained in the shadows — but only for her.
“What are you doing out here this late?” the old woman asked in a flat voice, edged with suspicion, her words carrying more scrutiny than most interrogations. “Heading somewhere … important?”
“Oh — uh … just running some errands,” Addy stammered, gesturing vaguely around. “Yup. Big errand night. You know how it is. Groceries and, uh, dog treats. I might’ve, um … lost track of a few things.”
The little rat barked again, this time more sharply, the sound ricocheting off the tiles and concrete. Addy flinched almost imperceptibly, her shoulders tightening, her spine going rigid. But she didn’t bolt or even more foolish, call for help.
She stayed and even put on a show.
Improvising, like I’d suspected she was capable of.
The old woman’s skepticism was obvious. “Shopping at this hour? Where are your bags?”
I could feel the tension crawling over Addy’s skin from where I stood in the shadows. Her mind was racing though, — I could practically hear it working — assembling chaos into coherence.
“No, not the bag kind of groceries,” she rushed to explain, shaking her head a little too fast. “Just small things. Like … gloves. It’s getting cold in the mornings when I walk the dogs. You know. Very brisk. Extremely seasonal. Just, uh … stuff.”
Stuff.
The word hung there, flimsy and fragile.
“Stuff,” Mrs. Mendoza echoed, clearly unconvinced, her eyes narrowing in quiet calculation.
I shifted my weight slightly in the shadows, not enough to be seen, but enough that, should the suspicion harden into something more solid, I would act.
Addy effortlessly redirected the conversation, stepping half a pace to the side so her body completely blocked the woman’s view down the hallway.
“Well,” the old woman finally said, still sounding terribly suspicious, “good luck with your … stuff.”