Riding the elevator after midnight. A handsome guy walks in, an iron chain dangling from his wrist. I stare at the chain. He thinks I’m nervous. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to reassure me. “It doesn’t bite—holy crap, where’s my dog?” 1 Two in the morning. The world was dead silent. I was standing in the elevator when a man in a face mask stepped in. The eyes visible above the mask were gorgeous. I didn’t dare look for long. A quick glance and my head was down. But then my gaze froze on the floor. An iron chain, thick as my thumb, was stretched taut from the man’s wrist. He casually rotated his wrist, and the chain let out a soft, metallic clink. Late night… elevator… iron chain… handsome man… Put it all together, and it felt unnervingly weird. I swallowed hard, the gulp echoing in the silent car. He must have noticed my anxiety. His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “It doesn’t bite… Holy crap, where’s my dog?!” I pressed my lips together, shut my eyes, and fought with every fiber of my being to suppress the gale of laughter threatening to erupt. My face turned purple from the effort. The elevator was still ascending. The man looked like he wanted to pry the doors open and leap out. He paced frantically, a perfect picture of a doting dog owner in full-blown panic. A few seconds later, to my utter astonishment, he started to cry. 2 His eyes were bloodshot, tears welling up, making him look utterly pathetic. I fumbled in my purse and handed him a tissue. “Hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you look for him. We’ll find him.” He took the tissue, his voice low. “There are so many dog-nappers these days. I’m scared he…” “No way,” I said, my tone firm with a certainty I didn’t feel. “We’ll definitely find him.” He seemed to calm down a little at my words, his wet eyes fixed on me. “Thank you. I’m Wyatt.” “Chloe.” The moment the elevator doors opened, Wyatt shot out like a cannonball. Since it was the middle of the night, he had to keep his voice down, calling out in a strained whisper, “Boxer! Boxer!” I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. What kind of person names their dog Boxer? Maybe the dog ran away because he was embarrassed by the name. Wyatt’s search was… thorough. He lifted manhole covers to peer into the darkness. I half-expected that if a woman in a skirt walked by, he’d try to lift that too, just to check if his Boxer was hiding underneath. As he was prying open the third manhole cover, I finally had to say something. “You don’t really think he’s in the sewer, do you?” “You don’t know him,” he said, his voice strained. “Boxer’s smart. He knows how to hide from people.” Uh… smart is one word for it. Possessed is another. We searched the entire complex, but there was no sign of Boxer. Seeing the color drain from his face, I made a suggestion. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. I have a friend who runs a city-wide info group. When the sun comes up, we can post a lost dog notice. More people, more eyes on the ground.” Wyatt rubbed his face, defeated, and agreed. Under the pretense of adding him to the group, I got his number and added him on a messaging app. Then we parted ways in the elevator. Back in my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling, savoring the name on my tongue. “Wyatt…” After a moment, I got up and pushed open the door to the spare bedroom. “Boxer, dinner time.” 3 A Shiba Inu leaped up and started licking my face with an enthusiasm that would make a stranger think I’d raised him from a pup. He was just like his owner—far too trusting. I mixed some wet food with his kibble and set it down, stroking his round little head. “We’ll get you home in the morning, okay? Your brother’s handsome face was about to collapse from worry.” Boxer glanced up at me before burying his head back in his bowl. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The only illumination came from the faint glow of my laptop screen, which displayed an open document. Wyatt, Male, 23. Well-known esports streamer. Lives alone, Apt. 1601. Walks his dog late every night. Style is mostly athletic wear. Loves small animals, terrified of cockroaches… I thought for a moment, then added a new line: Cries easily. Quick to trust others. The document’s creation date, stamped in the lower-left corner, was a month ago. It had been edited a staggering 56 times. I opened my phone and sent a thank-you payment to my little brother. If he hadn’t snipped Boxer’s collar just before Wyatt got on the elevator, this whole thing would never have gone so smoothly. Wyatt treasured that dog too much. Time flew, and suddenly it was 7 a.m. The building’s security cameras were down for maintenance last night but would be back online at eight. I had to get Boxer back before then. I was about to leave when my eyes caught a small container on the table. I paused. Maybe… I should make the most of Boxer’s role in this. 4 Outside apartment 1601. I took a deep breath and knocked. A moment later, Wyatt appeared. “Boxer?!” I shifted the dog in my arms. “Surprised?” A radiant smile spread across Wyatt’s face. “Completely! How did you find him?” I lied through my teeth. “I went back down for another look after you went home. Lucky for us, he hadn’t gone far.” Wyatt’s lips were pressed together, his eyes overflowing with a gratitude so intense I thought he might bow. The instant he reached out to take Boxer, I squeezed the hidden plastic baggie under my shirt. A wet patch spread across my front. I let out a gasp. “He… he peed on me!” Boxer turned to look at me, his expression one of pure shock, as if to say: Seduce your man, fine, but why you gotta drag me into it? I shot him a reassuring look. Don’t worry. Once I’ve landed your brother, you’ll get a truckload of gourmet canned food. Wyatt was mortified. “I am so, so sorry. Boxer’s never done that before. He must have been scared from getting lost. Let me buy you a new outfit.” I waved his offer away with a magnanimous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go home and take a shower.” I took two steps, then patted my pockets with a look of dawning horror. “Uh… I was in such a rush, I forgot my keys.” My performance was Oscar-worthy. My sweet, unsuspecting rabbit of a target bought it completely and extended the wolf-inviting invitation. “If you don’t mind… you can use my shower.” 5 Standing in Wyatt’s bathroom, I let out a long, satisfied sigh. Could this be any easier? My Plan B was completely redundant. Just as I finished showering, there was a knock on the door. A pale, slender hand reached in. “This is new. You can wear it.” I took the shirt, my damp fingertips “accidentally” brushing against his palm. His hand froze for a second, then snatched back as if he’d been burned. A triumphant little smirk played on my lips. So shy. Calling him a little rabbit was an understatement. I slipped on Wyatt’s shirt and studied myself in the mirror. Something was missing. Ah, got it. I quickly wet the ends of my hair, letting droplets fall onto the front of the shirt, making the fabric cling to my skin. Wyatt was a head taller than me, so his shirt came down to my upper thighs, completely hiding the hot pants I wore underneath. It looked like I was wearing nothing but his shirt. Finished, I mentally cursed myself a hundred times. Chloe, oh Chloe, aren’t you afraid you’ll shorten your life with all these schemes? I pushed the door open, but Wyatt was nowhere in sight. Where’d he go? Just as I was wondering, he returned, laden with shopping bags. His eyes landed on me and stopped. His handsome face turned a visible shade of crimson. The bags in his hands clattered to the floor. “You… you…” I channeled my inner damsel, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What’s wrong?” He waved his hands dismissively. “N-nothing.” He crouched down to pick up the scattered items. An opportunity for close contact like this? I wasn’t about to let it pass. I crouched down nearby to “help” him, sneaking glances at his perfect profile and the red tips of his ears. Only one item remained on the floor. Wyatt and I reached for it at the same time. And my hand landed directly on top of his. The timing, the place, the mood… it would be a crime if something didn’t happen, right? Just as I was about to make my move, a long, brown object leisurely crawled into our line of sight. My pupils contracted. I shot a look at my purse on the sofa. The small white box must have fallen out. Damn it. My Plan B has escaped. A cold sweat broke out on Wyatt’s forehead. He was frozen in fear. “Ch-Chloe,” he stammered. “There’s a cockroach.” My words of comfort were pure gasoline on the fire. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’ll leave on its own after it’s done eating the people.” 6 Wyatt let out a shriek that nearly gave me a heart attack. He shot up and sprinted toward the bedroom like his life depended on it. Halfway there, he skidded to a halt, turned back, and grabbed my arm, pulling me along with him. As I ran, I shed a few crocodile tears. If he knew I was the one who brought the cockroach, would he still be so chivalrous? Wyatt slammed the bedroom door shut with a loud bang and leaned against it, his face a mask of post-traumatic stress. I played along, clutching my chest and panting. After a moment, he finally realized something was off. “The window screens are closed, and I sprayed insecticide along the walls. How did a cockroach get in?” I spun a tale with a perfectly straight face. “You just went out, didn’t you? It must have followed you in then.” “That makes sense.” I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. Was this guy for real? He was way too easy to fool. Wyatt’s bedroom was immaculate, everything in its proper place. In the center was a king-sized bed that looked incredibly soft. I walked over and sat on the edge, watching him with a playful expression. Now he remembered to be shy again. He stood in the corner like a schoolboy being punished, facing the wall. “Come sit down. You’ll get tired standing there.” Wyatt shook his head, his ears glowing red. “I’m not tired.” I didn’t push it. I made small talk, and after a while, I steered the conversation toward palm reading. “I know a little about palmistry. Want me to take a look for you?” That piqued his interest. He came and sat a careful distance away from me, holding his hand out. I took his hand, noting the well-defined knuckles, my fingertips tracing light patterns across his palm. I spoke with feigned authority. “You have a money-bag pattern. That means you’ll have great fortune. Your life line is clear and unbroken, extending all the way to your wrist. That predicts a long life. And your love line… it gets much thicker right here, at age 23. That means you’ll meet your true love that year. By the way, how old are you?” “…Twenty-three.” I feigned surprise, my face a picture of “Congratulations!” “Well, then it must be this year.” 7 Wyatt stretched his lips into a slight smile and was about to say something when we heard Boxer scratching at the door. He got up to let him in. Boxer, however, completely ignored his owner and trotted straight to me. He looked up at me with his big, soulful eyes, his mouth holding something. I understood immediately. I played along, holding my hand out in front of him. The silly dog opened his mouth, and a large, saliva-covered cockroach dropped onto my “life line.” …Was this Boxer’s revenge? If so, he won. I may not be afraid of cockroaches, but that doesn’t mean I want one sitting in the palm of my hand. In that instant, every hair on my body stood on end. I flung my arm so hard I nearly dislocated my wrist, feeling an urge to break into a frantic dance. In a stroke of terrible luck, the poor little roach was flung directly onto Wyatt. And then… it took flight. It buzzed around the room, looking for all the world like it really was about to eat someone. “Ah!” “Ah!” My scream and Wyatt’s nearly blew the roof off. We scrambled for the living room, a two-person stampede. But the doorway wasn’t wide enough for two adults to pass through side-by-side. I was practically lifted off my feet, my legs churning uselessly in the air. Just then, something pushed me from behind. I lost my balance and tumbled forward. Wyatt, quick as a flash, grabbed my arm and cushioned my fall with his own body. … My hands were pressed against Wyatt’s chest. I stared at his handsome face, now just inches from mine. Our noses were less than a centimeter apart. A slight tilt of my head and I could steal a kiss. The firm, resilient feel of his chest muscles telegraphed through his thin t-shirt to my palms. Even in this position, a stray thought crossed my mind: I guess you could say Plan B was an indirect success? My gaze traveled down his face, from his eyes to his nose, finally resting on his beautifully shaped, thin lips. With an opportunity this good, should I kiss him? Or kiss him? Or… kiss him? Wyatt’s heart hammered against my hands. His eyes darted away. “…The floor is cold. We should get up.” I agreed readily. As I moved my hands away, my fingernail “accidentally” grazed a very sensitive point on his chest. A low, magnetic groan escaped his throat. He had already started to push himself up, but that single touch sent him falling back to the floor. His clear eyes seemed to mist over.
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