To Have It All(2)

Slowly, as I darted my eyes down my body, more realizations dawned: smooth, clean hands, massive muscular thighs, and abs. This was not my body.

Flipping the covers back I flew out of the bed. My feet met cool hardwood floors as I gaped at the lavish bedroom I was standing in. The walls were painted dark gray, and the windows were big, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. It looked modern and elite; like nothing I would choose or like.

“Where the hell am I?” I croaked, jerking at the sound, seizing my throat with one hand. Even my voice was different. My heartbeat whooshed in my ears as the panic set in. Was I drugged? Was this just a dream?

Rushing to the first door I saw, I tore it open and found a walk-in closet filled with suits and shiny leather shoes. Those definitely weren’t my clothes. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d put on a suit. I shook my head in disbelief as I flung open the next door.

The bathroom.

Fumbling blindly in the darkness, sliding my hand up and down the wall, I finally managed to hit the fancy high-tech sensor light switch just right and illuminated the room. The giant mirror above the granite double sink revealed a handsome, muscular man, wild-eyed and clad in red silk boxers. He even had abs most men would kill for. His hair was disheveled, his shoulders bunched up, his mouth gaping open. He looked as freaked out as I felt. I raised my hands to rub my face again, to wake myself from this dream, and . . . so did the man in the mirror.

“What the f—?” I sputtered in pure disbelief.

I spent the next five minutes making motions; jumping jacks, weird facial expressions, hand gestures—the man in the mirror mimed everything I did. I slapped myself several times, harder and harder. The man in the mirror still mimicked my every move, his face getting as red as mine felt from the slaps.

“Wake up!” I yelled, only to have the voice I heard panic me even more. “This isn’t me,” I told the man in the mirror. “I’m not you.”

I stood frozen, my feet planted to the cold tile of the bathroom floor, yo-yoing between confusion and panic. What should I do? I was in another man’s body. Who do you call when shit like this goes down? If I called the police they’d tie me up in a strait jacket and send me to the nut house. That definitely wasn’t an option. Yanking the navy terry cloth robe off the hook by the shower, I slipped it on and left the bathroom quickly. When I hit what appeared to be the living room, I froze. Was this place for real? One of the biggest flat screen televisions I’d ever seen hung just above a marble gas fireplace, the couch and love seat were black leather, and the coffee and end tables were glass. Everything looked new and incredibly clean. The main room was big with a huge open floor plan. The kitchen was separated by a wall, but the dining room was open. What really impressed me was the view. The floor to ceiling windows offered an amazing view of the city. Who was this guy and how did he afford this spread?

I scavenged the apartment for photos, bills, anything that might tell me who this body I was in belonged to. In the kitchen, I discovered a junk drawer, although it was far less junky than any junk drawer I’d ever seen. In my house growing up, we had four junk drawers filled to the brim, and the contents ranged anywhere from tools to retainers to five hundred expired coupons for Kentucky Fried Chicken. The only things in this drawer were a set of keys, a lighter, a pack of gum, and a photo.

A photo of him.

The man whose body I’d somehow stolen.

My hand shook as I held the photo, a feeling of dread consuming my senses. In the picture, he stood next to a beautiful woman, his arm draped over her shoulders. While he stared at the camera, his perfect grin beaming, she looked at him, a soft and loving smile on her face. She loved him. I could tell. Frowning, I tried to push aside the envy I felt. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at me like that.

“Shit,” I breathed. Glancing at my left hand, I sighed with relief—no ring. He didn’t appear to have a wife. But I couldn’t rule out a girlfriend. At the very least he had a woman in his life judging by this photo.

When a loud ring sounded out, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was a cell phone—his cell phone. Like a mad man, I stumbled through the apartment until I found it on the charger next to the couch.

The name Waverly lit up on the screen.

I stared at it like it was a snake coiled up, ready to attack me. Should I answer? When it stopped ringing, I let out the breath I’d been holding, but then it started ringing again. Waverly was calling back. It must’ve been important. What if I didn’t answer and she came over? I didn’t want to risk that as I was having a brain melt over the fact I was in another man’s body and had no idea who he was. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. God help me, I was going to answer.

“Hello.” I winced. My voice was way too deep; I sounded like James Earl Jones. I hadn’t had a chance to talk much since I’d awoken in this body. This guy’s voice would take some getting used to.

“Wow,” a woman snickered. “I can’t believe you actually picked up. Are they calling for snow today?”

I barely contained the snort I wanted to let out. Whoever she was, she was a smartass. It was summer; they definitely weren’t calling for snow. I opened my mouth to say something—anything, but what? I had no idea who she was or what she wanted. I didn’t have any idea who I was. That’s why you shouldn’t have answered the phone, dumbass. Anything I said could cue someone that knew him well that something was off; I needed to tread lightly. I didn’t want to end up being dragged to a psych ward.