The Panty Dropper (Valentine's Love in the City Short) by Liv Morris Page A

about thirty minutes ago. Both of my flights were filled with starry-eyed lovers. I could only take so much after a while.” 
    “My day wasn’t much better. By noon, I wished I’d called in sick. Everyone around me in the office received flowers. Even that witch, Melody. When the delivery man sat pink roses on her desk, I almost screamed, ‘What about me?’”
    “God, that sucks, Monica. Maybe she sent them to herself,” I say with a laugh. “We need to wash away this day with a bottle or three of wine.”
    “Sounds good. Maybe we can watch a comedy tonight. I need something funny or I’m gonna need to hide all my knives.” Now we were both laughing.
    “How about that Kate Hudson movie? The ten days to do something one.” I couldn’t remember the exact title, but I enjoyed watching Matthew McConaughey squirm in it.
    “Perfect. I’ll bring some...”
    As Monica was speaking a loud knock came from my apartment’s front door. It wasn’t angry pounding but it was loud.
    “What was that noise?” Monica asked after the knocking stopped.
    “Someone’s at my door. I didn’t buzz anyone up so it’s probably my neighbor,” I say approaching the door.
    I peek through the peephole and nearly faint dead away when I see who’s standing on the other side.
    “Oh my God. You’re not going to believe who’s at the door. It’s The Panty Dropper.”
    “The what?” Monica questions.
    “You know. The hot guy in our building I call The Panty Dropper. The one I’d willingly be a sex slave for.”
    “No way. What the hell is he doing there? Wait don’t answer that. For God’s sake, Em, answer the damn door.”
    I look out the peephole one more time and am startled as he knocks forcefully once again. He’s probably ready to give up on anyone being home.
    “Hold on,” I whisper to her.
    I place the phone down on the entryway table and laugh when I see myself in the mirror above it. Not exactly the look I would go for if I had a choice, but he’s at the door and I can’t let him get away.
    Quickly, I smooth down my frizzy hair and bite my lips for a little color. And with a shaky hand I turn the knob and pull. But I’m simply not prepared for the sight and close proximity of the most beautiful man in the whole universe, or my building at least.
    So instead of saying hello, I find my mouth gaping open, guppy-fish style, as I stare up into his ocean blue eyes. I’ve never had an opportunity to see him this close up before and it’s completely overwhelming and paralyzing.
    “Hi, are you Emily?” He finally speaks and hearing my name roll across his tongue warms me up in a place somewhere between my head and toes.
    “Yes,” I purr back at him trying to channel a sex kitten of some kind. It’s probably isn’t working considering my hobo attire.
    He smiles at me sweetly and I just know he witnesses silly girl behavior like mine daily.
    “I’m Ethan Murphy. I live upstairs in apartment 814 and these roses were left at my door. I’m pretty sure there was a mistake.”
    Roses? I shake my head a bit to bring myself out of a fixed stare. As I do, I notice a pretty bouquet of red roses in his hand. I look back up at him confused.
    “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.” And before I know it, I’m throwing the door wide open and asking him to enter my apartment. “Come in.”
    Right now, I don’t care if he’s like the crazy from American Psycho . Watching his suit-covered body walk across my threshold makes any thought of danger slip from my mind. His suit is navy blue, add a tie to match his eyes, and he looks like he just walked off a photo shoot for Brooks Brothers.
    He moves closer to me and steps to my side, shoulder to shoulder, and holds up a small envelope, the kind given with flowers. Before I can really focus on what’s in his hand, I take a calming breath and get a whiff of his cologne. It’s woodsy and crisp. Nice, dreamy nice.
    “I think the doorman misread the envelope,”