Chapter 9 Eris
Ijust want a coffee.
A stupid, overpriced latte with cinnamon foam and too much oat milk. Something warm to wrap my hands around while pretending my life hasn’t turned into obsession, surveillance, and uninvited roses on my balcony.
I don’t look around when I enter the cafe. I’m just full steam ahead to the counter, ready for Cheryl and Bill, or whatever their names are, to give me the liquid life supply I so desperately need.
There’s a woman in front of me, but thankfully it’s only the one customer. She’s already at the register waiting to order, and I know with one glance she’s not from Crimson Bay.
It’s not the tall, sleek, dressed like she’s genetically engineered for couture style that sets her apart from the locals. Although her coat probably costs more than my rent, and those heels could puncture concrete. And her blonde hair is glossy enough to make shampoo commercials weep.
It’s because she looks so uncomfortable in such an ordinary place, like outside of a franchise she’s not sure how to compose herself. But also, it’s the way she openly surveys the crowd, looking for someone and not understanding she isn’t being the least bit stealthy.
I don’t even question whether she’s here for a date; her posture is too tense for that.
She turns as the bell on the door rings again, meeting my eyes for a single breath. And she smiles at me in such a familiar way that it causes my skin to prickle.
My stomach drops as if my body recognizes a challenge. A predator. A threat. But not the kind that terrifies me.
The kind that annoys me.
The kind that makes my fingers twitch.
She’s the type of woman Daniel would send, thinking she could hide the scent of country clubs and privileged wealth from the peasants of the Bay.
I stand behind her in line, arms crossed, jaw tight. Ignoring her is impossible while she radiates curated superiority like a perfume.
She takes her time ordering.
Of course she does.
When she finally steps aside, she doesn’t move far. Not that she needs to… But some fucking space would be nice. Too many predators in a single room will raise anyone’s hackles, and I’m not the only person here that’s watching her now.
The Maldonado M lines the middle fingers of a group in the corner booth. They’ve got their attention set on both of us, waiting for her to pounce… Waiting for me to snap.
I order on autopilot and pay, my shoulders relaxing as I turn to my left and meet the blue-eyed gaze of my newest problem.
She’s still looking at me.
“Cute name,” she says smoothly, too practiced and expensive. I don’t know how a voice can be expensive, but it sounds like it came with a price tag. “Eris, right?”
I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. “Do I know you?”
“No.” She smiles wider, all teeth and implications that she doesn’t want to spell out. She takes the moment to grab her order, creating a lull in conversation; I can see the calculation churning in the way her gaze never leaves me. “But I know you.”
“Excuse me?” Every instinct in me sharpens to a razor-thin point. “What was that?”
She leans against the counter, fingers tapping her to-go cup with a rhythm too precise to be nervous. It’s a measuring look, scanning me from head to toe and back up to meet my eyes like she’s taking inventory and has found something she shouldn’t be able to see.
“You work in app development, don’t you?” she asks.
“I’m sure I said that once,” I reply with thinly veiled sarcasm and shake my head. “Did I say it to someone you know?”
“I’m sure you did too.” Her smile twitches. Barely, but it’s there, letting me witness the facade cracking. “You don’t look like the type who writes code.”
“And what type is that?”
She shrugs. “Not you.”
I hold her gaze. Unblinking… Using these mirror-gray eyes to make her wriggle beneath the intensity. Even Roo hates when I hold eye contact for too long, saying it feels like I’m staring into her soul. It’s a neat trick I learned from a dodgy Irishman and his psychotic wife.
The woman before me breaks first, glancing toward the door for a heartbeat. Her next expression is softer, lashes lowering as she studies me like I’m an exhibit behind glass.
“Tell me, Eris… do you like being watched?”
There’s too much recognition in that question. My brain screams at her words, but I keep my face as natural as possible.
She knows something.
Or she thinks she does.
And she’s not here for Daniel.
My phone buzzes in my hand, though I don’t even acknowledge it. I just return her attention, and one-up it as I let myself squint at her, wrinkling my nose like I might be confused or disgusted.
She walks away as my drink is called… like she didn’t just throw a grenade into my morning plans.
I don’t look at my phone until I step outside the cafe a few minutes later and feel the cool morning air slap my thoughts back into place.
Only then do I pull up the HimLock app.
Eris:
Who is she?
You’re always watching me, so tell me who that woman was.
Locke:
Who?
Eris:
And how does she know about me?
Locke:
Who?
Eris:
Tall. Perfectly dyed blonde hair. Designer heels.
An expression that said she already knew me before I walked into the cafe.
Let me tell you how our conversation went…
She asked how I enjoyed being watched.
The reply hits so fucking fast it nearly startles me.
Locke:
Go home.
Now.
Eris:
Who is she?
What does she want?
I’m not sure what answer I’m looking for… Do I need more fuel for this fire? Or am I expecting them to put it out and cool me down?
Locke:
A mistake we won’t make twice.
We don’t yet know what she wants.
I stare at the words, measuring my breaths as I soak in the last few hours of my life.
Something hot coils through me as if lava has bloomed in my veins.
It takes only three heartbeats to name what I’m experiencing.
Anticipation.
Giddy fucking anticipation.
For the first time since Daniel started circling like a mosquito with a God complex…
I don’t feel so hunted.
No…
I feel like someone else is about to regret chasing me.