2. Rian
RIAN
My jaw tense, I watch Caroline from my spot at the small two-person café table. I make sure not to jiggle my leg or swallow excessively—all gestures that indicate anxiety. And while sweat threatens to prickle at the back of my neck, I need to seem calm and collected.
She’s holding two tiny hands, probably sticky based off my limited knowledge of children, as she stands in line waiting to order. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a low bun, and her body is absent any jewelry. She looks like anyone else. She looks the part of a preschool teacher, certainly.
But I know who she really is. Memories swirl in my mind, and I cross my ankles to hide my growing erection as I think of my mouth on her, finding the spots that make her gasp and wriggle, the spots that have her screaming to her god.
She didn’t know my name, or I would have had her screaming it too.
She didn’t see my face. I’m the only one of my brothers who didn’t speak.
I’m the only one who has half a chance of luring her on the outside.
If she remembers my voice, it’s over, though I will of course put on my best American accent. Not just that, but a Washington accent.
I scoff into my coffee at the thought. She couldn’t have picked a more boring place to settle.
I watch her walk over to the children’s play area that I’m sat so close to.
Close to , but not in , because a man with no children in the children’s play area is creepy.
I knew I would find her here. Her life is so predictable.
I’ve been watching her for weeks, and her schedule is exact.
To the minute. I could time my watch by her.
How can this life not bore her? How can this be the same woman?
A book makes its appearance from under the crook of her arm as she sits down on a fake stump and her twins go running toward the small Lego table.
Her forehead is furrowed before I can even nod a hello.
Adjusting my book so she can see that I’m reading the same one, I lean over and ask, “How are you liking it?”
A flicker of annoyance crosses her face. I’ve interrupted her alone time. Men probably invade her space all the time. I find myself momentarily flushed with anger at the thought of other men propositioning her. Which is ridiculous, considering I plan to lure her to her death.
Still, a humble smile takes over, and she shrugs as her eyes dart to her boys, still playing, their heads together now, whispering. “Isaac!” she calls out sharply, and I see it for a moment—the real her, inside. “Whatever it is, get it out of your mouth.”
Isaac complies, releasing a spitty Lego into the palm of his hand, and she shakes her head before looking back at me with a sheepish smile. “Kids,” I say, noncommittally, the kind of thing people say after witnessing someone’s child enjoying a Lego orally. “What can you do? Can’t live with them…”
“You can stop there,” she tells me with a tinkling laugh, tossing her hair back.
A smile slides out of me, an almost real one, though all of this is for show. My eyes flit to the pale, freckled stretch of her throat that I once sucked on, and I imagine slitting it, blood waterfalling from it.
She sees me looking, and her brows knit together momentarily, then relax, as she assumes incorrectly that I noticed a bruise on her. “Kids were the perpetrator of that one too,” she says glibly, pointing at it.
“Your own? Let me guess—you work with kids.” I put the book face down on the table, happy to not have to talk about it.
I’ve been reading it, a book about people separated by war and distance, but if I have to talk about it, I’ll have to fake much more of me.
It’s easier when I can get the other person talking.
I watch surprise light up her hazel eyes. People love to feel seen. “How did you know?” Her mouth makes a small o , a little peach ring that I’ve had around my cock. It twitches at the memory.
For a moment, I’m afraid she’ll see through me, realize that I’ve been stalking her, but I shouldn’t be. People never think you’re stalking them. “I’m a stalker,” I say with a straight face, and a beat passes between us.
She bursts into laughter, throwing her head back again, showing me her lovely neck, and I laugh too, passing it off as a joke. “Well, you’re good, because yes, I’m a preschool teacher. It’s cheaper than paying for daycare while I go do something else.”
“What would you do, do you think?”
Caroline’s head tilts, as if she’s never considered it, or as if she’s never had someone else ask her, and she says, “Probably something just as boring. A librarian, maybe.”
“Not a sword swallower?”
“Is that a euphemism?”
That catches me by surprise, and a dry chuckle makes its way from my chest. “No. It’s not a euphemism. There are kids nearby, you know.”
“How do you think I got them?” she teases. When I don’t say anything, she pats the uncomfortable-looking plastic stump beside her and asks, “Do you want to sit? Not to be forward or anything, it’s just uncomfortable to crane my neck to look at you.”
Standing, I walk around the barrier so I can sit next to her, and it’s as uncomfortable as I imagined. “They don’t want parents to be comfortable, huh?”
“Oh, never. I think half the people in here probably think I’m a bad mom for sitting at all.”
“Since you brought it up, I wasn’t going to say anything, but…
” I trail off, looking over at her twins, and she looks at me with shock.
A sly smile slides across my face, and she nudges me with her shoulder.
It’s such a gesture of familiarity, something someone who really knows you does, that it almost takes me aback.
I nudge her back, and she folds over from the force.
She sits back up with a laugh. “Okay, so what are you liking about the book so far?”
“Well, I don’t want to give anything away. Did you get to the part where Marisol dies?”
She gasps. “No! Why would you say that?” she whines, clutching the book to her chest like she can change the words on the pages with magic. “Oh, you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I’m not. But she’ll be dead by the morning, so it doesn’t matter much.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I’m trouble adjacent.” Then I shake my head. “No, not really even that. I’m in dental insurance.” I chuckle wryly, as if it’s a confession. “Sometimes I wish I were trouble.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s a spark of something in them, a glitter as she holds my eyes with hers. “I know what you mean.”
“How about another coffee?” I ask, nodding at the cup in her hand.
“Oh.” She lifts it a little. “That’s okay. I can’t have too much caffeine.” She scrunches her nose slightly and giggles. “When did I get so old?”
“Well…” I stand up with a smirk. “I was asking you out, but that’s fine. I’d best be going anyway. I have a broken heart to mend after Marisol’s death. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I toss her an easy wink and turn away from her, then walk toward the door with a confident stride, hoping my move doesn’t shatter my entire plan. I need her to show the same recklessness she craved four years ago.
I need her to make the mistake of wanting me just one more time.