Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mina
Ithink the sight of Leo jerking off is tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids.
I close my eyes. I see it.
I blink. I see it.
My eyes are wide open, and I fucking see it.
My skin has felt too damn tight for the past two days, and if I don’t figure out a way to relieve this tension, I’m going to combust. My vibrator simply isn’t cutting it anymore.
Maybe I’ll join a dating site for the sole purpose of getting laid—you know, since there’s still going to be months until I can actually approach Leo and we can finally have sex.
Because we will be having sex.
I hope.
Maybe.
We’ll see.
“How did you even think of that?”
Huh?
Oh. Right. Um.
“Honestly, the book was a bit of a fever dream. I was driving and got this idea about a scene I really wanted to write. Then a song came on the radio, and I developed the entire plot from there—and in the shower. That’s where my best works start from.”
I sound so stupid.
Maddie’s chuckle crackles through my headphones.
On my phone screen, her bright-red lips stretch into a big smile.
“I can’t count how many authors have said the exact same thing.
” She looks dead into the camera to address the live viewers, and a bunch of little hearts pop up.
“None of you are ready for this book—I swear. Knight’s Bane took me through the five stages of grief at the same time as I was laughing and reaching for my vibrator. ”
My cheeks heat, and it takes a valiant effort for me to not pick at my nails. “Thanks.”
I’ve been writing for years, but still, nuclear physics seems easier than figuring out how to respond to a compliment when there are five hundred people sitting at home watching me from their phones. At least I’m in the safety of my living room, and not on a stage or something horrifying like that.
“I saw your post the other day that it’s now a bestseller, even though you published it months ago. You must have been so happy to see that.”
“It’s surreal.”
Surreal?
Really? That’s the best I’ve got? Fucking hell.
What’s surreal is that I don’t have the slightest idea how any of this is happening. My posts aren’t going viral enough to get the reception I’ve received, so how the hell are thousands of people ordering the book that flopped?
It doesn’t matter. I’m grateful that people are finding my work, and I’m grateful that people like Maddie are supporting me.
Even if I feel like I’m going to throw up from this interaction.
I wring my hands in my lap where the camera can’t see. There are only ten more minutes of this torture, and then I can go back to reliving the moment beneath his bed.
I make a conscious effort not to look at any of the comments that are rolling in as I attempt to have an “organic” conversation with Maddie, even though small talk is my worst enemy. Second to my mother.
If there’s a comment worth mentioning, I trust Maddie to bring it up. If I look and see anything negative, I can’t be sure how I’ll react.
Cry, probably.
“Oooh, someone asked who your celebrity cast would be for Blake?”
I spot the question “LIHna” left a second after Maddie reads the comment out loud. Why do I keep agreeing to do live Q&A sessions and podcasts? My social anxiety hates it, and each question always has me stumped when I damn well know what the answer is.
At least Maddie has been absolutely amazing at filling the silence before it has the chance to be awkward.
Shit, how do I answer? I can’t say Leo, because Lord knows who might be watching.
Imagine if Jack has this playing in the background as he murders kittens.
Or worse, what if people start messaging Leo saying that he looks like Blake?
My whole plan would be ruined because he’ll remember the real me exists.
“I haven’t really thought about that,” I lie. “I’m terrible at celebrity casting because in my head they just . . . are. Maybe, uh, a buffer . . .” Leo, if you’re watching this, I don’t mean what I say next. “Theo James.” He’s the first person that comes to mind.
Was that answer cringey? I think that was cringey.
Nine minutes.
If Mom were watching, the moment this ends, she’d tell me about every single mistake I made.
Maddie nods enthusiastically. “That’s literally how I pictured him! And the way you described his forearms made my mouth water. Just a little. And when he put that . . . and used . . . you know.”
I force a laugh. My brain feels like it’s buzzing in an out-of-body experience. “I was sweating while writing that scene. Now I just need to find a victim willing to reenact it for me.”
Did I just admit that on the internet not long after a group of dudes harassed me? I’m a fucking idiot.
Somebody needs to end this call. Now.
“I told my husband about the scene, and he was positively gobsmacked.” Maddie clutches her imaginary pearls, wearing a scandalized grin. “I had to reread it a couple more times just to relive that high.”
The blush burns my cheeks again. “Thanks.”
“The same person has asked about your casting for your current, unreleased sports romance that you’ve been teasing for the past few weeks. Who would it be for the next one?”
Leo Duval. “Some random person I found on Pinterest. I don’t know his name, but he’s just as beautiful as Blake.”
I catch sight of “LIHna’s” next question before Maddie gets the chance to read it out.
Who inspired the male character?
Who. Not what. Who.
This person clearly wants to see my downfall.
She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer.
I swallow. Kill me now. “I really wanted to write about an enigmatic athlete who . . .” Now that I’m about to say it out loud, I’m questioning whether this entire novel concept was a horrendous idea. “Falls in love with a screenwriter after he auditions for a movie.”
Yup. Horrific. A complete and utter nonanswer that everyone is going to see through.
But politicians answer questions without actually answering them all the time. Surely my nonprofessional self can get away with it.
I chew the inside of my cheek, waiting to see Maddie’s reaction. I don’t dare look at the comments. Then she gives me the most excited smile, enthusiastic nods, and a dramatic, “I love it!”
My gut feeling says not to believe her. She’s live. She wouldn’t tell me that she hates it.
I mean, she wouldn’t have agreed to do this if she didn’t like the book, right? Ugh.
Eight minutes.
Another comment pops up.
Is there stalking in it?
The question catches my eye, even though I’m trying to look at the screen. I don’t answer. Instead, I respond to whatever follow-up questions are thrown my way as I find myself fixating on my phone and the comments “LIHna” leaves.
Is that scene something you want to relate to, baby girl?
Your voice is my favorite sound. I wish I could hear it at night.
Which scene from your book would you like to recreate? Say the word, and I’ll be there.
One right after the other, the comments keep rolling in, and it’s getting increasingly harder to engage in any kind of conversation with Maddie. Any response I give is filled with stutters and jumbled words.
They could be a random stranger, and this is all the biggest coincidence. Or it’s Jack coming back to torment me. In another universe—or hopefully by next year—it would be Leo who’s commenting. Calling me beautiful and wanting to find out everything there is to know.
Maybe . . . maybe nothing is wrong with telling myself it’s Leo saying all these things. I can pretend Jack doesn’t exist, and it’s Leo who wants to treat me like I’m someone who matters.
My skin burns at the deluded prospect, but I still attempt to respond to Maddie’s question about one of the scenes. As I give my not-great answer, I hope she can read the signals I’m telepathically sending her to end this live.
More comments keep coming.
You’re so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at you.
Crimson stains my cheeks when I imagine Leo whispering those words in my ear as he grips my flesh, thrusting into me with the same desperate yearning I feel.
So that’s the color you turn when you get all hot and bothered.
What has you blushing?
It couldn’t be me, could it?
Even though his comments are drowning beneath a sea of other messages, I still spot each and every one before they’re lost among the masses. I read the words in his voice, and I think I lose the ability to breathe properly. Maddie seems wholly ignorant of those—his—messages.
The muscles in my lower stomach tighten, and I can’t help reading the comments as if he’s right beside me, teasing me, taunting me, like we’re hunting each other.
My phone vibrates with a text from Leo, and my heart skips a beat, mistaking everything that’s happening for a sign that my thoughts were on the right track.
Leo: You haven’t replied to me yet. I’ll forgive you as long as you promise that you’re thinking about me right now.
“Tee?”
I snap my attention away from the notification to Maddie, blinking rapidly against my straying thoughts.
I shift in my seat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort from both being on-screen and the pulse that has started between my legs.
But it only gets worse when I rub my core against the cushion.
And just like that, I’m transported back beneath the bed, finally in the same room as him. Hearing him reach his release as I find mine.
All I ever do is think about him.
“Y-yes, sorry. What was that? The line cut out there,” I stammer out.
Another comment.
You look cute when you’re flustered, baby.
That man has to know what he’s doing to me. He must know more than he’s letting on. If not, the fates truly are cruel mistresses for perfectly aligning the moment like this.
Maddie gives me a tight smile that makes it glaringly obvious this is the first and last time she’ll ever consider hosting me. “I was just asking whether you had anything else to add?”
“Oh.” Thank God it’s ending. I frantically shake my head as another message pops up.
Leo: I hope you’ve been behaving.
I choke on a cough and pretend to wash it down with a glass of water. “No, nothing. This was fun.” It comes out more like a question than a statement, and I cringe as I reread his message.
And chastise myself.
And mentally scream into my fist.
He’s supposed to be at the gym right now. According to him, I’m the perfect distraction between sets. The fact that he’s saying those uncannily timed things to me makes me wonder if I’m reading into something that’s meant to be completely innocent. Surely not, right?
Maybe I’m too hopeful.
Maybe I’m too stupid.
Maddie says her spiel and sprinkles some final comments about Knight’s Bane. All the while my brain is on a loop, picturing Leo sitting in his chair in the darkness, stroking his cock as he tells me to think of him.
But in my mind, he says that he’s thinking of me too. He always is.
He tells me he can’t stop looking at me. He tells me I’m the one he’s been waiting for.
I stutter out my thanks and wave my timid goodbyes, certain I’ll burst if I stay on-screen for a minute longer.
Just as I log off, a comment appears from someone named “J@ck.”
You’ll never be good enough for him.