Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mina
My favorite place to go might as well be a plague house with how I’ve been avoiding it since Leo showed up at my apartment. The ominous, downright fucking concerning text I woke up to solidified my decision.
We need distance.
Knowing it’s what’s required for my soul and psyche doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. I miss being in his house. I miss texting him. I miss spending every single moment of my daydreaming about him.
I feel like I’m in mourning at the same time I’m giddy. It’s confusing.
If I don’t figure this all out soon, I’ll probably have a full-blown mental breakdown. The anxiety of all things Leo and work is weighing on me because next week I’ll find out if my last-chance book will end up flopping.
Joyce’s bedroom door opens, and I freeze just as I’m about to send another text to Sabrina assuring her I’m alright but shaken—that’s why I haven’t been replying much. And to think I might also be able to sneak a snack from the kitchen without getting caught. I could only be so lucky.
“So, are you going to start talking, or are we going to keep ignoring the big-ass elephant in the room?”
I’ve been avoiding Joyce too. With the hands-on-hips, disapproving Mom pose she’s rocking, she knows it too.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to come up with a response. “Well . . .”
“And don’t bullshit me.”
I’m going to bullshit her. Have been for the past several months in fact. I wonder at what point I stopped feeling guilty about it.
“He’s just not . . . as he seems.” That’s a fucking understatement. But neither was I—which he knew, so I don’t think that’s even a relevant justification anymore.
“Go on.”
“He . . .” Has been stalking me far worse than I’ve been stalking him. Because apparently there’s a unit of measurement for how much stalking is unacceptable.
God, this is pathetic.
I clear my throat. “It’s—”
“I swear, the next words out of your mouth better not be, ‘It’s complicated.’”
Fuck. That’s exactly what I was going to say.
Remember how I’m obsessed with him? He’s obsessed with me too. Oh, and I think he’s installed cameras in our living room and might be listening to us right now.
Or, how about, I’ve been lying to you for months because I actually made a fake account to talk to him, and it turned out he knew it was me the whole time?
“Honestly, it has all happened so quick; I’m still trying to process it. One second we were just texting, and the next, he declared that we were dating.”
Her brows shoot up. “You never told me you went on a date with him.”
“That’s because I haven’t.” I was supposed to yesterday, but . . . Mother.
“So you’re a couple, but he’s never once taken you out for dinner?” She looks incredulous.
“If you recall, I mentioned how everything is happening superfast.”
Oh no. Her eye is twitching. “Do I need to kill him? What the fuck is wrong with him? Does he want to keep you hidden like some dirty little secret or something? Scared that it’ll impact his bad boy image? What a dick. Give me your phone. I’m going to—”
“Nope. I agreed to all of it.” If all the crimes I’ve committed don’t get me a one-way ticket to Hell, my current lies will.
Because by agreed, I mean that I maybe, kinda, definitely do like the lengths he’s gone to.
“Come again? You had a fucking shrine of the dude. There’s no way—” Her face changes. “Don’t tell me you’re desperate enough to agree to that just because you want to be with him.”
Ouch.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not ready for the public limelight, or to deal with Mom’s shit when she thinks I should be with good boys like Thomas.”
That shuts her up. Only the first half is a lie. There’s no arguing with the last part when her mommy issues are as strong as mine. Leo has tattoos, more tattoos, is an atheist, has an “unrespectable” job by Mom’s standards, and, to put it plainly, he’s white.
She’s only ever envisioned a fellow God-loving Filipino in my future. One with a respectable job, like a doctor or lawyer or whatever the fuck Thomas does.
“And does he plan on fixing his act?” Joyce presses.
I don’t know what specifically needs fixing—that he stalks me to my face now?
“We were supposed to go on a date yesterday, but . . .” Again. “Mom.”
“You do realize that if he hurts you, I’m shoving his hockey stick up—”
“I get your point. I’ll be okay.” Doubtful.
Sighing, Joyce shakes her head, pocketing her violence for the evening. I’m sure she’ll ask me more questions tomorrow.
I take her reluctance as my cue to escape. “I’m going to head to bed. It’s been a long day.” Release anxiety is no joke. Not to mention I need to start plotting book two if it goes well.
“Yeah. Let me know if you end up needing help killing him, though.”
I cringe. I hope he didn’t hear that.
I rush to my bedroom before she can change her mind about prying more into my relationship with Leo. Denial has me believing she definitely won’t if I’m hunkered down beneath the blankets, pretending to be asleep.
Getting comfortable isn’t easy; my muscles are all tight, worsening when I grab my phone to see an unread message on my screen.
Unknown Number: You have a lot of interesting things on your laptop, Mina.
I reread the text. Once, twice, three times, expecting it to change. It’s still there.
I think I’m going to be sick.
No. No. Oh, God.
He . . . My breath leaves me in a rush. I— What do I do? I can’t tell the police. I can’t tell anyone.
The phone trembles in my hand as my thumbs hover over the keypad. Shit, my entire body is trembling. The screen is blurring right in front of me, and it’s hard to drag air into my lungs.
What can I say? Do I say anything? Maybe he—fuck, maybe he wants something. Oh, God.
What if he’s gotten access to the tracker I installed on Leo’s car? He could go to the police with it. How long is the jail time for that?
Nonononono. This is bad. This is so very, very bad. I don’t have any money to give him if he’s holding the information for ransom. And what if he goes back on a deal if I do?
Responding to him could be an awful idea too. It’d give him an opening. If I say nothing, is that worse? I could pretend I never got it—he stole my phone, after all. Maybe I could pass it off like I got a new number.
Yes. That’s the solution. I . . . I can spin it.
I block his number, set my phone on the other side of the room like it might kill me, and I hide beneath the covers, clutching the pillow against my face to hide my sobs so Leo doesn’t see—in case he has a camera in here.
The only thing I can think is that I’m so utterly fucked.
I lie awake for a long time, sleep eluding me. This couldn’t have come at a worst time, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. There’s no more foundation beneath my feet, and I think I’m going to fall over the edge of the cliff.
When sleep finally comes, it’s fitful with horrific nightmares revolving around the text and all the awful things that could come from it . . . until it isn’t horrible anymore.
I’m in a whole other world.
The anxiety and fear melts away. Warmth curls at the base of my spine as molten heat radiates through my core. I squirm closer to the source, tangling my legs in the sheets and moving my hips for more of what I’m needing.
I’ve never had such a vivid dream.
My desire is palpable. It’s a living, breathing entity hammering against my ribs. I can feel every caress against my aching skin: the brush of fabric, the moisture from heavy breaths, the heat from flesh against flesh.
A woodsy smell filters through the air, filling my lungs with the scent I’ve come to know as Leo’s. I breathe deeper, drawing in as much of him as I can before it vanishes from my grip.
In my dream, all that’s left of my clothes is the shirt I took from his house.
His deft fingers keep rubbing me in slow circles, and with each pass, my world is more vivid.
I can see the faint glow from the moon and the streetlights trickling through the window.
Hear the faint hum of the heater. The thud of a heartbeat against my back.
My saturated thighs. Slowly, it all comes to me. Most of all, the pleasure builds.
The added pressure against my sex has a groan rumbling in my chest as I push my hips against his hand to keep chasing the high.
A chuckle sounds from behind me, too real to be something I’ve conjured in my head. There’s no mistaking how his body vibrates against me, and my hair flutters with his rush of breath.
This isn’t a dream. I stiffen.
It’s the man who stole my bag and broke into my house.
He’s here. He knows I saw his text, and he’s demanding payment for his silence about what’s on my laptop.
Arms tighten around me, and the panic expands, building a scream in my throat.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just relax.” The pressure doubles, picking up speed.
My heavy eyes widen. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. “Leo?”
What—what’s happening? He’s really here?
It’s not . . . the man who broke in. He isn’t here. It’s just Leo, I keep telling myself to calm my racing heart. It’s not him. I’m safe.
I collapse against Leo. Tears well as the memory of the text and all that could come from it assaults me, but the panic unlatches itself from my chest as my senses home in on the circles he’s rubbing over my clit.
I open my mouth to say his name again, but nothing comes out, and I have to choke down a cry instead. It’s Leo. I’m safe. In his arms, I can almost pretend the text never happened.
How—what is he doing here? How long has it been? I can’t still be dreaming, can I? How long have I wanted to experience waking up surrounded by Leo and not just his blankets?
He makes a deep, satisfied sound of approval, pushing his knee between my legs to give him better access. His other hand skates beneath my top to cup one of my breasts and play with my tightening nipple.