Chapter 27 - Ivy
IVY
I squint at the retreating masked figure running through my yard. I recognize that run. I’d know it anywhere. Long strides. Controlled. Efficient.
Sebastian.
Well. That’s new. And deeply flattering.
A wide smile curls my lips as he bolts.
I glance over at the trash can lying on the ground. Poor Mr. Pickles is hiding by a tree, half of him illuminated by the porch light, his side heaving from fear. He was just trying to eat dinner when my stalker tripped over municipal waste, nearly giving the cat a heart attack.
As his footsteps grow distant, I fold my arms and smirk.
Well, what do you know.
He’s using my playbook now.
My very own masked stalker. I feel like I should earn points for this.
I never pictured Sebastian skulking around my patio in a ski mask, but here we are.
I go inside, pour some milk into a small dish, and set it beside the food. My voice is soothing as I coax Mr. Pickles back over to it.
As I head back inside, my hands shake from excitement. My pulse thrums. I’m giddy from being stalked by the man I’ve been stalking.
That was a twist I didn’t see coming.
I take the stairs two at a time, humming “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter. I practically skip down the hallway and into my office.
Sliding into the chair, my eyes are on the screen as my fingers fly over the keys, the story writing itself.
They say the truth is stranger than fiction. Maybe so, but it’s also inspiration. And in this case, he’s my muse.
Nothing better than dual stalking.
By the time I wake up, sunlight streams through my bedroom window.
I sit up, blinking. I stayed up until 4:30 a.m. writing, words pouring from my fingers.
But now, in the harsh light of day, I feel it. My schedule is way off.
I get up, make some coffee and an egg sandwich, not caring that it’s noon.
A restlessness burns beneath my skin. My leg taps while I sit at the table, idly scrolling social media.
But the feeling won’t leave.
As excited as I am about him sneaking over here, will he keep coming? Or if I keep avoiding him, will he give up on me? Return to his comfortable yet empty life with his nerdy brother.
Honestly, I don’t know. This is unfamiliar territory.
I put the plate in the dishwasher, then burn off the excess energy by cleaning. My dad is gone again. I saw his text while I was drinking my coffee. He said he’ll be home next week.
Thomas lives in a small cottage on the grounds, so if I need to go anywhere, I will just text him. He’s professional and discreet and knows when not to ask questions. And if he sees me sneaking out and returning looking very pleased, he never says a word. I appreciate that about him.
But right now, I don’t feel like leaving the house. I might miss Sebastian returning while wearing a ski mask.
I get tingles just thinking about it. Which is alarming, because I didn’t know I had a mask kink.
I’ve only slept with two men, and both times, the sex was very vanilla. They didn’t even spank me.
When I suggested it to Graham McCarthy, my first boyfriend, I thought he was going to bolt from his own bedroom with his pants around his ankles.
We were mid-sex when I said, “I’ve been a naughty girl.
Spank me, Graham.” He stopped, his face pale.
He looked like I just asked him to go skinny dipping in the fountain in front of the university president’s house during daylight. With witnesses.
He was so rattled, he pulled out, got dressed, and sat outside drinking from a bottle of scotch.
My next boyfriend, Matthew Reynolds, was a polite mama’s boy who thought spontaneity was ordering Thai instead of Italian food.
There was no way I would ask him to spank me without fearing I’d send him into cardiac arrest. Sex with him was so boring.
One time, I counted the ceiling tiles in his dorm room while we were having sex.
I counted them three times before I realized he was finished.
Sebastian is different. He gave me orgasms, and we haven’t even had sex yet.
Plus, I just know he’s good in bed. His corded forearms give him away.
I suspected he was skilled before we fooled around.
When I first began sneaking into his house, I once watched him take care of himself in the shower.
Frankly, he showed more technique there than both Graham and Matthew ever managed in bed.
I was so distracted by the sight, I nearly poked my eye out with a hanger.
I’d been organizing his shirts by color, not expecting him to love himself until I heard his heavy breathing.
Despite the distraction, I still finished the task. Then I climbed down his balcony before he came into his room to dress. It’s called multitasking. And I’m very good at it.
And now I’m turned on from thinking about it.
Time to take a break from cleaning and go write another sex scene.
I really should be studying. But psychology comes easily to me, so I’m not worried I’ll fall behind.
Four hours later, I bounded down the stairs, delighted with the progress I’ve made with the first draft of my next novel. My growling stomach needs attention, so I make dinner.
Instantly, I’m hit with a wave of sadness.
I miss making dinner for Sebastian—and Drew. I miss making coffee, sorting Sebastian’s laundry, and watching him sleep.
The feeling worsens while I eat. My leg bounces with pent-up frustration.
I load the dishwasher and head for the shower, knowing what I have to do.
I’m going to Sebastian’s.
An hour later, I’m swinging my legs over the railing and silently landing on the deck. I creep closer, my eyes peeled for any sign of movement. But the house is quiet, and I wonder if Sebastian and Drew left.
No, that’s not right. Sebastian’s car is in the garage, and Drew’s is in the driveway.
I hear voices coming down the hallway. I duck behind the large, fake potted tree as Drew trails Sebastian into the living room. Their voices flow through the closed glass doors.
“I’m just saying we should get the pool table before she changes her mind.” Drew’s tone holds a hint of pleading.
“And I’m saying I don’t trust her. She’s up to something. Just buy another one.”
“Buy another one? I don’t have that kind of money.”
Sebastian whips around with a scowl. “Just let her have the damn thing so you don’t continue to be at her mercy. I’ll buy a new damn pool table for you.”
Drew’s legs nearly slide out beneath him as he sits hard on the couch. “But I can’t pay you back. Not with the divorce.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not worried about it.”
“Really?”
Sebastian sits on the opposite couch, his body turned toward his brother. “Yes. In fact, we can go get one now.”
“Now?”
Sebastian’s snort cuts him off. “Yes, Drew. Right now.” He stares at his brother for a beat. “Live a little.”
Drew looks uncomfortable, his eyes on the floor.
Come on, Drew.
Your brother’s right.
And considering Sebastian’s wound tighter than a knotted spool of yarn, that says something.
The image of him working that tension off using my body practically has me licking the glass.
Focus. You don’t want to get caught.
When Drew looks up, awe, tinged with excitement, lines his face. “Yeah. You’re right. I can live a little.”
“That’s the spirit.” Sebastian stands, and I can’t help but notice how good those dark jeans look on his ass and legs. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I barely hear Drew because I’ve inched out from the plant and am busy staring—
Shit.
Sebastian turns, and I practically jump behind the potted plant.
The leaves on the fake tree sway. I’m sweating, praying he assumes it’s from the non-existent breeze outside, and doesn’t check the patio.
You may need to dive over the railing and run like he did last night. Except maskless. And without tripping over a trash can.
The thought of me running across his yard like he did mine makes the butterflies flap in my stomach.
Sebastian doesn’t open the door. Instead, he heads toward the garage, Drew following him.
Once the door closes, I slip inside the house, breathing in his scent. I sit on the couch where Sebastian had just been sitting like a dog clinging to its owner’s warmth and scent.
I remain there for a while, basking in the quiet comfort of his house.
Then I get up and walk around, my fingers trailing over the familiar coffee machine. I open cabinet drawers, the refrigerator, and even the oven, memories filling my head.
I make sure everything is the way I found it before walking down the hallway to the bathroom. Sebastian rarely uses this one. Even so, I feel his essence everywhere.
I check out his home office, sitting in his chair and spinning around a few times. I stare out the window, wondering what he thinks when he looks at the trail in the woods. Does he remember the night he followed me and walked me home?
With a sigh, I stand, taking one last, lingering glance around.
Then I head upstairs.
My heart squeezes inside my chest when I stare at the closed bedroom door.
I can’t do it. It hurts too much.
If I go in there, I might not leave again.
I turn around and hurry back to the patio doors. I take one last look around before exiting, bolting over the railing like I’m being chased by a ghost, racing across the backyard to the woods.
Once I hit the tree line, I turn around, staring longingly at the familiar house.
Tears blur my vision as I duck my head and cross my arms over my chest. As if I can keep all the pain bottled up inside.
I begin walking home, hurting in a way I haven’t for a long time.
Time to return home to a big, empty house.
And another long, lonely night without being around Sebastian.