Chapter 9 #2
“When I was a kid, I loved drawing. It was all I wanted to do. But everyone was . . . concerned by my art. My parents, teachers, classmates. I liked drawing monsters and creatures from the horror and fantasy books I loved to read at the time. Eventually, I learned to just keep it to myself. I even stopped drawing for a while.” I wince at the memory.
At the pain I felt from something I loved so much tainting my relationships.
At the pain of forcing myself to stay away, to shut down that creative part of my brain completely.
“But I went back to it after about a year or so. I just couldn’t stop.
I can’t explain it, but even though it’s alienated me from so many people, I don’t feel like I’m me when I’m not drawing.
In college, I started reading a lot of dark and taboo romance, and I’ve been drawing scenes based on those books ever since.
Now, whenever I tell a new boyfriend about the books I read or suggest something new I want to .
. . try”—God, I do not want Noah speculating about my kinks—“they judge me. I felt like I couldn’t ever really be myself with anyone, so I just stopped trying.
I pretend to be whoever they need me to be, and I keep the true parts of myself just for me. ”
I might as well be naked with how exposed I feel right now. Noah stares at me in a way he never has before. Intense, piercing, like he’s seeing through my eyes and into my brain.
I was right. Revealing this much of myself to him was a mistake. Asking why I’m not in a relationship was his way of playfully flirting—he didn’t want an actual answer. I wish I could pull the words back into my mouth, but it’s too late.
Slowly, Noah pushes off the counter and closes the distance between us. My heart thunders with every leisurely step.
At last, he stops mere inches from me. His mouthwatering, minty scent curls up my nose, and I’m forced to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are, Summer. Any man worthy of you won’t be scared off by a few new kinks.”
Easy for him to say. He has no idea what my kinks are. If he did, he’d be singing a different tune.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Don’t be afraid to be who you really are.” He catches a strand of hair on my face with a finger and gently brushes it behind my shoulder. “Especially with me.”
Chills race down my arms at the spark from his touch, nipples peaking beneath my bra. If he has this much of an effect on me just by grazing my shoulder, I can’t imagine what his hands on the rest of my body would do to me.
Images of a naked Noah flash in my mind unbidden, and I mentally kick myself.
“That’s . . . good advice,” I manage.
“The right guy will stick around, and he’ll be into the same stuff you are.” Noah’s uncharacteristically intense gaze drops to my lips. “He’ll want to do anything to make your fantasies come true.”
Another notification from the Plus One app on my phone interrupts us, buzzing on the counter. Briefly, Noah’s smile dips with what might be disappointment.
Then his smile is back as fast as it disappeared. Just as dazzling and heart-stopping as ever. “Never know when the right one will come along.”
“Noah!” Aries is breathless when he rushes into the room, chest heaving, and we jump apart.
My heart slams against my ribcage, even though Aries doesn’t bat an eye. Right. He believes we’re in a relationship. Standing close enough to breathe each other’s air, Noah’s gaze fixated on my lips, is exactly what his best friend would expect.
“What?” Noah’s voice comes out unusually sharp.
My knees are weak, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or devastated by the interruption.
Aries blurts, “The demon cat from hell has Killian pinned down.”
Someone is watching me.
I keep trying to concentrate on adding the final color of my latest art commission—all shades of black, gray, and deep purple surrounding the entwined couple at the center—but I can’t shake off this gnawing feeling of eyes on me.
I’m just being paranoid because of the mysterious texter who seems to know my every move. There’s no evidence that they’ve taken this beyond texting and location tracking.
The logical part of me that values self-preservation hopes that they keep their stalking tendencies to anonymous texts.
The irrational, horny part of me hopes they show up.
Silently, I set my ancient tablet beside me on the couch. I’m not sure how much longer the device will remain functional. I already can’t use the latest version of my favorite digital illustration software, not that I can afford to purchase it beyond the free seven-day trial.
Holding my breath, I sneak to the windows in my bedroom, kitchen, living room, and out the front door, heart crashing against my ribcage with the fear that I’ll peer outside and find a face staring back.
But there’s nothing.
I’m being paranoid. The consequences of living alone, consuming too much true crime, binge-reading fucked-up suspense novels about serial killers, and having a secret admirer.
When I check on Prick, he’s sound asleep in his cage. Hedgehogs can detect danger, and Prick always raises his quills and goes into attack mode when I vacuum or my mother taps on his cage, so I guess I’m being paranoid after all.
At least, I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. With Prick, it’s always a fifty-fifty split whether he’s asleep, hibernating, or dead.
I hold my breath and listen until a faint snore confirms he’s lived to see another day.
Settling back onto the couch, I call Hazel while I return to shading in the art commission. When she answers, voices are shouting in the background as a robotic announcement crackles over a speaker.
“Have I mentioned I fucking hate airports?” A thud and then Hazel shouts, “Well, move!”
“Isn’t your flight taking off in ten minutes?”
“More like ten minutes and three hours.” She groans. “My flight got delayed. Which means I have thirty minutes to get through LAX during my layover, so that should be a fun little nightmare.”
“Remember a few months ago when you told me you love traveling so you were selling your apartment to become a nomad?”
“And your useless ass didn’t talk me out of it? Yeah, I remember. Some friend.”
“I’m an asshole.”
“How’s the art commission coming? The job? Noah’s dick? Please, give me something juicy to distract me.”
This is why I love Hazel. She always manages to make me forget the crisis I was calling her about in the first place. “This is going to sound crazy.”
“Juicy! Tell me.”
“I think I might have a stalker.” My breath catches in my chest. The first time I’ve ever said the words out loud.
Stalker. A fantasy of mine that I’ve never admitted to anyone, except for Noah, who doesn’t remember a single detail from the night we met. But what if the reality is nothing like the fantasy? I could be in real danger.
“You’re kidding.” Hazel’s voice is flat, disbelieving. “You?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Someone could want to stalk me. I’m stalk-able.”
“So he can watch you read and snack for five hours straight? Getting crumbs and Cheeto dust all over the pages? No offense, but stalking you would be boring as fuck. Stalking a cat would be more interesting, and they sleep for twelve hours a day and literally never leave the house.”
“Um, I do take offense to that, actually.” My protest is half-hearted, though, because I know she’s right.
Even I wouldn’t want to stalk me. Still, my eyes dart around the apartment like someone will jump out at me at any minute.
“But seriously. Have you ever felt like you were being watched while you were alone at home or in a hotel or something?”
“All the time. But that’s usually because I forget to turn my webcam off, and I deserve to be on a watch list.”
“Someone has been texting me from a random number, and they won’t tell me who they are. They’ve somehow known my location multiple times, and I keep feeling eyes on me. I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid or—”
“Do you have chicken wings?”
“What?”
“If you have a stalker, he won’t stick around for long after he sees you inhale a plate of chicken wings.”
Even though she can’t see me, I roll my eyes. “You know, if I get axe-murdered, those will be the last words you ever say to me, and you’ll be haunted by them for the rest of your life.”
“Why would I be haunted that I advised you to eat chicken wings? That’s great advice. Besides, you would be lucky to die while eating chicken wings. I’d love to die doing something I love.”
“You’re—” But the words die on my lips.
From my living room window, a face stares right at me.
A scream rips from my throat.
Hazel curses on the other end. My heart pounds in my ears so loud, I can’t hear her muffled shouts.
From the window, Noah waves and mouths a sheepish sorry.
“Who is it?” Hazel screeches. “Does he have an axe?”
My heart jackhammers, icy blood chilling my veins from the spike of adrenaline. Uselessly, I press my hand to my chest to convince my heart to slow and pull in a deep, calming breath. “It’s Noah.”
“Oh my god, Summer, I thought it was someone dangerous! Don’t scare me like that.
” Unbelievably, she actually sounds annoyed.
A side effect of travel stress and airport anxiety, along with Hazel’s typical impatient disposition.
“Go ride your new boyfriend’s dick, and put me on a video call with Prick when you’re done.
I’ll need some entertainment while I sit at the airport bored out of my mind, and I miss that little guy. ”
Without another word, she hangs up.
I push off the couch and head for the window that Noah is still crouching to peer through. At least his features are appropriately apologetic.
When I shove the door open, I can’t help but snap, “What the hell, Noah?”
I probably shouldn’t curse at my clients, but I think this is a reasonable reaction. The customer is not always right, and I’m sure Plus One would side with me in this situation.
“Sorry.” He grimaces, and I hate how adorable his blue eyes are when he softens them for me. “I knocked a few times, but you didn’t hear me.”
I sigh, heart still galloping. “It’s fine. What’s up?”
“Vee wants to set up a double date.”
“Your psycho sister who has probably downloaded my entire digital footprint and will sniff out our fake relationship in two seconds?”
“That’s the one.” A few beats of silence pass until he adds, “If you don’t want to—”
“No, we can do it. We have to convince the whole family, right?” I agree before I can think better of it.
Noah already warned me that Victoria is the one relative I need to worry about. A protective sister who assisted in a stranger’s childbirth, so clearly she’s not afraid of a little blood.
What could go wrong?