Chapter 32
MATTY
I’d come again—thick, hot ropes splattering the shrine for the second time, streaking the torn photos, dripping off the orange hat, sliding down every red-circled Matty.
Still hard, I turned to her bed and somehow let a third load soak the sheets, claiming the mattress she’d slept on without me, the scent of sex and us thick in the air.
My pulse thundered, my skin was buzzing, and I wasn’t sure it was possible to sate my lust. Finding out she was this obsessed, that she was my stalker, my secret worshipper…it evidently lit me up like nothing else.
Every stolen photo, every filthy notebook, every hoarded scrap of me wasn’t creepy; it was perfect. I paced the tiny room, cock aching, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, antsy and wild.
Come back, pretty baby.
I needed her here, needed her mouth, her tears, her screams, so I could pin her to that wall and make every fantasy real. I didn’t know how I could wait another minute.
The buzz of my phone cut through the silence, vibrating against the nightstand.
I glanced over, irritation flashing through me when I saw the name lighting up the screen.
Garrett.
I almost ignored it, thumb hovering over the decline button, but the restless energy in my body needed an outlet, something to distract me from tearing the room apart while I waited.
I needed to save the rest of my cum for Ophelia.
I answered on the third ring, my voice coming out rough, the edge of a growl in it. “What’s up?”
There was a pause, then Garrett’s voice came through, uneven and rushed. “Matty—Shit. I—Look, I realized something, and I need to tell you.”
A long pause, like he was trying to steady himself.
“Okay. Spit it out.”
He rushed on. “It’s Ophelia. I saw her at the library. She—she’s the one that’s been sitting in that car outside practice all semester. It’s her. She’s your fucking stalker!”
Silence stretched. My grip tightened.
“Have you told anyone else?” I asked finally.
“No—no, I swear.” His voice was fast, pleading. “I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t even—”
“Good,” I cut in, flat. “Because if you do and you embarrass her in any way, I’ll kill you.”
Another frozen beat. I could hear him swallow on the other end. “You…don’t seem too upset. Did you—did you know she’s your stalker?”
“Yes,” I answered firmly.
“And that’s, that’s okay?” His incredulousness came out like a question and an accusation at once.
“Yes,” I repeated, softer this time.
There was a strangled sound, part shock, part laugh. “You’re a kinky motherfucker, Adler,” Garrett said, stunned and oddly amused.
“Have I made myself clear about telling anyone?” I asked, annoyed now.
“I—Yes. Clear,” he babbled. “I won’t say anything, I promise. I won’t. I won’t—”
Then his voice dropped, guilty and small. “I might have scared her, though. When I realized it, I panicked. I didn’t mean to—she ran. I feel like an asshole.”
I let the line hang a second, listening to the little noises of him pacing. “Don’t say anything,” I said finally, before ending the call.
It was inconvenient that he knew, but Garrett was a good guy. He wouldn’t say anything.
And if he did…I guess I’d have to get Jace and Parker to help me kill him.
Ophelia was going to be here any minute, though. I’d better let the guys know that she was moving in today.
Me: Ophelia’s moving in today.
Jace: Wait. What? Which one of the plans did you use? Fog machine or bedbugs?
Parker: Or did you go full possum release? Because I really thought you were going to need us for that one.
Me: I didn’t do any of that.
Jace: You didn’t? She just…agreed??
Me: Well, not yet.
Parker: …
Jace: Okay, so does that mean you do need me to find some dogs?
Me: I’m good. I found out she’s the one that’s been stalking me. So if she says no to moving in, I’ll just blackmail her or something.
Parker: …
Jace: …
I stared at the phone. Waiting for their reaction because dot, dot, dot could mean so many different things.
Parker: I think that will work well. Good job.
Jace: I can’t say she has good taste, stalking you. But she has other traits that make up for it. So I’ll let it pass.
I grinned. I knew I could always count on them for support.
Me: If you could clean up my room somehow, Jace-face. That would be great.
Jace: How did I know that was coming? Isn’t it enough that my Riley-girl saved you?
Parker: What the hell are you two talking about? Riley saved you from what?
Me: Jace, can you catch him up? And then get to cleaning? I want it to be nice for when Ophelia gets there. I wouldn’t want to start this off as anything but perfect.
Jace: …
Jace: Yes, when something starts with blackmail, you don’t want to do anything to ruin the vibes.
Me: I would think you were being sarcastic, Bedbug Man, but we both know you would never do that.
Parker: I’m coming over for an explanation, Thatcher.
Parker: And if blackmail doesn’t work, you can always use my basement, Adler.
Me: You’re a man above men.
Me: No Drama Llamas UNITE!
I set my phone down, a no doubt insane grin on my face when I realized…I’d become just as crazy as those motherfuckers.
Outside, I heard movement, soft footsteps, and then the rattle of a key card sliding against the door. My pulse jumped, heat flashing through my veins.
I kicked off my shoes and pushed up onto her bed, ignoring the cum still drying on the sheets.
My muscles tensed with anticipation as I leaned back against the headboard, hands behind my head, eyes fixed on the door.
The handle turned.
My grin deepened.
She was here.
OPHELIA
“How—how did you get in here?”
My voice came out thin and unsteady. I couldn’t stop staring at him, at the impossible sight of Matty Adler sitting on my bed like he didn’t have a worry in the world.
He smiled almost lazily. “You’re not happy to see me?”
“You know that’s not it.” My fingers clenched around the strap of my bag. “Matty…how long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” His eyes flicked up, lingering on the wall above him…the wall I could barely look at. “So,” he said quietly, almost conversationally, “how long have you been watching me?”
My stomach turned over. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice had dropped, and it was the kind of tone that left no room for pretending. “How long?”
“That’s just…that’s just a silly collage, and—”
His gaze hardened, the faint smile dying on his lips. “Don’t lie to me, Ophelia.”
My throat went dry. Every instinct screamed to run, to disappear, but my legs wouldn’t move.
He shifted forward on the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me the truth,” he demanded. “All of it.”
The words landed heavy between us. The air felt too thick, like it was closing around me. I wanted to speak, to explain, but nothing came out—just the sound of my heartbeat crashing in my ears.
Matty didn’t move. He just sat there, waiting, gaze steady, like he could outlast every silence I had.
And the terrible thing was, he probably could. I didn’t think I could deny him anything at this point.
Even if it destroyed me.
“I came here because of you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My pulse stuttered, but once they were in the air, there was no pulling them back.
His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” My throat tightened, and I pressed a shaking hand to my chest, forcing the words out. “You’re the reason I came to this school.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just watched me with that still, unnerving calm that made my stomach knot.
“I was filling out college applications,” I went on, my voice cracking. “And an ad popped up. I clicked the wrong button, and then a photo of you was on the screen—smiling, holding your helmet—and I just…I couldn’t look away.”
My laugh came out small and broken. “I know how that sounds. I know. But from the second I saw you, I knew…I’d never wanted anyone more.”
There was still nothing from him. His face stayed impassive, eyes dark and fixed on mine.
“I started reading about you, watching every video I could,” I whispered.
“Highlight reels. Stats. Interviews. I memorized your favorite cereal, the way you tie your shoes, the brand of socks you wear. I learned to make chicken noodle soup because you once mentioned it was your favorite during an interview. I knew what your family looked like before I knew what campus looked like.”
I looked away, wishing he would say something, anything…even if it was to scream at me.
“When I got here, it got worse,” I said quietly. “I found your house. Your class schedule. I knew what time you left the gym, what table you sat at during lunch, which route you took to the library. I followed you every day—not close enough to get caught. Just close enough to breathe the same air.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.
“I tried out for the tiger mascot so I could be on the field with you,” I whispered. “I sat in the parking lot for every practice. I recorded your voice and played it on loop so I could fall asleep.”
My chest ached. The words spilled faster.
“I transferred into the only class of yours I was allowed to. I stole your hat after a game, kept a mouthpiece in a Ziploc so I could taste you. I wore one of your practice jerseys under my clothes for a week straight—slept in it, showered in it, came in it.”
His silence was suffocating.
“I tried to dress the way I thought you liked. I looked through photos and saw what kind of girls smiled at you, what they wore, how they talked. I tried to be that. I tried to be what you’d want. I even learned to throw a spiral just so I could imagine teaching our kids.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and humiliating. “But it didn’t work. You didn’t even look at me. Not once.”
There was a frown on his lips now, but I still couldn’t read it.
So I just kept talking.
“And then, when I’d finally given up on ever having you…you looked up and saw me in class.”
The words hung between us—soft, fragile, and ruinous.
“That was it,” I said. “That was the moment my whole world changed.”
I pulled myself off the floor, never taking my eyes off him. I was afraid if I did, he would be gone.
“I love you,” I said, the words small and trembling at first, then stronger, like they’d been waiting years to be spoken.
“These past few weeks with you…they’ve been the best of my life.
Every second, every breath, every heartbeat.
I didn’t say it before because love isn’t big enough.
It’s too soft, too ordinary for what I feel.
What I feel is a religion. You’re my god, Matty.
My altar. My everything. And no one, no one on this earth, will ever worship you the way I do. ”
For a heartbeat, the world went still. There was just the sound of my pulse thrumming in my ears and the sting of tears on my cheeks.
Matty’s eyes closed. His jaw flexed once, like he was fighting something he didn’t have a name for.
A shiver ran through him, barely there, but enough that I saw it.
When he finally opened his eyes again, they looked…wilder.
“Have you done something like this before?” he finally asked in an even, blank voice.
The question cut through the space between us, gentle but direct, and it made my stomach twist. My lip quivered. I wanted to lie—to shake my head, to say no. Because I knew how it looked. If I told him, he might think…
But his gaze didn’t waver. “The truth, Ophelia.”
I swallowed hard, my throat aching. “When I was fourteen…my parents sent me away. To a facility. For two years.”
I hesitated, but when he didn’t say anything, I kept going.
“They said it was because of a boy,” I whispered. “Because I got too attached. I didn’t understand boundaries. I couldn’t let go.” My laugh came out thin and cracked. “They gave me all these labels. OLD. OCD. BPD. Attachment disorder. Like they needed names to make sense of me.”
I finally met his eyes again, desperate for him to understand. “But this—” I pressed a shaking hand against my chest. “This isn’t that. I swear it’s not.”
I took a step closer. “With you, it’s different. I don’t feel broken when I think about you. I feel alive. You make everything quiet. You make everything make sense.”
My voice dropped so low that I wasn’t sure he could hear it. “My mother…my doctors…They all call this wrong. But I know they’re wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being obsessed with the love of your existence.”
He cocked his head, watching me like he was trying to decide what kind of creature I was. The weight of his silence pressed down until I thought I might shatter just to fill it.
“Please,” I whispered finally. “Say something.”
He didn’t. His jaw worked once, like he was biting back every word that wanted out.
The quiet between us roared.
“I know you probably want to run,” I whispered. “And maybe you should.” My chest rose too fast, my pulse fluttering against my throat. “But I don’t know if I can let you go.”
He exhaled roughly. “Fuck.” The word suddenly tore out of him, and then he was shoving his sweatpants down in one violent yank, his cock springing free, thick, flushed, already leaking.
My eyes went wide. I watched as he fisted himself—once, twice—eyes locked on me, blazing and ravenous.
And then he came.
Heavy, white bursts shooting out, splattering the sheets on my bed. Some hit the waistband of his sweatpants, dripping down the fabric, marking it, too.
I stood frozen, mouth open, shock and heat flooding me all at once.
He groaned, hips jerking, milking every drop, continuing to paint my bed with his release.
When he finally stilled, breath heaving, cock still in hand, he looked at me…
Not with disgust.
Not with fear.
With hunger.
“Get over here, Ophelia,” he growled. “You think you’re the only one who’s obsessed?”