CHAPTER TEN
OPAL
There’s a quiet knock at the door, and I know there’s a paper bag full of greasy deliciousness awaiting me.
I get comfy on the couch, dipping my fry into my sauce as the opening credits of Hocus Pocus light up on the TV screen. My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.
Enjoy your food, baby doll. Thanks for tonight.
I freeze, fry halfway to my mouth.
I stare at the words until the letters blur. I didn’t even get his name. He’d been so careful, so secretive. Was he just so into playing the role tonight, or is he hiding something more?
Married? Why else would someone be so protective of their identity. Is he a politician… a professor?
My stomach knots. Please don’t be married.
I chew on my lip, thumb hovering over the screen before I finally type.
Can I at least have your name? So I can save your number?
I hit send, then clutch the phone to my chest, nerves prickling. Almost immediately, I receive a reply.
Kade.
Kade? Seriously… he can’t give me his name? He has to be hiding something.
Are you married?
I hit send before I can change my mind.
The three dots appear instantly.
No? Why would you think that, Opal?
I can practically hear the disbelief in those few words, like I’d just insulted him.
Because you won’t give me your name. You clearly don’t want me to know who you really are.
I type back quickly, thumbs moving faster now. I stare at the screen, pulse in my throat. He’s opened it, he was typing and then the three dots disappear.
He’s typing again.
Flynn.
What?
You can call me Flynn.
But is that your name?
I bite my nail, waiting for his response.
It’s one of them.
Okay, that’s better than nothing, I’ll take it.
Goodnight, Flynn.
I set my phone down and finish my food. The movie flickers across the screen, a familiar comfort filling the living room.
I wake the next morning with the sun filling my bedroom. Thank the heavens I’m off today because it has to be at least noon.
The cats' insistent meows tell me its way past breakfast time.
I roll over and grab my phone from my nightstand.
1:15 p.m.
Holy.
Good morning, babydoll.
Flynn. That was at 7:30 this morning.
Good afternoon masked stranger.
“I know, I know.” I tell the cats. As I get up and walk to the kitchen, filling their bowls.
My phone buzzes again.
Pumpkin spice or apple crisp? Hot or iced?
Huh? Is he asking me my coffee order?
Hmm. Either. If I had to pick. Pumpkin spice, hot.
The hot water steams up the bathroom, as I step into the shower. I wash the sleepy haze away, the hot water relaxing my sore muscles.
Between dancing, running and fucking—my body aches.
The walls of my femininity throb with a soreness. And yet, I’m still craving him. I can’t help myself from wanting more of him.
By the time I’m dressed in my softest black leggings and a thick knit sweater, I’m feeling refreshed. My phone buzzes.
Check your door.
My brows pinch together. Confused I pad barefoot across the apartment and undo the lock.
When I swing the door open, my heart warms. Sitting neatly on the mat is a Starbucks bag and cup. The scent of pumpkin spice wafts up, warm and sweet, and my lips curve.
I pull the bag inside and peek inside the cup holder: a pumpkin spice latte, still steaming, and a giant pumpkin cream cheese muffin. I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.
I pull out my phone and start typing.
Thank you, Flynn.
I spend a few hours, doing laundry and cleaning up around the house before sitting on the couch with a new book. The pink floral cover a sharp contrast to my usual dark moody picks.
What are you reading today darling?
How do you know I’m reading today, Flynn?
…Anyone who could pick Kade Cross out of a crowd is so far in the trenches of literature they spend every lazy day reading.
Touché. Actually, I’m currently reading a rom-com. What are you doing today, Flynn?
Other than thinking about you, fixing this damn gate. Going to run into town, need anything?
My heart swells at his simple kindness. Another part of me aches, too.
No thank you, Flynn.
I stir the chili simmering on the stove, but my mind wont stay in the kitchen. It’s on the sexy masked man behind the screen of my phone.
I wipe my hands, cross the room, and sink onto the couch. My pulse skips as I lift my phone. Before I can second-guess myself, I lift my shirt, exposing my breasts. I snap a quick picture and hit send.
Have a good night, Flynn ;)
The days drift by in a haze of books, a stranger’s texts and lazy hours of lounging. I keep catching my thoughts looping between two people. The masked stranger who gives me the best sex of my life. And Kellan. Quiet, sweet, Kellan.
I shake my head and toss my book onto the couch with a sigh. When I glance at my phone, the time blinks back at me—7:00 P.M.
How’s your day, baby doll?
I slip into my boots, tug a jacket over my sweater and head outside.
Lazy, just the way I like it. Going for a walk now.
Alone? In the dark? Tsk.
I roll my eyes and shove my phone in my pocket. The glow of porch lights and jack-o’-lanterns guide my path as I wander down the sidewalk.
The cool air bites at my cheeks, it feels clean and refreshing. This is my favorite time of the year—cozy and eerie.
I let myself enjoy the quiet of the neighborhood. Soaking in the spooky decorations before they are replaced with snowmen and reindeer.
With each step, my mind wanders farther. I’m lonely, more than I let myself admit. My family in Virginia—I love them, but even if I were home, it wouldn’t fill the gap. They don’t call or reply to texts anyhow, being there wouldn’t make a difference.
I yearn for someone to share small moments with, someone to laugh with and to care for.
Flynn—the masked man. I wish I knew him, the real him, the person behind the shadows. And Kellan… I want to know him too. I wonder what he likes, what brings him joy, what his dreams are.
Two men, so close but so far away. One who can fulfill my darkest fantasies, and one I could build something with. Both—practically strangers and realistically I have no chance with either.
After a while, the air shifts. A prickling at the back of my neck. The kind of feeling you get when someone’s eyes are on you.
I look over my shoulder, glancing causally. Just houses and trees swaying in the wind. I keep walking, but I pick up my pace.
I finally make it back to my apartment, shedding my jacket and boots at the door.
Sliding the tripod into place, I set up my camera, angle it toward my chair with my bookshelves providing the perfect backdrop. It’s time for my monthly wrap-up video for TikTok.
The video posts smoothly, and I sink into bed with a sigh, pulling the blanket tight around me. My laptop hums softly beside me, an ambiance video casting flickering candlelight across the room. Cozy.
I open my new book, a dark stalker romance—shocking I know. I immediately get lost in the story. Page after page, the tension knots tighter, the thrill of danger and desire gripping me.
Then I reach a scene where the main character’s stalker is creeping close, taking photos through her window. My pulse spikes, and my panties quickly start to dampen.
I bite my lip, the flush rising in my cheeks, body warming with an ache that’s entirely distracting.
Every word twists the knot tighter. My fingers clutch the pages, heart pounding, breath catching, and I realize I’m hot all over, craving something like this.
Like the man on the pages who sits in her driveway pleasing himself to images of her.
My eyes flick up from the pages. I can’t stop thinking about him—my masked stranger. The ache for him coils tight in my core and I realize just how desperate I am to see him again.
I set the book down, tugging the blanket around me, and reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers for a moment and I type a message… then erase it. Five times. My heart hammers, and I bite my lip, cheeks hot.
Finally, a wicked sort of courage takes over. I type fast, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from shaking.