Chapter Ten
Robby
I hit my steering wheel just shy of the horn, which leaves an ache in my palm.
Why the fuck did I kiss her?
That level of intimacy isn’t Rook’s vibe. I’m the lover, and Appa’s only signed up for Rook—the taker.
You know that’s not true, Robby.
I press the button to start the car and click the seat belt in. It feels like a tether to keep me in my place. I stare out the tinted side window at her house but drive off before I can change my mind and go back inside as me to tell her everything. I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
Neither of us is ready for that.
Next time, I’ll be gentler, hold her, and love her. Something to make her think this is more than a hookup for me. Better yet, I need to find a way to leave a piece of me behind—a clue of who I am. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I turn onto my street.
But I could ruin everything if I reveal myself and the years I’ve hidden my obsession with her. What am I thinking? She’s been obsessed for years, too.
Just not with me.
I park in the garage and plug the Tesla in.
It’s late, and my eyes are burning. If I had stayed any longer, I would have passed out next to her, but now that I think of it, that wouldn’t have been the worst thing.
I walk into my kitchen from the garage, drop my keys and wallet, and fish out my phone from my pocket.
I have notifications, as usual, but I skip them and tap the app to see if Appa has posted anything.
The ring around her profile picture isn’t lit. I slump against the counter.
Nothing new.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s probably upset, and I did that.
The sun is rising when my eyes open again as light slices through the blinds. I check the time on my phone. Six a.m. and right on schedule. My eyelids still feel heavy, but I know lying here would be a waste of time. I’d just toss and turn.
A workout would do me good and clear my head.
I pull on a pair of basketball shorts, swapping the metal barbells out of my nipples for the silicone ones.
I grab water from the refrigerator and head for the garage.
It’s cramped having two cars in here, but I still fit gym equipment in there.
It’s AA day—abs and arms. I put in my earbuds and blare heavy metal as I lift heavier weights than normal.
Like I’m punishing myself for the night before.
My shoulders burn, screaming at me to quit.
I push through anyway, knowing tomorrow will be a bitch.
That’s fine; Rook isn’t making an appearance for a while.
Putting the ball in her court, I want Appa begging for it next time. I’ll wait for her signal, and maybe even then still wait. We both need to process the last two times. Distance is good. Distance is healthy.
By seven-thirty, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off, and my abs are more contoured than normal from the workout.
If I could film right now, they’d be perfect for that, but I need to work and shower first. I let the warm water pour over me and ease the ache in my muscles, but all I do is brace my forearms against the wet tile wall and drop my head.
I’m trying to remember what Appa felt like last night.
I can still breathe in the subtle way she smelled of vanilla even if it’s imaginary now.
Aside from her soft lips and the sex, the way her body felt against mine has completely escaped me.
I want my muscles to have a memory of how she felt.
More reasons to go slower and cuddle her next time.
The moment she slipped her robe off in front of me starts highlight-reeling through my mind, but I force myself to shove the thought down.
I don’t have time to get aroused right now.
But damn, I was inside her last night.
After getting dressed, I reach for my phone and pull up her profile. Still nothing new. My thumb hovers over the screen, wanting to refresh. I’m sure she’s okay. If anything, just shaken up and pissed at me.
Of course she’s okay; she came hard on your dick again.
A million girls would kill to be in Appa’s shoes, and my sassy girl better know that. I smirk despite myself, but it fades fast.
I sit at my work desk with my morning ritual of espresso and a water bottle and power up my computer.
I have a busy day lined up consisting of meetings and app fixes, and I need to work on creating a sandbox environment for a client’s site that’s already live.
I groan under my breath when I see I have a new meeting invite for eight-thirty this morning.
I rub my temples. Meetings before nine should be illegal, but these clients are on the East Coast where it’s almost lunchtime.
I refresh social media and still hear nothing from Appa. She’s probably got something scheduled, but her story is the only way I know how she is in the moment. It’s still early, and I hope she’s getting the rest she needs after a late night.
The eight-thirty meeting drags as I sip my now-chilled espresso.
I don’t need to be on this call, but my boss always loops me in.
Fortunately, no one is using their video, so I keep my camera off and mute myself.
I swirl the last of my espresso in the mug before downing it and unlocking my phone to pull up Appa again.
I exhale in relief as I spot the ring around her face is finally illuminated, but my pulse ticks up in anticipation.
I quickly tap the picture to pull up her recent story, not caring if she only posted two seconds ago.
It’s a selfie of Appa in her pajamas, drinking more damn iced coffee in front of a window where the morning sun illuminates her face and curls. I recognize the furniture enough to know it’s her living room. She looks relaxed and happy, but it doesn’t feel right.
Please don’t be a front.
“Robby?” my boss asks. I shift my attention back to the screen.
Shit.
I had dissociated from the conversation entirely at the slightest distraction from Appa. “Sorry, you cut out for a second. What was that?” I bury my face in my palm.
In this moment, I’m grateful for my easygoing boss, who never thinks twice about anything. He repeats himself, and I answer with ease. I drag my hand down my face. I need to focus on work and not little Appa Pie.
But as the call ends minutes later, I pull up Appa’s story again, deciding to respond to it.
@Rook: Cute front. Almost makes me forget you begged me to stay last night.
It’s a Rook thing to say, but it’s also a test to see if one—she’s mad at me and two—if she wants something gentler. I’ve been hesitant to pivot to being myself with her, and she’ll need to learn that Rook isn’t healthy long-term.
I go back to work, needing to focus on some high-priority tasks.
Which is healthy because coding and testing keep my brain challenged, and the day goes by faster the busier I keep myself.
But she slips into my thoughts again, and I allow myself to see if she’s seen my message.
She hasn’t responded, even if she saw it.
My jaw flexes.
She saw my message instantly and chose not to reply.
She’s the only girl who’s left Rook on read. I had to change my direct message settings because I was receiving so many from no one who mattered, but Appa can message me if she wants. But that stings. Right in the damn heart, more than it should. I shake my head and return to my computer.
Then it’s lunchtime, and I’m right back to checking her page.
She has a new story posted, and I curse myself for opening it so quickly again.
I suck in a breath while it loads. What am I so nervous about?
That she might feel bad after last night, or that she could out me at any time?
Her new story is a picture of her legs and bare feet on a lounger by her pool with a book in her lap.
God, she has the cutest toes.
I’m not even a foot person, but how is everything about her so freaking cute and sexy? I respond to her story before I can stop myself.
@Rook: Sun, book, pool…and leaving me on read. If you’re asking to be taught a lesson, you’ll be sorely disappointed, baby girl.
Let’s see how you like them apples, Appa.
I grin when my phone vibrates and lights up with a notification.
@AppaPie: Nobody signed up for your class, baby boy.
I blink at her message and have to reread it. I’m stunned. She had the balls to call Rook that, but I’ll get her back in time. For now, I’ll keep this sparring match going because it’s something after last night.
@Rook: Baby boy? Let’s see if you’re still calling me that with my *eggplant emoji* between your legs again.
My lips curl again as I hit send, thoroughly proud of my slightly jackass response to her, but I know what she wants. I had barely set my phone down on my desk when it pinged.
@AppaPie: You left, remember? Quit showing up in my DMs like you fucking didn’t.
My phone slips out of my hand, clattering loudly on my desk.
My heartbeat spikes and settles as I recover from the mild heart attack she just gave me.
If she only wanted Rook, she’d feed into this.
Maybe she’s just pissed at me for leaving, and I would have stayed if it were me with her.
Rook wouldn’t have, and she must feel so rejected after giving me so much of herself.
And it’s been pinging in my mind for days how her pussy felt so brand new the other night, but it doesn’t make sense that she would’ve been a virgin. Not a girl like her. Not at twenty-four.
Her last message haunts me for the rest of the day. I reschedule my video from tonight to tomorrow, so I can have an evening without a flood of notifications. But then it occurs to me that if I don’t post according to my normal schedule, Appa might think she affected me.
This is more complicated than dating.
I leave the schedule as originally planned and let the video post at five tonight and silence my phone to block the notifications. I throw together a quick chicken salad, scarf it down, and decide that I need to get some fresh air.
My nightly glass of red wine can wait.
The late sun glints on the windshield as I drive to a nearby trailhead.
I’ve done this trail before, and it’s quick and convenient when I need to really clear my mind.
As we near summer, the sun is staying up later, and it gives me plenty of time to walk the trail after work while it’s still light out.
I’m not afraid of the dark, but I am a little afraid of wildlife.
I have been ever since a fucking snake snuck onto the vineyard and bit me when I was a kid and didn’t know better.
It wasn’t a venomous species and hardly broke my skin.
E thought it was hilarious, but I was left scarred for life.
Heading back to my car, sweaty-chested after finishing the trail, I let my mind wander to Appa.
She probably thinks she poked Rook enough to draw him out tonight and give her what she wants, but that’s not how I operate.
This is already too gray, and we’ve only fucked twice.
She may have pushed me away via message, but I know she gets off on this.
It’s sick, and I don’t want to enable it. But I can’t look away either.
I pull my phone from my pocket to set it in the cup holder, and my fingers check my DMs as if it’s muscle memory. I skip the hundred notifications from tonight’s Rook video and go straight to my conversation with Appa, bold with a new message.
@AppaPie: Just so you know, you’ve ruined orgasms for me. I can’t make myself come.
Fucking good.
I laugh through my nose and use the back of my wrist to wipe sweat off my temple. I can picture her tangled in the sheets, breathing loudly with sexual frustration that her tried-and-true methods aren’t working. Only my dick can do it for her now. Just how I wanted it.
But it’s a little scary just how well I can read her and her subtext, and that’s what happens after watching someone for six years. I type out a message to respond with confident fingers.
@Rook: Baby, you need rehab from me.
But I don’t send it. I can’t reject her again, and I’ll return to her sometime soon. Whether I like it or not. It’s her turn to wait and wallow in it like I have for years.