14. Chapter 14 #4
I walk to the windows and look out at the pool, light blue under the lights. Swimming would be nice. Thirty laps. Forty?
No.
I glance at the bookshelf and the half-finished book I started before I left for camp. Not tonight. Tonight, I want none of what I usually do.
I should have gotten her number.
I shake my head with a scoff.
I know where she lives. I know where she works. I know how she tastes, how she sounds like when she comes. But I don’t have her damn phone number.
I pick up my phone again, look through the picture I took of her file, then put it down. Not on there.
Calling Dom to ask for it would be stupid. Asking anyone else would invite questions, and I’m not in the mood to feed anyone’s curiosity.
There are normal things a man could do right now.
Sleep. Read. Swim. Leave her alone.
I consider all four with the seriousness they deserve. Then I head for the garage.
I slide behind the wheel of the Brabus S63, start the engine, and let the low growl fill the garage.
The Pagani already did its job.
I used it on purpose. Who would bring a Pagani to a road trip without an agenda? I wanted her to see it outside her house and recognize it when I pulled up to camp. I let that ridiculous machine do what ridiculous machines do best.
Announce.
Warn.
Remember me.
Now the Pagani can rest.
By now, driving to her house has become muscle memory.
Left out of my street, two lights, cut through the quieter road past the row of palms that lean over the road like they’re listening, over the bridge, and down into her neighborhood.
I know the turns without thinking. My hands stay loose on the wheel and my body feels calm now that it has a direction.
I don’t know what I plan to do when I get there.
Actually, that’s a lie.
I know exactly what I plan to do. See her. Just a glimpse of her. Everything else can wait its turn.
I pull onto her street and slow the car when I get to her house. The lights are still on. I ease the car to the curb and kill the engine.
Silence drops and I look up through the windshield, at the light in her bedroom window. Movement behind it makes my mouth curve instantly.
Found you.
I’ve never done this shit before. Never been so consumed by a woman, let alone enough to do this. Apparently, I’m not done being a fucking creep where Lilly’s concerned.
I can’t see much from this angle, just movement every now and then, and the shift of a shadow. Enough to know she’s in there. That’s until she moves closer to the window, pauses, and moves again. Her face appears, clear behind the glass, turning toward the street.
She looks past me, not recognizing the car. I want her to know I’m here. I want to see what she does. So I flick my high beams once to get her attention.
She cranes her neck, her eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out what’s going on. The moment recognition hits, her eyes go from narrowed to wide. I brace for the obvious – shock, maybe fear. Her yanking the curtain closed, finally having had enough of my bullshit.
But she just stands there looking out at me. Slowly, her mouth curves into a smile she tries to hide by biting her lip.
Fuck me.
My heart kicks once as blood travels to my dick.
With that same smile, she lifts one hand and grabs the blinds. I can hardly believe what I’m seeing when she sticks out her tongue at me and yanks the blinds shut.
I sit there staring at the closed blinds, then laugh once under my breath.
Little fucking brat.
I lean back in the seat and look at the dark lines of the house, her room hidden now. My fingers tap once against the steering wheel. Let her think about me. Let her pace that room, knowing I’m right outside like a dog that won’t stop until it gets what it wants.
I sit there for another minute, the engine ticking softly under the hood, eyes on the dark lines of her house. Then I open the glove compartment, take what I need, grab the keys, and get out.
The night air’s warm, carrying a quiet suburban nothingness. Sprinklers, far-off traffic, and somebody’s dog losing its mind three houses over. I cross the yard and head for the door already knowing I’m never beating the stalker allegations.
Getting in takes me less time than it should.
Her locks give too easy, and the second I’m inside I’m already making a mental note to fix that.
Better hardware, alarm system, cameras. Something.
Anything. Because this place is too simple to get into, and the only reason I don’t immediately get pissed off about it is that I’m the asshole proving it.
Lockpicking is an old trick. I don’t enjoy tracing it back too far. Just another little gift from my early twenties. One of many. Ugly years teach ugly things, and some of them stay in your hands long after the rest of you supposedly moved on.
I close the door behind me and stand still in the entryway for a second. Her TV’s on, but over it, I hear her move through the second floor. I look once at the door behind me, then toward the stairs.
Let’s see if she sticks out her tongue at me again without the house in the way of what I’ll do to her.