27. Hades
Hades
I stare at the ceiling, grinning.
Presley wants me to be her boyfriend.
I’m as giddy as a schoolboy, and I can't fucking help it.
She said it, and that’s what matters.
Granted, she said it while bent over in front of a window with my fingers inside her, so there's a chance her judgment was compromised.
I don't give a shit.
I laugh quietly.
From the other side of the room, Wilder groans. “Jesus Christ.”
I glance over.
He's sprawled on the couch, staring at his phone.
“What?”
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Oh, hell. That’s worse.”
I flip him off.
He doesn't even look up.
My phone vibrates. I grab it immediately.
Wilder finally looks at me. “Oh, that's pathetic.”
I glare at my phone.
Wilder: Thought it was your girlfriend, didn’t ya?
I level him with a look. “Fuck off.”
He howls with laughter.
I wait until he’s asleep to sneak out, the mask in my hand.
I know it’s insane. I just saw her a few hours ago.
But I need to see her again.
Make sure she’s okay.
The cool October air hits my face, but I barely feel it.
Once I’m close to her house, I put on the mask.
Then I settle against my usual tree.
I suck in a breath when I see her.
Presley’s wearing orange and black flannel pajamas. She’s pacing around the living room, a concerned expression on her face.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out and look at the screen.
Presley: This is going to sound insane.
I'm intrigued.
Me: Tell me anyway.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then return again.
Presley: I think someone’s been watching me.
My mouth curves.
This should be interesting.
Me: Someone?
Presley: There was a man in the woods.
I stare at the message.
The irony.
Me: Are you sure?
Presley: Yes.
Another message appears.
Presley: He was wearing a mask.
Now he’s in your yard wearing a mask and texting you.
Me: What kind of mask?
It takes her a few seconds.
I look up, loving the adorable way her brows draw together and a crease forms in the center of her forehead when she’s concentrating.
Presley: White. Creepy. Kind of skeletal.
I silently chuckle.
Me: Sounds like a fucking psychopath.
She reads the message, looking visibly upset.
She doesn’t like that I called myself a psychopath.
Of course, she also doesn’t know I’m the masked man.
Me: Did he come near the house?
Presley: He headed toward the house. And I’m pretty sure he was on my porch before that.
She’s right. I was on the porch, then stood beneath her bedroom window before walking toward the house.
I couldn’t help it. Her fear excites me.
My cock throbs inside my pants.
It excites me almost as much as the memory of her whimpers and moans in the bookstore.
Me: Did he threaten you?
Presley: No.
Me: Did he try to hurt you?
She pauses a moment before typing.
Presley: No.
She looks at Penny, then begins typing again.
Presley: He just watched me.
Just.
Interesting choice of words, little bookworm.
Me: Are you scared?
Three dots bounce, disappear, then reappear again.
Presley: A little.
My cock twitches.
Fuck.
I shouldn't like that as much as I do.
But we've already established that whatever normal moral boundaries exist inside other people don't work particularly well inside me.
Me: Lock your doors.
Her answer comes immediately.
Presley: Already did.
I lean back against the tree, thinking about the back door. The one that doesn't always latch unless it's pushed firmly into the frame.
The same door I've already used to get inside her house.
Me: Check them again.
Presley: Hades.
Me: Presley.
Three dots appear.
Presley: Fine.
I watch her move to the front door.
A few seconds later, I get a text.
Presley: Front is locked.
Then she turns. Penny is on her heels, wearing the sweater I bought her.
I’m really starting to love that dog.
She heads to the back door. I move so I can see her better.
She checks the lock but doesn’t push it to be sure it’s latched.
Works for me.
Presley: Back too.
Me: Good girl.
She freezes.
Guilt flashes across her face before suspicion replaces it.
Presley: Don’t call me that. I’m not a dog.
Funny, she didn’t seem to mind me saying that after I fingered her into oblivion.
Me: What’s with the bratty attitude?
Presley: I don’t have an attitude.
My eyebrows lift. Yeah, right.
Or maybe it’s the guilt you’re feeling.
Me: Yeah. You do.
She blows out a breath.
Presley: Fine. I have an attitude.
Me: Good girl.
Presley: Don’t say that!
She looks positively livid. Like she’s about to throw one of her plastic pumpkins.
Too fucking cute.
But then her expression changes.
She’s staring at her phone, suspicion lining her face.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have said good girl. I called her that upstairs when I wore the mask.
And now I just said it. Twice.
I need to get rid of that suspicion. I’m not ready for her to know my secret yet.
Me: Keep that up and I'll come over there and deal with you myself.
I grin as soon as I send it.
Her response comes quickly.
Presley: You don't even know where I live.
There it is. The lie sitting directly between us.
If only you knew, Presley.
Me: Then I guess you’ll have to tell me.