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“He said,” I speak louder, enunciating my words, “Hey pretty lady, wanna dance?”
Her smile is wide, the sparkle in her eyes catching in the light.
“Such a sweet bird. But no, honey, my old hips can’t take any dancing right now.”
I offer her a chair at the table when she heads back to the stove, but she waves me off the way she has been doing for years.
I love spending time with Nana, and if I could get away with not bringing Puff, it would be a more enjoyable experience, but she loves him and complained the entire time the one time I didn’t bring him. But come to think of it, she was so busy grumbling about his absence she didn’t mention me needing a girlfriend or a boyfriend once. This gives me ideas for my next visit.
***
I tell myself as I head to work on a Sunday that I’m going to get some things done, but in reality, my equipment at the BBS office is just a tad better than the stuff I have at home. Meaning, I can watch Whitney easier.
I know it’s creepy. I know what I’m doing is illegal and could technically land me in jail, but it’s not like I’m exactly interfering with her life. I’m not mining her data to use for personal gain…
But I am, aren’t I?
I’ve discovered her love for Orc’s Realm and pretended to be some random stranger needing help to make it through levels—utterly difficult to play that card because there are things I could show her to increase her efficiency in the game.
I watch her damn door on the building’s security camera.
I watch the scowl on her face every morning when she’s begrudgingly running on the treadmill.
I’m a stalker.
Not even kind of a stalker.
I’m a full-fledged snake.
It doesn’t sit well with me at all, but it also doesn’t stop me from opening all my programs the second I sit in my desk chair. I’m like an addict waiting for the sight of her, but her morning workout is done and since she never leaves her apartment, the most I can hope for today is catching her when she has her dinner delivered.
I show some restraint by not rewinding footage to catch her from earlier, and I even do some quick research on therapists in the area but quickly kick that idea to the curb. Don’t they have to report illegal activity? If I go to jail, I won’t be able to play online with her later.
Since I’m not deep into watching an active video of her, I hear the footsteps approaching my office today, giving me enough time to clear my screens. Several stock market websites are on display when Flynn shoves open my office door, once again without knocking.
“Really?” he scoffs, looking at the screen.
“Just keeping an eye on my investments,” I lie. I probably know too much about stocks and trends, at least enough to land me in federal prison for insider trading.
“It’s Sunday, you prat.”
“Can I help you with something?”
He slow blinks in my direction, and I realize my mistake already. Normally, I’m on my game. I know what I’ve worked on for each guy here and have it at the ready when they enter. Hell, usually I take the research to them when I’m done. Not so much lately, and it’s evident in the way Flynn is looking at me now.
“The report on Heizer,” I say before he can remind me. “I have it right here.”
I hand him the report, but he doesn’t pull his eyes from mine as he takes the folder.
“I completed it a few days ago.” Technically within a couple hours of him giving it to me, another attempt at getting back to my normal life. “Everything checks out.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Things are great.”
I look toward Puff Daddy’s open cage, hoping he’ll spew a couple insults to change the tone the room has taken, but that turncoat is passed out from the stuffing Nana gave him earlier.
“I’m here if you need anything.” He continues to watch me, his eyes darting between mine.
This is an opening, right? He’s literally asking me to lay my problems at his feet.
“I have a crush on a woman.”
“A crush?” He runs his hand over the top of his head, his top lip twitching slightly in the corner. “Sounds a little juvenile. Is this person online or did you finally get away from your computer long enough to run into a normal woman?”
“Women online are normal,” I defend. “Mostly.”
“So online then?”
I nod. I could get angry for his roundabout insults, but I’m desperate here.
“I’m not an expert on women,” he adds. “But I imagine an online interest would be easier. You can take your shot and if it doesn’t work out, you can just move on.”
He shrugs with the simplicity of his plan.
