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I’m desperate. I’m needy. I’m high. I’m lonely.
So very fucking lonely.
I don’t want to be. I just want to feel…something else. Something at all. Something that doesn’t come with worry or hurt or panic.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
Duke makes a sound low in his throat. A little bit growl. A little bit groan. He snakes his hand up my shorts. The heat from his fingers alone is driving me to the edge. I’ve never let him touch me there before. I’ve never let ANYONE touch me there before. I’m both excited and nervous and totally reckless, wrapping my legs around his waist, urging him closer.
The tips of Duke’s fingers brush across my throbbing folds and achingly neglected flesh just as a loud crash echoes through the room.
“Where did that come from?” Duke whispers.
The basement.
It came from the basement.
Chapter Three
“Shit! Your dad!”Duke leaps away from me as if he’s been stung by a bee.
I’m off the counter, ushering him to the door, while white hot fear burns inside my chest.
“Sorry, maybe some other time. I’m gonna go check on my dad.”
“I…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” Duke says with obvious disappointment in his voice.
“Yeah. Tomorrow. School.” I mumble, unbolting and unlatching the series of locks.
I get the door open in record time. Duke steps out onto the concrete porch, tapping away at his phone. I’m sure he’s sending a text to the next—more willing—girl on his grocery delivery route. I honestly wish I could bring myself to care, but I’ve either pushed that part of me so far down I can’t find it anymore, or I never had it to begin with.
I smile and try to remember to look disappointed when all I really want to do is scream at him to run for his life.
But I don’t. I wait. I have to wait.
And it’s killingme.
Duke shoves his phone into his pocket. He gives me one more killer smile before pecking me on the lips and reaching around to smack me on the ass. His gaze lingers on my body for a few seconds.
Just get in your fucking car already.
I wait patiently with what I hope looks like a smile on my face for him to walk backward down the steps with his eyes never leaving mine until he reaches the curb where his Prius is parked. It’s wrapped in the same bright green GrubTrain logo as his hat and shirt. He turns his baseball cap back around before he gets in and starts the engine. He rolls the window down. “Bye, Sarah,” he says with a wave.
The way Sarah rolls lazily off his perfect lips makes me almost wish it were my real name.
Before Duke’s car turns the corner, I’ve got the security camera app on my phone up, and I’m looking at the black and white video feed from the basement. I notice immediately that one of my computer monitors is on the floor, the screen smashed. My chair is tipped over.
I’m trying to figure out if I should grab the emergency bag I’ve buried in the lot across the street, or just leave it and take the next bus out of Banyan Cay, when I see Izzy on my screen. The fat cat is taking a leisurely stroll across my keyboard in all her black and white fluffy glory.
She must have gotten in through the basement window somehow. I remind myself to check the lock and the alarm wiring.
I bend at the waist and rest my hands on my knees feeling a few years closer to that heart attack than ever before.
My ass hits concrete. I rest my head on my knees.
How much longer can I live like this?
Probably not much longer.
Several minutes pass before I feel steady enough to try standing. I get to my feet, and suddenly, I feel the same hot awareness I felt earlier. I snap my head up, and this time, I do spot someone who looks out of place.
There’s a man across the street, partially concealed as he crouches on the other side of a big matte-black motorcycle. His sculpted and tattooed biceps flex as he works on something on the other side of the wide back tire.
As if he knows I’m looking at him, the man peers out from behind the tire. I’m caught. I don’t run, but I can’t look away either.
Everything about him is dark. From his shoulder length hair to his black clothes. His facial hair falls somewhere between scruff and beard, longer, shorter on the sides.
His eyebrows are knitted together in a sharp scowl. I realize it’s not me he’s looking at, it’s his bike.
He’s just a guy working on his bike.He’s not here for you. Sleep, Frankie. You need some fucking sleep.
The stranger tosses down a wrench, it bounces around on the concrete. I can hear his growl of frustration all the way across the street. He pushes off his knees and stands.
Whoa.
He’s large. Not just his body, but his presence. A soaring skyscraper casting an endless shadow. His stride is long and sure as he makes his way from his bike into the service station. Each step of his boots is a claim of ownership upon every crack in the asphalt. His tight black t-shirt hugs the rippling muscles of his chest and arms. His jeans hang low on his waist and show off the perfect high curve of his rounded ass. An unlit cigarette dangles carelessly from his lower lip.
I’ve never seen anyone like him before. Raw. Powerful. I can’t stop watching him. Maybe it’s because I’m still high, or maybe it’s because Duke and I were just making out and I’m still primed with lust. Or because I just freaked out for the third time today. But this man is a walking billboard for both terror and lust. A human thunderstorm.
He’s beautiful.
My father’s words from years before ring in my ear. Men are meant to hide from, Frankie. To fear. At best they are meant to manipulate. Be the manipulator, Frankie, not the manipulated. Run before you have to ask yourself if you should. Know what they want from the look in their eyes, not from the words coming out of their mouths.
The man comes back out of the service station. He lifts one long leg and straddles his bike with ease. It thunders to life. I’m all the way across the street, but the vibrations reach out under the asphalt and touch me. I feel the rumble in my chest. Dirt is suspended in the air a good inch above the pavement as the ground underneath shakes.
He rolls his bike out of the parking lot and then turns down the road in the opposite direction without so much as a glance my way.
I’m disappointed
What did I expect from this momentary one-sided infatuation?
I rub my eyes and decide I’m one sleepless night away from creating false relationships with celebrities in my head. I can hear the news anchor now.
A young woman was arrested today at the home of Sam Hunt for breaking and entering. The woman was delusional, insisting that she was Sam’s wife. She repeatedly shouted ‘what about the babies’ until police were finally able to apprehend the woman. Mr. Hunt, who has no children, confirmed for the record that he’d never met the woman, although he sincerely hopes she finds and receives the help she so obviously needs.
The roar of the motorcycle is an echo in the distance. I go back inside, engage all the locks, and now that I know it’s safe, I head to the kitchen first to scarf down a protein bar.
When I’m finally fed I head to the basement to assess the damage
. Luckily the monitor that fell is banged up but still works. I clean up the rest of the mess then locate Izzy who I shoo back out the window. I attempt to lock it, but the latch won’t click shut. The glass above it is smashed.
But the alarm still didn’t go off?
