Her books are on Kindle Unlimited. I download all three of them.
I choose one that has a man in an unzipped hoodie, abs on display. I snort.My abs are just as good as his, if not better.
I’m really going crazy. Now I’m jealous of a book cover.
I sit back in my chair and begin reading.
A chapter later, I’m chuckling. Ivy wrote a book about a man stalking the female protagonist. What’s more, the male lead has some of my physical description and characteristics.
It’s getting late. I exit my office, deciding to go to bed and read some more. Drew’s door is closed, and when I check the house, he’s not there. Must’ve gone to bed.
I climb the stairs, still thinking of Ivy’s book.
I can’t wait to get back to the story.
Sunday mornings are supposedto be quiet. Restorative. Predictable.
But not this one.
First of all, I stayed up way too late reading. Once I hit that first sex scene, that was the end of me pretending I didn’t miss her.
Good thing I could hold my phone in one hand while the other was busy stroking myself, fantasizing I was doing those things to Ivy.
After I orgasmed, a sense of shame and longing rolled through me in equal parts. I grabbed a towel from my bathroom and cleaned up, then climbed back in bed.
It took me a while to fall asleep. I kept wondering if Ivywould like me to do those things to her. The idea was so thrilling, I felt myself growing hard again.
I refused to pleasure myself. I wanted her touch, not my own.
I finally fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of chasing Ivy through the forest and then carrying her to my bedroom.
But I didn’t sleep long.
The sun was barely over the horizon when I woke.
The first thing I did was grab my phone and check my camera feed to see if she climbed the balcony and snuck in.
Nope.
I run a hand through my hair, gritting my teeth. For the first time in a long time, I feel… hollow.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. The house is unnaturally still. No soft footfalls. No barely-there hum drifting down the hall. No faint scent of vanilla sugar clinging to the air like she was here.
I lie there longer than necessary, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a sound that doesn’t come.
I sit up, irritation tightening my chest for no rational reason. This is what I wanted. Space. Boundaries. Distance.
So why does it feel like someone removed a load-bearing wall while I slept?
I shower. Dress. Make coffee, which tastes all wrong.
I drink it anyway, standing at the kitchen counter, staring out through the glass doors at the balcony.
The fake tree sits in its corner, leaves perfectly still. Yesterday—just for a second—I could’ve sworn they moved. A faint rustle. A shift. Enough to make my pulse spike and my body go still, every sense sharpening.
It was just the wind. Ivy doesn’t hide. Ivy announces herself—with a bright smile and comfortable demeanor. Like this place is hers, too.
If she were out there, she’d want me to see her.
