Page 62 of Darkest Obsession

“First of all, dollars aren’t worth shit here,” Clover says, her voice stiffening. “Second, it’s my money? Why can’t I just have a card.”

“Honey, can you stay positive? I’m going through a lot right now with the divorce. Ask your daddy about the account if he can keep his hands off his bitch ass side piece long enough to give a shit about his child.”

Clover’s shoulders tighten. I can tell she’s giving up. She didn’t have to pay £500. I could have easily done it for her.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to launch your own channel? Clover In England? We have a team that could make you huge in like a year… You would have to get those manly ass hip-hop clothes together and put on a real dress. What about a BBL? The way men were in my DMs after mine last year…”

Clover grimaces and wipes her nose.

“I’m fine. I just… I’ll call dad.”

“Okay! Call me back when you don’t sound so depressed. It’s ruining my mood. Should I call Dr. Ass Magic for you?”

“No, mom,” Clover says. “Bye mom.”

“Bye.”

Her mom hangs up before Clover can say anything else. She slips her phone into her pocket and glances down for a second. She thinks she’s alone. I want her to know that she isn’t. She sighs and then her chest heaves a little. Holy fuck. Is she…?

Clover wipes tears away with her sleeve, but she can’t stop them coming. I’ve never seen anything except her tough exterior, the girl who can handle jumps and falls, and attacks and bloody cricket bats… crying.

She doesn’t cry for long, naturally, and she doesn’t call her dad. She pulls herself together and walks back along the path, passing my tree without noticing me. I wait a few minutes before following her and cut another class to make sure she gets to hers without any trouble.

Maybe I’m the paranoid one. Clover’s gone through nearly an entire day of classes and absolutely nothing has happened. All she has left is dance practice, which still starts after rowing, even if it’s our first day on the water and we don’t really need the studio. The river got warm early, and we all voted on getting into the eights. I sit in the power seat and lose myself in practice – the only hour of the day I don’t spend thinking about Clover. This can’t be healthy.

I don’t want to be healthy. I want to sleep with her.

I can’t let myself just sleep with a girl anymore. I can’t do casual and Clover… well, judging by what I’ve seen, she only does casual. We don’t fit. I just like kissing her because I shouldn’t. Dripping in sweat, but very much alive from practice, I run back to the gym from the boat house with Kit, who regales me with a dubiously true story about “ridiculously hot Swiss girls” he nearly lost his virginity to when he was fourteen years old.

I wonder if he truly believes his rubbish. Once we’re in the gym, I ditch Kit for the showers and he heads off to supper. I don’t spend longer than a minute under the water. Clover ought to be here for dance practice soon and I don’t think I’ll feel alright until she climbs into her bed.

I slip into a white polo shirt and loose grey sweatpants before wandering down the halls towards the noise in the dance studio. Dad would die before letting us listen to hip-hop. When Vi went off to finishing school, she brought back the first rap album I ever listened to: The College Dropout. There was nothing like old school Kanye for a kid who grew up listening exclusively to Mahler and Wagner.

A different, contemporary hip hop beat emanates from the room and I listen in the hallways to Sylvia leading their rehearsal. They dance for over an hour and the heat spills into the hallway. Once practice ends, I disappear into another room and quietly watch everyone leave – except Clover.

Has she lost her fucking mind?

I creep back into the hallway and find a better spot to watch her. Clover flings open all the windows in the studio and then she puts on her headphones and dances, completely vulnerable from every angle. I swear she wants to be killed. Three, four songs later, I can’t stop watching her, but there’s no sign she’s in any danger. Where’s the line between protective and creeper?

Fuck it, I crossed that line already. I should have seen the next thing coming. The song changes and Clover drops to the ground, writhing her sweaty body in this extremely sexy way. How the fuck does she move like that? As she lies on the ground, the lights in the gym rumble and then turn off. All of them.

Fuck. This is it. I have to do something.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Clover

Does Thomas seriously think he can follow me for eight hours and I won’t notice? I just have to hope he’s not dumb enough to mess up my plan. Stay in the shadows and watch me handle this shit…

I press my back to the floor of the studio and reach into my leggings for the long knife I… obtained from Jude Fox’s bedroom. My mama always taught me to go through a man’s things the second I set foot in his room. I plied him with drinks until he had to pee and then I searched the whole damn place top to bottom, making it easy as hell to steal his nine inch hunting knife when I needed it—the few minutes Thomas’ stalker ass was stuck in class, I pretended to go to the bathroom and committed some light theft. Jude lowkey deserves it.

Thomas made a good point about the four inches. I hear the footsteps and I know they aren’t Thomas’. He’s too big. This person is much smaller. I stand up and try to sound scared. Bitch, I’m gonna get your ass.

“Hello?”

“Hello, who is it?”