Page 40 of Heat Lightning

Great.

But first, I needed to YouTube how to patch a fucking wall.

ELEVEN

MAX

“Have you ever tried red light therapy?”

I turned from the display of collagen-infused hand mitts—whatever the fuck that was—to Gwen and startled. “Oh my God, what is on your face?”

“It’s red light therapy,” she repeated like I should know what that meant. Her words were muffled by a white, Jason-style mask that glowed red around the edges. “It’s supposed to be really good for you.”

“I highly doubt that,” I said, scrunching my nose. “It looks like a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen. Take it off. And I can’t believe you just put a tester on your face. You have no idea who’s touched that.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled the mask off before setting it back on the display counter. “You’ve gotta learn to live a little. I’m getting you one. You could use it.”

I scowled and tried to snatch the basket away from her before she tossed it inside, but she was too quick. “Rude. And I already told you I’m not paying for half the shit you’ve put in there. I need to stock up on the basics, that’s all. Basics. Do you know what that means? Shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Because your forty-five-dollar hair mousse is a basic.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll get frizzy in a hot kitchen if I don’t use it,” I sniffed.

She smirked. “Well, I already told you that you’re not paying, so you don’t have a choice. Now, let’s go look at sheet masks. They’re on sale.”

I sighed. What was it with me and masks lately?

Gwen seemed determined to buy out the store, so I left her to it, wandering behind. I’d just give most of it back to her in a few months, anyway.

On our way over, we passed a display of sugar scrubs so pungent it made my head ache. “Eugh, can you smell that?” I asked her, lifting one to her nose. Pomegranate and papaya had never been so off-putting.

She took a whiff and shook her head. “It just smells fruity to me. Maybe you’re coming down with something?”

“God, I hope not.” That was the last thing I needed. Although I had tossed and turned all night, thinking about… well, the obvious. Maybe I’d made myself sick.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. Is that him? My breath hitched. Gwen was usually the only one who texted me, and it clearly wasn’t her.

Although the company I bought my favorite fancy cotton pajamas from sent me marketing texts all the time. It was probably just another one of those.

I looked behind me to check that no one could see over my shoulder, and pulled it from my pocket before nearly dropping it when I saw the message preview.

The Masked Man

Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling today?

Oh my God, it was him.

When I woke up this morning, I’d sort of convinced myself the previous night was a fever dream. I mean, had a masked man really broken into my apartment just to proposition me? It was a ludicrous thought.

And then there was the fact that I had maybe the best orgasm of my life while I imagined him watching me get off. Surely that couldn’t be real?

Heart racing, I shoved the phone back into my pocket without replying and scanned the neighboring aisles, just in case.

Would he follow me here?

A sharp thrill fizzed low in my belly. No one remotely close to his build was in the store, though. He’d be easy to spot, even without the mask. He just had a presence.

My phone buzzed again. I shouldn’t look—not when Gwen could pop up behind me at any moment. It was too risky. I’d just have to wait until later.