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It’s fucking cold outside. Why the fuck would anyone ever want to live in Boston? It’s October, and it’s already shriveling my metaphorical balls. I was hoping to get a glance at her through the windows, but she’s smart and has the curtains drawn. I can see her walking around up there, though, passing from one side of the apartment to the other.
I was late messaging her today because I got distracted with moving in to my new place. Mytemporaryplace. I should’ve brought Lucy. Everything would’ve gone so much smoother, but then I wouldn’t have had anyone back in Malibu to manage the business and keep my house occupied. I don’t like leaving it completely unattended. A vacant nest is left vulnerable.
But once everything was settled, I decided to come check out her place, talking to her as I made my way across the city. She isn’t too far from my place — only took me about fifteen minutes to get here. But the difference in buildings could not be more black-and-white.
The lights flick off, and I figure she must be going to bed. I told her to touch herself and to message me when she was done. Pulling my coat tighter around my body, I lean back against the dingy brick building and wait to hear from her. I even open my phone to check and make sure I haven’t missed anything yet.
But then the side entrance opens, and out she walks.
This is the first time I’ve seen her face outside of pictures her father gave me. She looks so different. Her blonde hair is now a bright blue, french braided in two rows that end in cute little buns. She’s dressed…different from how I imagined. In all of her videos and pictures, she wears dark, sexy lingerie. Edgy, almost. But what she’s wearing now? It kind of takes me by surprise.
It’s a tight denim-looking minidress paired with bright pink heels that give her an extra six inches of height between the platform and the heel. The white fur jacket she’s wearing makes her look like a petite abominable snowman. But my god, she has legs for days. I want to kiss every square inch of those sexy things.
But where the fuck does she think she’s going? She should be upstairs, in her bed, using a toy on that sweet little clit while she imagines it’s my mouth. And here she is, dressed to the fucking nines, walking down the street. Where the actual fuck is she going?
Once she’s a safe distance away, I start to follow her. She’s fast in those heels, walking down the sidewalk like she’s in a rush. Is she going out on a date? In all of the research I’ve had done on her, I didn’t find a single partner. There’s no one but her on the lease, and she doesn’t have any co-signers on any of her credit cards. And, fuck, does she have a lot of them.
She’s never mentioned a partner in all the times we’ve talked, not that she would, I guess. Probably not the best thing to advertise when you’re trying to make money in the way she does. But surely there would’ve been some sign. She would’ve slipped, or I would’ve seen some sort of information on the person somewhere.
The amount of rage and jealousy I feel when I think about her with someone else is all-consuming. I get tunnel vision as I follow her, fully prepared to use the knife I have strapped to my ankle if I need to. I wasn’t going to reveal myself to her tonight. I was going to toy with her first. But if she is meeting up with someone, I won’t hesitate to take care of it.
Just a few blocks later, she enters a bar that’s packed full of people. I give it a couple of minutes, and then I walk inside. Thank god. Warmth. How do people live with this? It should not be this cold in fucking October.
The bar itself isn’t too crowded — not surprising, seeing as it’s a Wednesday night — but I try to keep myself away from her eyesight. I sit at the bar and order a Coke. I haven’t drunk in years. After one night of blacking out completely, I decided alcohol wasn’t for me. I’m not a fan of feeling out of control.
Clara is sitting with two other people, a girl who honestly kind of reminds me of Lucy and a guy who is very clearly smitten with her. The girl is wearing a bright, shiny diamond on her left ring finger, so this must be her friend that she works with. I breathe a sigh of relief until a man walks out of the back hallway and sitsrightnext to Clara.
The bartender sits my Coke down in front of me, and I grip it until I’m afraid I might break the glass in my hand. Who the fuck is this guy? He stretches, and then his arm just so happens to rest behind her on the back of her chair. Her cheeks blush, and she shuffles in her seat. She is clearly uncomfortable.
And then I remember I have a direct line to her. I can message her. I can play with her in public. Grinning to myself, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and quickly open the app. Once she knows I can see her, I don’t want her looking around to try and find where I’m sitting. So I’m going to have to be sneaky.
MxLeo83: Why haven’t I heard from you? Shouldn’t you be touching yourself to thoughts of me?
I hit Send and then watch her out of the corner of my eye. She must feel it vibrate in her little purse she’s carrying, and when she tugs it out, her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red. Her friend leans forward and says something to Clara that she shakes off.
URBaby2000: I’m busy watching a movie. Nothing like a little delayed gratification, right?
Now she’s lying. And I won’t fucking stand for it.
MxLeo83: Don’t lie to me, Clara.
Her face falls as she stares at the screen, and every ounce of color flushes away. Now she knows. She knows that I know her name, who she is. Now the fun can really begin.
CHAPTER7
Clara
“What is it? What’s wrong?”Vanessa asks loud enough for the entire table to hear. The stupid date they set me up on turns his head toward me, and his eyebrows pinch together.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” I am not fine. They know my name. MxLeo83 knows my fucking name. And what’s worse, they know I’m not in my apartment. That means they have eyes on me.
I think I’m going to be sick. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where did I go wrong? How did they find me? I’ve never, ever shown them my face. I’ve never told them my name or even what part of the country I live in. How could they have pinpointed Boston, let alone whatpartof Boston I’m in?
URBaby2000: How do you know my name?
I place my phone down on the table, screen down. I’m too afraid to look at what they’ll say next. Ignoring the people at my table, I scan the bar. If they can see me, they have to be in here or just outside. Or, shit, maybe they’re waiting outside my apartment. Maybe they saw me leave and are waiting on me to come back.
My phone buzzes, and I flip it over.
