Page 4 of Stalked By the Gamer

"Sorry!" I murmur over the headset, quickly closing the app and shoving my phone in my pocket.

As I turn my attention back to the TV, controller in hand, I can't help but feel like I'm losing control of my life—one click, one swipe, one sinful thought at a time. But as the screen lights up, and I lose myself in the virtual world once more, I know that there's no turning back.

Because when it comes to Nova Sinclair, I'm all in—consequences be damned.

* * *

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, wondering how the fuck I got here. It's the same routine every night—work, game with Dylan, and then obsess over his little sister, Nova. My loyalty to my best friend is tested every time my thumb hovers over her profile picture.

"Fuck," I mutter, fighting a losing battle against my desire. I shouldn't be stalking her like this, but goddamn, it's like an addiction. My heart races, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I think about her.

"Blaze, man! We're getting our asses handed to us. Where are you?" Dylan's voice breaks through my headset, pulling me back to reality.

"Sorry, dude. Just needed a sec. I'm back." I take a deep breath, trying to shove my obsession for Nova to the back of my mind as I focus on the game.

The truth is, I'd do anything to protect her. But how am I supposed to keep her safe when I can't even trust myself?

"Nice save, Blaze!" Dylan cheers as we narrowly avoid defeat. He has no idea that while I'm saving virtual lives, I'm constantly battling the urge to cross the line with his sister.

"Thanks, man," I reply, injecting some charm into my voice, masking my inner turmoil. "You know me, always looking out for my teammates."

"Damn right!" he laughs. "But seriously, man, we make a hell of a team."

"Always have, always will," I say, attempting to reassure both him and myself.

And yet, Nova invades my thoughts again. Her laugh, her smile, the way she makes me feel alive when everything else in my world feels stagnant. I want her so fucking bad, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to act on it.

"Blaze? You still there?" Dylan's voice pulls me back again, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

"Sorry, man. Just spaced out for a sec."

"Hey, no worries. Just don't let it happen during the game, alright?" He chuckles, and I force a laugh in response.

"Deal."

As the night wears on, my mind can't help but drift back to Nova. The internal struggle between loyalty and desire threatens to consume me, an ever-present battle raging within. I know I need to keep her safe, even if it means keeping my distance. But fuck, that's easier said than done.

"Alright, Blaze, I'm calling it a night," Dylan says, yawning. "Catch you tomorrow?"

"Definitely, man. Sleep well."

"Thanks, you too."

As I take off my headset and turn off the console, the silence of my room feels suffocating. The darkness mirrors the twisted desire in my heart, a constant reminder of the line I'm precariously balancing on.

"Nova," I whisper into the void, my voice heavy with longing. And as I close my eyes, I know deep down that this unrelenting obsession might destroy me.

CHAPTERTWO

Nova

Salt clings to the air,tangy and invigorating, as I step onto the sun-warmed planks of my beach house porch. My sundress flutters with each ocean breeze, my wide-brimmed hat perched jauntily atop my head. The sand between my toes is a caress, familiar and intimate. My smile comes easy here, untamed as the waves that kiss the shore.

"Another day in paradise," I whisper to myself, twirling so my dress billows around me—a dance for the sea and sky alone.

The house behind me is a reflection of my soul, if I dare to look that deep. Its walls are splashed with hues of coral and aquamarine, windows thrown open to let the song of seagulls and the sighs of the ocean fill the space. It's cozy—intimate even—with every nook cradling memories of sunlit laughter and moonlit whispers.

I pad inside, barefoot, the wooden floor cool under my feet. The living room is alive with colors, from the throw pillows emblazoned with palm trees to the turquoise vases holding sprigs of sea oats. Photos of Dylan and me line the mantel, his protective arm always slung over my shoulder, always the big brother—even in frames.

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