There.
Now I can see her, though the small hole I drilled in the drywall—years ago. I’ve been watching her sleep, change and do morning yoga in her bedroom since we moved in together. I’m well aware that I’m a sick bastard, but I’m desperate to connect with her any way possible. It’s painful wanting to know every single detail about Jessie and having her keep me at arm’s length. So I watch her. I don’t always jerk off. Sometimes I just stare at her utter perfection and marvel at God’s most incredible creation, but I can’t help it this morning.
Fuck, she’s so goddamn hot, in her tight jeans and red, flannel shirt, tied up enough to show off a hint of her belly button. She’s the most sexually decadent woman on the planet and I’ve had to threaten countless men who tried to get close. Not even over my dead body will another man breathe on her. Jessie is mine.
What is she doing?
My hand pauses its furious stroking of my dick when Jessie peels off her jeans, muttering to herself. Even as I devour the sight of her thighs and ass, I listen closely.
“Really, Jessie? You have to come home to change your wet panties?” She slides off the pink, silk thong in question and holds it up to the light. “How did that happen, anyway?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Was it…Ryan?”
Semen shoots from my cock in thick white, ropes and it happens so quickly, I almost don’t have time to stifle my growl. Did Jessie just say I made her wet? Oh fuck. Yes, yes, yes, she did, and now I can’t stop coming. My spend drips down the wall onto the tiles and splashes onto my socks, soaking them through to my toes. She’s in her room putting on a fresh thong, bending forward and giving me a peek at her sexy asshole and the rear view of her pussy, and my balls squeeze roughly, spewing the final drops of milky white liquid onto the wall.
A moment later, her jeans are back in place and God, I would give anything to enter Jessie’s room and have her welcome me. I’d sit on the bed and make her ride my thigh until she was on the verge of coming, then I’d throw her down on her back, rip off her jeans and shove my tongue straight up her tight cunt. I was obsessed before. Now I’m an obsessed animal, knowing I made her wet by feeding her that bite of pancake.
Mine. You’re going to be mine.
She already was, but now she’s going to know it.
I’ve never been more confident that I can convince Jessie to let me in. Let me be more than a friend to her. Every year on Valentine’s Day, I come so close to telling her I’ve been in love with her since we were teenagers, but she always says something that makes me put my confession off another year.
Not this time.
I’m just starting to formulate plans when Jessie pulls a gun out of her purse and checks the chamber, before sliding back into the leather bag.
What. The hell. Did I just see?
I had a feeling she was keeping something from me, but if she has a reason for owning a gun, that something is way more serious than I could have imagined. Is she in trouble?
Is someone threatening her?
More likely than any other scenario, her mother is back in town. How did I miss this? Goddammit, I’ve been working so hard on the Garvey case, I let one ball drop and now she’s walking around with a gun?
Pissed at myself, I almost put my fist through the wall and blow my cover, but I manage to remain quiet in the bathroom until she leaves the apartment again.
And then I follow. I’ve always followed her and always will.
Call it a hobby. Stalking. Call it what you like, but today it’s my duty.
CHAPTER THREE
Jessie
When I was a child, my mother told me one thing that stuck—and stuck good.
This wisdom probably engraved itself on my brain because we were hiding in a closet at the time, hoping my drunk daddy wouldn’t find us.
She said, “Friendships and romances are like see-saws. They’re lots of fun when two people are participating. But as soon as the other person grows heavier or lighter in love, you’re in the dirt or flinging off into space. Never climb onto a see-saw. Stay out of the dirt and keep your feet on the ground.”
My father was masterful at being a terrible human being. When his abuse wasn’t physical, he liked to stab with verbal knives—and most of the time, he chose my mother’s anxiety to exploit. He liked to create stressful situations, like last-minute dinner plans or springing an unpaid bill on my mother, just to watch her flounder. So he could laugh at her.
I learned early that weaknesses were better hidden.
And this situation I find myself in now counts as a weakness.
If I told Ryan I can’t pay rent this month because my mother needs money for her anti-anxiety medication, he wouldn’t make me pay. But if I allowed him to let me slide, I would owe him. Owing people money gives them a weapon to use against you, right?
I look out the window of my rental car at the convenience store I’ve been casing for the last week or so. The shift change will take place in approximately eight minutes and the cash register will be unlocked and placed briefly on the counter, leaving none of the extra time they’d need to unlock the drawer and possibly call the police or hit a panic button. They’ll drop it into my bag and I’ll be gone in seconds, leaving with the cash take for the last twelve hours.
My pulse is in a frenzy now, my conscience shouting at me to pull the plug on my idea, but I can’t. I’ve exhausted all my options. Worked extra shifts, tried to take out a loan. My mother’s insurance only covers some of the cost, and unemployed as she is, she can’t afford the remaining cost. I do this for her without question, for all the times she hid me away and bore the brunt of my father’s wrath alone. I can’t turn my back on her.
One little robbery and I’ll be back in the clear.
Blowing out a nervous breath, I go over the precautions I’ve taken. I’ve smudged the license place number. My hair is pulled up in a bun and I’ll be stuffing it inside a full ski mask. I’m four miles from my apartment in a neighborhood I don’t frequent…
Ryan’s smile dances through my mind and there’s a fluttering in my belly.
I have to move out. These new feelings are too risky.
I’ve never been aroused like this before, not by anyone and especially my best friend. He’s supposed to be safe, dependable, unobtrusive Ryan. Not the kind of guy who feeds me bites of pancake and speaks to me in shiver-inducing whispers.
Speaking of shivers, a hot one winds up my spine now.
When did Ryan become so…commanding?
When did I become the kind of girl who likes that?
Okay. At this rate, I’ll be robbing a convenience store with wet underwear.
My watch beeps and I press the button to silence it. Go time, sweetheart.
With blood pounding in my ears, I pull the ski mask down over my face, don my coat and place the gun inside one of the deep pockets. The gun is unloaded. I’ve checked it several times to be sure, as if bullets might suddenly appear in the chamber. Normally, I abhor guns and make Ryan lock his police issue weapon in a safe every night, but I want to appear threatening enough to make the shop owners move fast, without being an actual threat.
Making sure there are no passersby or cars coming, I climb out of the car and cross the street, giving myself a mental pep talk as I go. It’ll be over in thirty seconds. Thirty seconds and you’ll be able to pay your half of the rent, leaving Ryan in the dark and your mother’s medications filled for the next year. You can do this.