“Hi,” I simply say.
Her face is outraged as she scowls fiercely at me.
“You—you let me think you died?” she asks incredulously. “What kind of a sicko are you?”
Fight mode takes over again, and her body bucks against mine. I like it. A little too much. Every movement equals friction, and my cock is already straining in my pants.
“Shh,” I hush, pressing a finger over my mouth while glancing up at Loralee’s bedroom window.
Although Rosalie calms a little, she’s still quietly seething when she hisses, “What the hell are you doing lurking around in the middle of the night like a homicidal ninja?” Her features morph to anger and betrayal. “Did my mom hire you to watch me? Is that why you’re really here? To be her guard dog? Listen, I can pay you. Maybe not more than she will, but it’s something. Just take the cash and look the other way.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say for the second time.
“Then what do you want?” She gyrates again, reminding me of how close we are. How I’m on top of her and we’re pressed together in an intimate way.
Goddamn, she feels good. Soft. Warm.
The temperature is dropping fast, and it’s so cold our breath fogs up the space between us. Being this close, I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo. Roses. Of course.
Reluctantly, I push away, removing myself from her as I get to my feet. “I’m here to help you.”
Sitting up, Rosalie squints skeptically through lashes coated with at least three layers of mascara. “Help me?”
“Run away,” I clarify.
“Who says I’m running away?”
I give her a look before eyeing her fanny pack. “No need to deny it.”
She doesn’t trust me. That much is obvious when she lies, “No. I’m just going for a—” Wrinkles appear on her nose. “—A nighttime stroll.” Sneeze.
“Really,” I deadpan. “Is that something you do often?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is it I’ve never seen you walking around at night before?”
“Maybe because you weren’t paying attention.” Sneeze. Sneeze.
“I’m always paying attention.” When her nose twitches again, I start to get concerned. “What’s wrong? You sick?”
“Must be.” Sneeze. “Guess I should go back in. It’s chilly.” She starts to scramble to her feet.
I’m too impatient for these delays. Going into this, I knew it would be difficult to convince her to go with me. Naturally, she’s not going to go willingly with a stranger.
But we have a very narrow timeframe to work with, and she’s determined to waste it with protests.
I know what will get her to stop. “Cut the crap, Rosie Doll.”
At the nickname, she freezes and falls back onto her butt.
Her eyes narrow.
Her nostrils flare as she connects the catfishing dots.
“Jessa? I knew it!” she exclaims, too loud for my liking. “I knew you were an old dude.”
“Hey.” I’m insulted. “Old dude?”
“What are you, forty?”
I gawk at her. “Try twenty-seven.”
“What’s up with your gray hairs?” Her eyes roam my temples where I have more salt than pepper.
“It’s called premature graying. Started when I was sixteen.” I shake my head. “That’s beside the point. We’re getting off topic.”
“No, I think we’re very much on topic.” With a whole lot of attitude, Rosalie plants her elbows on her knees. “Jessa’s real. I’ve seen her. How do I know you didn’t hack my account? Maybe you read our conversations tonight. Maybe you’re just impersonating her to get close to me.”
Poor girl. She’s in denial. She doesn’t want to believe her friend never existed.
“Ask me some questions only Jessa would know,” I challenge.
Rosalie haughtily raises her chin. “What’s your favorite color?”
“I’m wearing it.” I gesture to my clothes—the leather jacket, hoodie, jeans, and boots. All black.
“What’s your favorite band?”
“R.E.M.”
“What’s my favorite band?”
“That’s a trick question. You have favorite songs,” I specify. “But only one at a time. You listen to it over and over again until you’re sick of it. Right now you’re stuck on “Letting the Cables Sleep” by Bush because you’re exploring the wonderful world of 90’s alternative music. You’re probably almost done with it, though, because it’s been on repeat for the past four days. Before that, you were on an 80’s kick. Jefferson Starship. When we first started talking, you’d been listening to “Something Just Like This” by Coldplay. How am I doing?”
As I’ve been spilling such exact details only “Jessa” would know, Rosalie’s eyes have gotten wider and wider. No one could make that shit up, and conversations on Solitaire Slam disappear after twenty-four hours, so it’s not like I could’ve just snooped in her account once. I have seven weeks of facts about this girl if she needs me to keep going.
“Listen.” Crouching down to her level, I look Rosalie in the eye. “I understand you feel betrayed because I’m not who you think I am.”
“No shit.”
“I’m not really a groundskeeper, either. I’ve been undercover.”
Confusion flattens her pretty lips. “Undercover for what?”
“For you. I was hired to help you get out.”
“I don’t understand. Hired by who?”
“Your father.”
Rosalie blinks. “I don’t have a father.”
“You do. DNA doesn’t lie. You match a man in Detroit. I have the papers in my wallet to prove it, and I’ll show you as soon as we can get away from here.”
“Where’s your badge?” she asks. “If you really are a detective, then you’ll have proof of that, too.”
“I don’t work for an agency or the police. I’m self-employed.”
She scoffs. “Of course you are.”
“And I’d show you a business card, but I don’t have anything linking me to my old identity. I couldn’t while I’m here. It’s too risky.”
“So Preston isn’t your real name?”
“For now, it is.”
“Obviously, it’s not Jessa.” Hurt coats her words. “I trusted you. I’ve never had a friend before… but I liked you. I thought you were real.”
I swallow hard. “I am real.”
“This whole thing was a bad idea.” Wetness gathers in Rosalie’s eyes, and I hate that I’m the one who put those tears there. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“Hey, you’re not stupid. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“Gullible, then.” She sounds so defeated. “I fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. My mom told me the world is full of disappointment. I haven’t even left my yard yet and my heart is already broken.”
Man, she’s fucking killing me.
I hitch my chin toward the third floor. “You really wanna go back to that?”