A squeak sounds from Thea. She hunches her shoulders to hide her phone from the teacher as he explains the reading assignment. My cell vibrates.
Thea: Omg I’m in class right now!! [flustered emoji]
Connor: Be bad with me. I promise it’ll be fun. Just lean back in your desk, spread those pretty legs and show me what color panties you’re wearing.
Connor: Unless you’re not wearing any, you naughty girl.
I shift in my seat, getting myself going from toying with her. My dick is half hard at the thought of her doing it. I flick my gaze between the text conversation and her back, inhaling when she sinks into her chair a few inches and slides both her hands beneath the desk.
Shit. I didn’t think she’d actually do it. We’re in the middle of class and I’ve got Thea Kennedy taking an upskirt photo. The sense of illicit mischief courses through me and I bite my lip to hide my pleased expression.
My pulse thumps in my ears as I watch every tiny shift of her body, until her legs widen slightly. Then my phone vibrates. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I check it discreetly. It’s grainy and dimly lit, but I can make out dainty scalloped yellow lace.
She did that. She fucking did that. For me, during class, with Coleman strolling around the classroom.
A burst of lust mixed with pride rushes through me.
Connor: Good girl. Or should I say, bad girl? [smirk emoji]
Connor: Mm, baby girl, I want to come find you during the day at your school, pull your panties aside, fuck you good and hard until I cream in you, then smack that thick ass and leave you knowing I’ll be in you all day.
Thea muffles another strangled yelp, crossing her legs tightly. It’s too fun to mess around with her like this, to get her hot right under everyone’s noses.
Our game is interrupted when Coleman pauses by Thea’s desk as he strolls around the class and directs his question at her. “Can anyone give me their thoughts on the use of literary devices in the text?”
“I—uh, yes, I…” Thea trails off, flipping through her notebook, voice trembling. In her fumbling, she knocks the book we’re reading off the desk.
Titters echo around the room. I cover the smug slant of my lips with my hand, propping my elbow on the desk.
“I have some thoughts,” I offer. “You know, since she seems unprepared for class. The book uses irony and alludes to things going on in the world to drive the point that the political party twists the truth to exercise control, but I don’t think the theme of propaganda is as universally applicable today. With social media always advancing and evolving, more voices are constantly in the mix from all over the world. People aren’t complacent to mindlessly listen to manipulative party lines, or believe whatever the headlines read.”
Coleman frowns at me, silent for a long beat. He sighs. “Yes. Good.”
Thea drops her forehead to her desk and stays like that for a long stretch as the class goes on.
Before I make any moves, I need more information. I want to know my grip on Thea is ironclad. There’s no way I’ll let the little mouse escape the trap I’m setting for her.
I dump my athletic duffel in the corner of the bedroom and boot up my computer. As it purrs to life, I drop into the chair and scroll through notes I’ve compiled on my phone.
She’s on my radar, no longer invisible. I’m paying attention to every move she makes, getting a lowdown on her from the classes we don’t share, utilizing every access point I have to pick apart her life. From her friendship circle to her daily schedule, she won’t make a move without me knowing about it. Holden Landry proved useful once more, giving me a play-by-play of Thea through the lens of her longtime friendship with his younger sister when I used the video of him at the boat party I’ve been keeping in my back pocket. Until he described a recent sleepover and how she filled out her skimpy sleep set nicely and I decked him.
I’m building a picture of how she presents herself—the studious, quiet good girl.
And I’m betting it’s a lie. No one is that pure and innocent. As humans, we’re all depraved beasts.
It’s instinct. Our base nature. It lives in our bones.
Once my computer is ready, I waste no time getting to work. Hacking her network remotely is child’s play. Their WiFi has basic, default firewalls that I break through with ease, allowing me access to connect my computer to any device in their house logged in on the network, dropping malware I’ve written to give me a backdoor in anytime I want.
There’s no challenge, not like the things I faced when I was first developing these skills on my hunt to uncover the depth of Mom’s misdeeds to cover up the assault incident. In the short time since that discovery, I’ve honed my talents in digging through people’s lives.
“Gotcha,” I mutter as I locate Thea’s laptop, currently connected.
Her screen loads on my second monitor, a baking blog and Instagram open in two tabs on her browser. The calendar application is also open, and I grind my teeth when I see Mr. Coleman’s birthday, bake cookies set as a reminder for tomorrow.
I never really noticed Thea before, but now that I have, it doesn’t escape me that she’s as infatuated with Mr. Coleman as every other girl in our class. Hell, the whole school. It still rankles when I think of today’s English period. Watching her shoot her hand in the air, leaning forward to answer questions once she recovered from her mortification. Like she was eager to prove herself to our teacher. She might have hidden under her baggy uniform, but because I know what her perfect tits look like beneath the deceptive layers, it pissed me off to see her eagerness for any of Coleman’s attention.
With a few swift keystrokes, I access the webcam, activating it. Her room appears on my screen.
Clicking my tongue and shaking my head, I lean back in my chair. “Don’t you know any better? Come on, everyone knows to put tape or something over their camera these days. It’s 101.”
Her room is empty, the door ajar. A stuffed sea lion sits in the center of her ruffly purple pillows. It’s every inch as feminine as I expected, splashes of color enveloping the whole thing.
The family’s rottweiler sleeps on the floor next to her bed. He seems like a chill dog. I once fed him half of my burger when I was hiding out by our pool house, avoiding my parents when he wandered over. Thea shouted for him around the front of her house. He must have gotten out. She wasn’t pleased to find her dog cuddled up to me—really, he was trying to push me out of the lounger, total chair hog—while I listened to her search for her dog for close to twenty minutes before she ventured into our backyard.
For the life of me, I can’t remember the dog’s name. Only her pet names for him. Wookiee boy. It made sense when he jumped down from the lounger, stretched his front half low to the ground, and released the weirdest warbling sound before trotting to her side.
I’m in the middle of scanning the colorful posters on the wall, reading their baking puns when Thea strolls in.
The corner of my mouth twitches up.
Flour is smeared across her cheek and dotting her apron. The sleeves of her sweater are rolled up and her hair is tied on top of her head by a big yellow scrunchie with a bow on it. The sun doesn’t shine as bright as the excitement in her blue eyes as she leans over the desk to grab a notebook with pastel tabs sticking out to mark the pages. I drink her in, studying what she looks like when she doesn’t know someone’s watching. She pauses to pet the dog, giving him a belly scratch that has him stretching languidly before disappearing from the room.