Likewise, there’s a full week a month where I have no interest in doing anything other than being a potato on the couch, and the last thing I want to do when I’m bloated and bleeding is think about filming anything remotely sexy.
It’s why I never preschedule my live streams.
It’s always a surprise for everyone. Myself included.
I slip my headphones into place and start editing clips together with practiced ease. It wasn’t always like this. In fact, when I started, I wanted to quit a million times because no matter what program you use, it’s always frustrating in the beginning. But little by little, I started finding my feet, and now I do some freelance work for other content creators, both in my space and outside.
So basically my economics degree is going completely unused, and I have zero issues with that.
I don’t know why I thought doing anything to do with numbers was a good idea, but it seemed stable and safe, two things I desperately needed when I started college.
Growing up in an abusive household scarred me in more ways than even a lifetime of therapy could solve, and I’ve always reached for the safest option as a result.
Except for my Fan Faves account.
That was the one rebellious decision I made for myself, and I’ve never regretted a second of it.
Until now, because now it could cost me my life.
I get lost in work, and for the first time since I received the first partial match email from the matchmaker, I’m calm.
Everything has been so chaotic and uncertain ever since that moment, and I allow the familiar hum of the café to wash over me.
My phone buzzes a few times, but I assume no one knows I’m gone yet because it’s not blowing up, which means I can afford to ignore them for a little while longer.
A seed of guilt plants in my chest. As badly as I want some time to myself, I don’t want Colten or Ken to worry. I may be angry at the former, but I know how much he cares for me, and that he will almost certainly lose his mind when he realizes I’m outside the safety of his apartment without protection.
But I refuse to stop living just because some asshole has decided to fixate on me. I’ve worked too hard to make a life for myself outside of the Mafia to give it up now.
Another text comes through, and I sigh. My flow has been interrupted, and I should probably eat my roll the waitress delivered a while ago before the lettuce gets icky.
My eyes sweep over my surroundings as I take my first bite. There’s a group of women in the corner below a window all laughing, while a few tables over a couple are having what appears to be a heated debate. An older man sits sipping his cup of tea at the table beside mine, making his way through a stack of newspapers while he ignores the outside world.
Everyone in here likely has their own problems, but this is a refuge for them, a safe haven to just be for a little while, and that’s kind of beautiful.
Strangers sharing in such a simple pastime, ignoring the outside world in favor of a few blissful minutes of peace.
When my phone vibrates again, I admit defeat and reach for it. A couple of hours of freedom is more than I hoped for anyway.
Unknown: You look beautiful today, Wildcat.
Unknown: Do you think your guard can get to you before I do? Or did you leave him at the apartment?
Unknown: I can’t decide if you’d be stupid enough to do something like that, but he’s usually pretty noticeable, and today he’s not.
Unknown: Did you let the man you’re staying with touch you? Because you should know, I always keep my promises.
Each word I read brings about its own level of panic, and by the time I reach the end of the slew of messages, I’m practically hyperventilating.
I should stay put and call Ken or Colten. Or maybe both would be a better idea. But the urge to flee is so strong I’m not sure how I’ll possibly deny it.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I click out of the texts from the unknown number. That’s something I’ll have to deal with once I’m safe. There’s no possible way anyone from the app should have my personal phone number, especially because I don’t have it attached to my account at all. I have another number that I use for all things related to that business.
I’m about to call Colten when his name flashes on the screen, an old photo of the two of us from high school accompanying it.
I click accept as I track my eyes over the people around me. One of them has to be him, I just have no idea of who it could possibly be.
“Colten,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
