Slamming my phone on the bed …
How in the ever-loving fuck does he know I was doing that?
My gaze flicks up from my phone, and an eerie awareness fills my bones as my stare shifts across the room, looking for anything out of place. My breathing quickens.
There’s nowhere he could be hiding in here, and when I grabbed pajamas from my closet, there certainly wasn’t a six-foot-plus man inside.
My Masked Valentine: Are you scared?
A second later:
My Masked Valentine: You don’t look scared.
This time, my fingers are moving of their own accord, typing at record speed.
You hid cameras in my bedroom?? What the hell is wrong with you?
Oh my God, how long?! I’m going to find them all.
Embarrassment floods my cheeks, telling me more than I care to know about my messed-up brain. I’m more embarrassed that he totally saw the dance party Freddie and I had in here last night.Oh God… and the absolute cryfest from when I rewatched one of my favorite movies.
My phone suddenly vibrates—the kind from a phone call, not a text.
He’s calling me.
My heart hammers hard in my chest. I think it may break a few ribs if it thumps any faster.
I stare at the screen, deciding if he deserves to talk to me on the phone right now after revealing that secret. I can’t help the part of me that‘s desperate to hear his voice. Another text comes through, and I decide to behave—for now.
My Masked Valentine: Answer the phone, Serena
I answer it, but don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice. He deserves every ounce of brattiness from me right now. I don’t care.
But he meets me at my level, letting silence consume our call, and with every passing second, it grows deafening, until I can’t take it anymore and just snap.
“Are you kidding me?! What is wrong with you?” I scold him like a child.
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Such aviolent tone for a girl wearing pretty red hearts on her pajamas.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I threaten him with a deadpan expression. “I’m going to find each one, and I’m going to destroy it. This is an invasion of privacy.”
He clears his throat, and I do my best to ignore that, somehow, eventhatcan sound sexy when it comes to him.
“You can try to find them, but I doubt you’ll find them all. And any that you take down, I’ll just replace them.” Seriousness drips from his words. “But if you want to go on a little scavenger hunt, I won’t stop you.”
“You’re certifiably insane,” I mutter, scanning the room, like I’m going to magically spot something I’ve gone days, probably weeks, without noticing.
This earns me a chuckle from deep in his chest. “I’m not going to apologize for being obsessed with you. But if you really, truly want them gone, say the word, and I’ll remove them.” He means it. But he continues, humor now in his voice, “Probably. Maybe. Except for, like, one or two …”
My lips part, but nothing comes out because I’m not quite sure what to say. Deep down, I know what I want, and part of me is a little scared to admit it. That I like the thought of him watching me, studying me.
It’s like having a guardian angel—or rather, a devil—always making sure I’m safe and sound. Because I know damn well that with his eyes on me, no one could ever hurt me.
His voice cuts through my rambling thoughts. “You haven’t said anything because you don’t want to admit how much you secretly like me watching you. You like theadrenaline, the exhibition. You like knowing that no matter where I am, you still consume every second of my day. Because it’s true.” He pauses, and his voice drifts closer to the phone. “The cameras aren’t just there so I know you’re safe. If that’s what you want to hear, I’m sorry. That’s a part of the reason, sure. But the other is far more selfish.”
Freddie stretches out next to me, and Mr. Mystery coos like a proud pet parent. But the conversation resumes the same as before.
“Tell me to remove them, and I will. But tell me now.”
