I should feel sated.
I don’t.
I now know she has a meeting on Thursday about a possible editorial promotion.I know she’s been looking up flights to Boston and didn’t finish checking out.I know she Googled “pork tenderloin oven temp” last night and “is two glasses of wine too much alone” right after.
She's lonely.
I open the app Adrian built for me to house my access to her in one place.She’s a red dot on a map now.My map.She’s currently at work, not moving.I glance at the live feed from the traffic cam down the block from her building just to confirm she’s there.Existing.Breathing.Smiling at someone that isn’t me.And fuck, I hate that.
“I can go by her office today,” Atlas says, sliding into the empty chair beside me, already knowing where my head’s at.“You’ve got the car-dealership consult.She’s having lunch at the deli cart downstairs.”
“You see her yesterday?”I ask.
He nods.“She wore blue again.You would’ve lost your shit.You’re already halfway there, though, huh?”
I don’t answer.I keep watching.Her face hasn’t shown up yet, but I know it’s coming.Soon.I need to get cameras inside her office.I’ve never stalked anyone I wasn’t planning to kill before.
I’ve tailed men Iwasgoing to kill.Hunted down rapists and human traffickers and men who leave little girls in dumpsters.But this isn’t that.This isn’t about duty.She isn’t prey.She’s something else entirely.This is obsession.
The thought catches me off-guard, my brain finally calling this what it is.Fixation.I’m done pretending.I’m way past justifying.Forcing distance.Setting timers.Fuck all that straight to the depths of hell.Wanting her outruns control.I’m past the line and still moving.
I'll probably be in the depths of hell too for chasing her, watching her, ruining her.Because I will ruin her.I’ll chase her, watch her, ruin her, because that’s what I do.The only variable is time.How long until the light of her turns to ash in my hands.I can endure an eternity in flames for one heartbeat’s worth of time with her pressed into my orbit.Burn me for it.I won’t flinch.
“I’ll go now,” Atlas says, standing.“You owe me dinner.And not the cheap kind.”
“No one touches her.”
“So you’ve said.Don’t worry, I take following your future wife very seriously.”
My glare could cut glass, but I don’t correct him.Because he’s not wrong.
I sit on my Harley after work, helmet on.I text Atlas the second I turn over my bike and he sends me her location.I’ll get the play-by-play on her lunch and the rest of her day later.For now, I have to see her.I’m not ready for her to see my face.I’m not exactly sure why I keep hiding from her, only that I do.
She’s sitting in her car outside the grocery store, clearly avoiding going in.
Why keep settling for pixels?I’ve seen the shape of her, the way the air shifts around her, but not up close.Not to mention I won’t be able to sleep knowing Atlas has seen her face probably close enough to touch, more than once, and I still haven’t.
A man pulls up beside her and gets out, waving at her through her too-clear windows.And her, being the polite goddess that she is, waves back.First chance I get, those windows are going dark.New-moon dark.
I clench the throttle, and watch him go into the store.Then I watch her.She finally shuts off her car and gets out.
The moment I lay eyes on Melinda, the world dulls.Everything fades into insignificance.She exists in a spotlight of her own making.It's surreal, seeing her so close after all the texts.She’s not rushing into work or trying to get home.For the first time, she’s just existing in a moment.She's more captivating than I imagined.More… real.There's a light to her.An aura that pulses gently against the shadows I live in.
I swing my leg over my bike as she’s entering the store.I ditch the helmet before I follow in behind her, wearing it indoors would draw too much attention.She’s halfway down the baking aisle when I find her.Talking to the waving idiot from outside.Her hands are on the cart handle, knuckles white, thumb tracing a figure eight.Cans in the basket are turned label-forward and I’m pretty sure she alphabetized them.
“How are you today?”he asks.
“I’m good.How are you?”Her voice is mesmerizing.
I’m going to have to teach her how to sayfuck right off.
I live in a world painted in shades of gray, where right and wrong blur into a smear of blood and rationale.And yet here she stands, vivid, warm, unmistakably good.
She’s not just beautiful, though she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever set eyes on.
It’s her energy.
Her light.
