Eris:
I’m going to call you the locksmith until you tell me which one you are.
I know you’re not Whisper, and you’re not the one who watched me in my apartment yesterday.
So… who are you? What do I call you?
There’s a long pause this time, like he can’t decide how to respond. Maybe he’ll give me his real name instead of a username? I’m on the fence about asking Roo to look into them, but honestly… I’m enjoying this risk far more than I should.
Am I really ready for this secrecy to end?
Locke:
Does it matter?
Eris:
It does when I’m telling you things I shouldn’t.
It matters because I want to know who to call when I want to talk to you.
The pauses between his responses stretch beyond my patience, but I think it’s the calculating behavior that makes him think through every word he types to me. He never gives me much to work with, not like the other two.
The fact that he watches me when he’s starving, though? Yeah, I bet he’s agood girlkind of guy, and while I won’t call him daddy, I do love to be praised for being so sweet.
Locke:
You’ve met me.
My stomach flips, pulling me from the beginning of my dirty thoughts.
Eris:
Last night?
Locke:
Maybe.
Maybe not…
That’s not a yes, but it’s not a no. It’s literally the only two options there are, except he’s also typed them in a way that allows me to feel him shrug as he answers noncommittally.
And it’s an obvious deflection that makes my heart rate kick up a notch.
Roo is still texting someone—probably her brother or last night’s victim—so I get a quiet second to breathe as I decide if I want an answer.
Until my phone buzzes again.
But it’s not HimLock. It’s a new message from another unknown number that my phone now recognizes as the jackass that won’t leave me alone.
Probably Daniel:
You looked pretty walking home this morning.
My jaw tightens as a picture appears in the chat.
It’s me. From behind. Crossing the street in last night’s dress, hair pulled in a sloppy bun atop my head as I press my phone to my ear.
