GRAYSON
I wasn’t supposed to feel this.
Not this fast. Not this deep. All I can think about is how much I want her trust. Not just to keep playing my game—but toownher.
I wait till nearly midnight to head over and pull my bike up down the street around the bend. The townhouses here are all back onto woodlands, making it easier to avoid prying eyes and get access to her rear yard. Not that wearing a mask around Salem during the month of Halloween is an odd thing to do. It's nearly the norm.
I’m nearing the back steps when movement inside catches my attention, stopping me. She’s awake. She stands at the kitchen window, lost in thought, sipping from a mug. This wasn’t part of my plan, but I’ll make this work.
I illuminate my phone and wave it at her from the yard. It takes her a minute or two before she notices, letting out a loud shriek. I can’t blame her. A tall stranger, hooded, wearing dark, nondescript clothes and a skull-detailed balaclava standing in her yard.
She bolts straight to her rear sliding door and locks it. Staring me down, she starts backtracking away from the door toward her phone.
I send her a text.
Me:
You need to see me.
You need to know I’m not him.
She looks up and gasps with a step back, realizing I’d decreased our distance. I send her another text.
Me:
What have you noticed so far?
I move closer. She doesn’t move away this time.
She swallows hard and clears her throat. “You’re ballsy! But… you seem a little less… murdery?”
I huff a chuckle.
Me:
And?
She reads and looks back at me. Her gaze drags over me, slow and assessing. She’s thinking. Calculating. Trying to piece together a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces.
I stay still. Let her study me.
Let her come to me.
I drink her in as she does this. A white V-neck T-shirt and navy-blue lace boy short panties. Hair in a messy bun. The perfect girl-next-door vibe.
Soft. Delicate. Fuckable.
She tilts her head to the side. “You’re taller. And bigger.”
Me:
Good girl. What else?
I inch a few steps closer to the door; she mimics my movement, stepping forward two steps.
“He wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing now. Why won’t you speak?”
I type out a text but hold it up to the door for her to read. She steps forward until the only thing separating us is the glass.
