“She’s the person I didn’t realize I was waiting for.”
Instead of responding, he cracks another grin and taps the door frame a few times, nodding his head. The sound of him whistling something happy and tuneless lingers in the hall as he heads in the direction of the woman who made him feel the same way.
I open up my email, scroll through until I find the last one from the General, and reply with a bid for the hit on Madison.
Then, unable to stand it a second longer, I log into the camera feeds on my phone and drink in the sight of her on the couch. She shifted positions—the blanket has slipped and her top is even more askew, revealing more lovely, tempting caramel skin. What I wouldn’t give to be back in there with her… I’m aching with the need.
Is this what Mac felt like, watching Eleanor? I remember thinking he was daft—that no woman could so instantly and completely demand his attention or inspire his obsession.
Hand me a stone and chuck me in a glass house, because I get it.
Well, sort of. My attraction to Madison was instantaneous, but my connection with her online persona has been two years in the making—an excruciatingly slow burn. Now that the fire has taken, it’s spreading fast. Too fast. I’ll never be able to put it out… and I don’t want to. I want to make it burn higher and hotter until it consumes us both.
I still feel half-insane with all these emotions swirling around, but amid all the totally justified anger and upset, there is a curious relief.
Because I found her. Because the woman I felt so drawn to is the same woman I’ve been falling for all this time. Because now that I know who and where she is, I can finally be more than SpyderMan to her.
I suppose there’s an upside to finding out your best friend and possibly soul mate is on the hit list of a secretive megalomaniac—it brought us together. And frankly, I can’t believe my brilliant luck. She’s more beautiful than I dared imagine, and based on that date and that kiss, our chemistry is going to be explosive. I can’t wait to have her under me.
All that remains now is to tell her the truth. Not my strongest suit.
I need to be careful with not justhowI proceed, but also with what I reveal. She’s careful and smart, and she knows her work is dangerous. I’m concerned that if I reveal the full extent of the truth—that she’s become a target, that I’ve been sent to kill her—she’ll simply disappear. She has the skills to go off grid.
I can’t lose her; not when I’ve just found her.
12
Madison
I’m a bit impulsive when I’m mad.
“No, that’s the wrong color,m’hijita. It doesn’t fit, see?” Abuela says sharply, taking the puzzle piece from me with a chiding cluck of her tongue. “Where is your head today?”
In a Mexican restaurant. Well, more specifically, on the sidewalk just in front of a Mexican restaurant—replaying that moment and wishing it had ended differently.
“Lo siento, Abuela,” I reply dutifully, refocusing on the color sorting task she parsed out.
Compulsively, I check my texts for the thousandth time to see if Peter has sent me anything. He hasn’t. I deflate back into my chair. Is this normal? I suppose it’s been less than 48 hours since we talked, but all I want to do is talk to him again. If I had girlfriends, I would go to them to ask how long you’re supposed to wait after a date to text someone.
AmI supposed to text him, or am I supposed to wait for him to text me?
Ugh this is why I hate dating. I’m not used to self-doubt, and I hate it. The what if’s are exhausting.
What if he didn’t like me that much? What if I offended him and he was too polite to tell me? I do that sometimes. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.
Or… What if he got hit by a bus?
Logically, I know the most likely scenario is that he’s just waiting to reach out to me, as per the normal, regular, socially acceptable customs.
I hate the socially acceptable customs. I just want to know if he likes me as much as I like him.
I want to skip right to the sex so I can find out firsthand if his wiener is boyfriend material, but I also want to explore this connection with him before we do that. When you’re a depression/anxiety girlie and it’s hard to cross the finish line, it turns something that should be fun into a bit of an ego minefield.
Or do I rip the Band-Aid off? Get the first time over with so I can write him off if he’s selfish, or he’s got a tiny pecker?
Yeah… I could feel it against my stomach, poking me when I pressed into him. And it was…sizeable. Definitely not tiny.
Aaaand now I’m right back to overeager, wanting to text him real bad. But I don’t have friends to ask this shit. I’ve only got Abuela. I glance up, finding her muttering to herself in Spanish, cursing how many shades of green there are.
