I can't help it.Stalking them online—they have zero social accounts by the way—only gave me their pictures, how rich they are, and what they own.
It's unfair that they're that rich and that amazingly handsome at the same time.It's obscenely unfair.
But my gosh are they ridiculously good-looking.In fact, the word ‘good-looking’ doesn't even cover it.They're like gods sent from the Heaven of Beautiful People to grace earth with their staggering handsomeness, their perfect physiques, their dark and sensual auras.
Layton has these stunning gray eyes, like a forest in a snowstorm.He'll invite you in only to eat you alive in one go if you dare cross him.
Garrison's blue eyes are like the ocean, vast and depthless.He'll invite you in then drown you slowly if you cross him.
Jasper's hazel eyes, an amalgamation of mossy green, flecks of gold, and tinted grays, will draw you in to play, but if you cross him, he'll be the one playing with you.
Yes, I got all that from just hundreds and hundreds of hours of staring at them.So basically, each one of them can take the breath from your lungs if you cross them, and they're freakishly gorgeous as well.
I may have a problem.But it's an okay problem to have.A harmless one.I'm never going to, ever, in this lifetime and the next, meet them in person.They have no idea I exist, and I would like to keep it that way too.
As long as they have the pearls, and as long as I can satisfy my yearning just to hold them in my hand, I'll continue 'cleaning' their house and fantasize about them in private.
Not even Clover knows I do this.I don't want her to worry about me.I'm fine, obviously, but she might try to dig further into my psyche, and I'm not ready for that right now.But I'm fine.Totally fine.
Okay, I need to get off this maudlin train of thought and back into my sumptuous bubble bath.I don't even have a tub in my apartment, so I should be taking full advantage of my accidental slip into theirs due to a series of prior events.
I'm truly mellowed out by the time I wrap my body in a gigantic bath towel—my gosh, even I've never felt anything as soft before.
I still have twenty minutes before my clothes dry—it’s one of those washer and tumble dryer combos so everything happens automatically.And the bed looks so appetizing for a nap and suddenly I’m sleepy.
Who's going to know?
Given the number of times they've crept into my bed through my dreams about them, I think they deserve a little payback.
I pick up the pearls I’d set on the side table in the room then pull back the Egyptian cotton sheets and covers, with a thread count for days, and slip inside.
Immediately I'm elevated onto cloud nine, and I close my eyes and sink into a blissful sleep, the pearls in the palm of my hand.
Twenty minutes is all I need.
Chapter Three
