That’s the point. The thrill lies in the risk, in knowing you could be caught at any moment.
With a quiet sigh, I slip from the alley into the crush of the sidewalk, letting the city’s noise engulf me. I am just another moving shape, a face lost in the blur.
My fingers find the note in my pocket. I curl it tight in my palm, anchoring myself with its weight, its promise that he is real.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
He truly is mine.
Sure. He doesn’t actually know my identity, but that’s just a small obstacle in the larger game, really.
I’m still riding that thought when I smack into something solid, the impact jarring through my shoulder and down my spine.
“Ouch,” I mutter, irritated more than injured.
“Pay better attention next time,” a catty familiar voice snaps.
I glance up and let out a sigh. “Oh. It’s just you.”
Tomcat’s parade of hookups is so endless, I stopped bothering to remember their names long ago.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the little bestie,” she says, eyes darting around eagerly, searching.
“He’s not here,” I tell her, dry and bored.
She scoffs. “Surprising. Wherever Tomcat is, you’re like this little puppy following him everywhere.”
A slow smile creeps up my mouth. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
Her brows draw together. “What?”
“It bothers you.”
“What does?”
“That I get to be around him and you don’t.” I tilt my head, studying her like a curiosity. “That I could call him right now and he’d come running. But ifyoucalled? He’ll send you straight to voicemail.” I snap my fingers as if a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Oh, shoot. That’s right. You don’t have his phone number.”
Her lips thin. “I have his number.”
“Alright, here’s an idea.” I whip out my phone, grinning. “You call him first, then I’ll try. Let’s turn it into a game ofHe loves me, He loves me not.”
“I’ve fucked him,” she snaps.
A sharp, delighted laugh escapes me. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve joined the club with half the city.” I lean in, savoring her flinch. “That doesn’t make you special. Just another name on his discard pile.” My smile widens. “He’s Tomcat. The scent of heat, and he’s ready to pounce. To him, a vagina is a vagina. Do yourself a favor, babe. Stop chasing after a man who used you to empty his balls. You’re far too pretty to look this desperate.”
Then I boop her nose, gentle and patronizing.
“You’re crazy,” the woman says, rubbing the spot like it burned.
I laugh. “Ε, προφαν?ς.”
Uh, obviously.
She scoffs again. “Whatever. I’ll be the one laughing when you’re still friends with him years from now. What’s it been? Four years now?”
The air shifts, a chill like a blade tracing my spine.
Oh. That actually hurts in a way I didn’t expect.
