But the strange interaction with Officer No Name leaves me with a foreboding feeling, one that feels familiar to the one I’ve had too many times lately. It can’t be a coincidence that I keep running into him everywhere I go, right?
The feeling of being watched hasn’t really left me since the day when I walked into the pizza shop of doom.
Which is foolish because I know full well I’m all alone in the tiny apartment bathroom with no windows.
As I’m undressing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, noticing I have dark circles under my eyes like Casey from lack of sleep.
Maybe I can sleep in tomorrow morning and catch up on a few hours. I glance down at my birthmark on my chest, the one that looks like a flower, and a new shiver that has nothing to do with being cold runs down my spine, trailing a path that is not entirely unpleasant.
The way the pizza guy called me Daisy rolls around in my mind, and despite the fact he attacked Casey, I can’t bring myself to think of him as the bad guy. He protected me last night. When those other guys… whatever they were, tried to get to me, he stepped in.
I sigh, feeling ridiculous for thinking of the dangerous man who attacked my roommate as anything other than the villain after everything that happened.
Get a grip, Kal.
I’m about to step into the shower when something in the mirror catches my eye. More specifically, something on my body that should not be there.
What the hell?
On my right thigh, there’s a mark that was most definitely not there yesterday.
It looks like… a tattoo?
But it’s not raised like ink would be, more like it’s always been there, sort of like my birthmark.
Except, it can’t be a birthmark. Not only was it not there before but it’s like handwriting, like it was carved into my skin, purposely.
It’s oddly familiar, but I can’t read it… and it’s freaking me out.
My heart starts racing, and I run a hand over it, tracing the design with my fingers and it shimmers purple.
Fuckity fuck.
What have you gotten yourself into, Kal?
Chapter Fourteen
DOES HE KNOW HOW TO STUFF MY CRUST?
Normally a hot shower would do the trick in making me feel calmer, like hitting the reset button. But today it’s not enough.
Not after questioning my sanity, and definitely not when my body hums for every ridiculously handsome stranger I meet.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I decide to do more with my fingers than just soap myself up.
It started as a way to shut my brain off, to be in the moment, feeling the sensations my fingers know how to pull from my sensitive spots—my perpetual celibacy a curse at this point.
I’ve circled my clit, curled my fingers to hit my G-spot, even pictured the pizza man and Officer Stud Muffin taking turns finger fucking me, and my imagination runs wild, going as far as making me moan at imaginary growls. But it doesn’t matter the pace, the angle, the filthy scenarios I cook up—my body just won’t follow through, everything wound tight and humming but refusing to tip over into anything.
And now it’s my turn to growl in frustration, feeling even more frazzled when the shower should have done the opposite.
“Fuck!” I yell into the hot spray of water, and lean against the wall, burying my face into my hands.
I can’t even give myself a decent orgasm for fuck’s sake.
“Kallie?” Casey’s voice comes from the other side of the bathroom, the question making him sound worried.
Shit.
