Ten out of ten don’t recommend driving while looking at video clips of your psychotic boyfriend leaving your apartment with a smug ass smirk on his face as he wiggles his fingers at the damn camera.
The tires squeal as I make the world's sharpest turn into my apartment’s parking lot, eyes scanning the array of vehicles for a white Rover. There’s no way he beat me out of here…
My head nearly hits the roof when the truck jerks to a halt in the closest parking spot. I cut the engine and immediately sprint for my building.
“Fucking menace… bane of my existence… demonic psycho,” I pant, my thighs burning as I take the stairs two at a time to the second floor—
No troublemaking boyfriend in sight.
I’m down the hall and jamming my key into the lock in half a second, exploding through the door to find my apartment exactly as I’d left it. Well, except for one thing in the middle of the kitchen counter. Beside my cat sits a slim dark brown box and cream envelope.
I march up to investigate—
“Chocolate?” I screech. “He broke in here to leave me gourmet fucking chocolate?”
Mitz blinks once.
I flip her off and rip the note out of the envelope. Even fuming, I can’t help the little skip in my heartbeat at the sight of his jagged print.
My Sunshine,
646 Ferris Lane at 7 p.m.
Use the key in the envelope to enter through the back door and… dress up for me? Please?
Oh, and before you murder me for breaking and entering, eat some chocolate.
xxx Your Starlight
Butterflies and pissed-off bees battle in my chest. Muttering curses to myself, I tear into the chocolate (I’m sure as shit not wasting it) and pop a truffle in my mouth.
Fuckthat’s good.
Sucking the sugar from my teeth, I side-eye Mitz. “He’s gonna be the death of me, you know.”
Her ears flatten.
“What? It’s true! He gives me heart attacks daily. I should give him one back and stay home.”
She swats the lid off the counter.
“Really?” Ideadpan.
Her tail twitches and I swear I can hear her threatening to murder me with her needle teeth. My eyes roll to the ceiling.
“Jesus fuck, calm down, I’m going, alright?”
I’m given another warning look that says,You will do exactly as Prince Winston says or you will meet a painful end, Cretin.She sniffs in my direction, then wrinkles her nose.And clean yourself, you reek.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I sigh, sneaking another chocolate from the box. She loafs with a content smirk on her face. Around a mouthful of truffle, I hiss, “He’smyboyfriend, bitch,” and stomp past to the bathroom.
But not without sending off a text.
I could strangle you.
I’ve barely started the shower and stepped out of my jeans when my phone rattles on the counter. Kicking my boxers aside, I swipe open the screen.
Like in a murdery way or a kinky way? Because I’m not the biggest fan of choking unless it’s on your cock.
