Page 22 of Meet Cute the Virgin

He’s obsessed with my mother. He would do anything for her, which is why I’m here to begin with. Am I my father? Why is that parallel only hitting me now?

I believed my theory until I understood what madness truly is.

Madness isn’t screaming in the streets or talking to people who aren’t there. Madness is quiet. Patient. It’s taking extreme actions, like building a fortress in the woods across from the woman you can’t let go of. Then filling it with screens, sensors, and the technology to watch her breathe while she sleeps. Madness is creating an entire dating app, coding every line yourself, just to have a conversation she doesn’t know is with you.

Madness is this room. Glowing in the dark like a terrible episode ofCSI. The thermal imaging from the drones was easy, but it was the audio that was harder. Until I noticed how many packages were going through the gates of Teddy’s estate each day. I intercepted them to plant my devices. Then hacked the security cameras. That wasn’t enough, though. It didn’t calm the beast inside of me. So I began tracking her on her phone, her laptop, and the car Killian arranged for her.

It started as me saying I was going to do one small thing, then it escalated quickly, which most things do for me when it comes to Lily. Everything from my actions to my emotions become uncontrollable when she’s involved.

She’s in her bedroom now. Screen three shows her sitting on the edge of her bed, phone in her hands, staring at the message I sent through the made-up dating app two hours ago.

Me:Hey. I like the bio. Especially the bangs.

She hasn’t answered. I watch her pick up the phone, set it down, and pick it up again. The audio feed catches her sigh, the rustle of her moving on the mattress, the silence of indecision.

I got this patch of land a few days after they left. Forty acres of forest across from Teddy’s eastern side. I was close enough for line-of-sight surveillance and far enough to stay invisible to everyone else.

I purchased the land in a hurry, not thinking about the fact that there was nowhere to live on it. Then I remembered a start-up, DropHouses: modular luxury housing for the ultra-private. I was an early investor, back when I still made decisions for profit rather than obsession. A few calls to the founder, an explanation that required no explanation, and the structure was delivered within the week.

My phone buzzes with a call. I ignore it. On screen three, Lily finally types something, then deletes it. Types again. Deletes again.

Take your time, I think.I have all of it now.

So I wait, simply watching her. Fuck, I’ve missed her. She’d become so essential to my everyday life. I messed this all up, and I don’t know how to fix it or where to begin.

I want her. I know that. Part of me believed that one day, we’d be more. Each time I’d have that thought, I’d beat myself up about it. Victor left her in my care, and I can’t stop thinking about what she tastes like and the sounds she’ll make when I bury my face between her thighs.

I see now that the outcome was inevitable for me. Lily is like water, soft and flexible, yet nothing can resist it or survive without it. She is a force of nature that cannot be stopped or changed. She flows all around you. You learn to swim or you drown.

She bites her lip, types, hesitates, then finally hits send. My phone lights up.

Lily:Thanks. Yours is... mysterious.

I stare at the words. I should be pleased. This is working exactly as I designed it to.

Instead, I want to throw the phone through the wall. Then march next door and spank her little ass. Doesn’t she know what psychos are out there? She watches all those creepy as fuck crime shows. At least my level of psychosis wants to keep her safe.

Two months and she’s already on a dating app. I run my hand down my face. We weren’t dating. I keep reminding myself of that little piece of information. Still, she thinks she’s talking to a stranger. Some other man who might make her laugh or smile. One she won’t want to run from.

My hands tighten on the armrests. The leather creaks.

I pull up the analytics to make sure the bots are working. All the profiles are fake. I made sure to put things in each I know she dislikes so she’ll scroll right past them.

But she’s still scrolling. Still looking.

I watch her thumb hover over my message. She opens my profile again and zooms in on the photo.

I type my response, delete it, and type again. I don’t have a clue about what I’m doing here. I’ve never flirted before.

Me:Mystery keeps you guessing. What are you doing Friday?

Too fast. Too eager. I delete it. I can’t really meet up with her, not yet.

Lily:Tell me something real.

I groan. Why is this so hard? I was never taught any of these skills at MIT.

I go back to watching the camera feed. She’s now sitting cross-legged on her bed, hair falling over one shoulder, smiling at something.