Page 9 of Gluttony

MyHeartisRed: You okay, baby? You haven’t answered my last two texts. Are you sick?

Another two hours later.

MyHeartisRed: Seriously, Val. I’m worried.

MyHeartisRed: I know you’re probably headfirst into that assignment, but don’t forget to stop and eat.

MyHeartisRed: You okay? Have you eaten?

MyHeartisRed: Val, baby, you need to call or text or something.

Three hours after that one, the most recent and final one came through.

MyHeartisRed: This is bullshit, Val! Where the fuck are you?

She knew he cared about her, even just a little bit, and those texts were proof that he thought about her.

Does he think about me when he’s banging all those women?

God! She just needed to talk to him, get it all out, and…well…she had no freaking idea what she would do then.

She loved him, from the depths of her goddamn soul, so it killed her to the depths of her that he didn’t love her back. That he’d lied to her.

Sighing, she looked down at herself, taking in her braless breasts, her loose black tank, her black pajama shorts, and her fuzzy gray and black socks. When she dove into work, she liked being comfortable, and why the hell should she strangle her tits in a bra when she had no desire to see anyone in the outside world for a good, long while. At least she’d showered that morning, that was something.

Readjusting herself in her ergonomic desk chair, she held her cell in her shaking hand and texted.

Val: Can you get on?

She knew that he knew she meant to get online and log in to their shared chat room, one she’d named: Redrum, a play on his name and her favorite fun time beverage.

Seconds later, her answer pinged on the computer screen, making her heart race.

Fuck. This is it. But I need to know for sure….

Damn, how naïve could one woman be?

No, not naïve, hopeful. She was too damn hopeful.

Swallowing, she clicked on the icon to enter the chat room.

As always, the camera was turned off on her side, but on his side, she could see everything.

His camera came on, and there he was in all his beautiful, sex god glory, sitting at his desk, bare-chested, colorful tattoos gleaming in the shallow light from his desk lamp. His dark hair was damp, and there were droplets of water collecting on his shoulders. He’d just taken a shower.

Did he take it alone?

Dammit!

“Val, what the fuck?” he began, his velvet voice sharp with what she wanted to believe was concern.

She shrugged, even knowing he couldn’t see her.

He must have sensed her reaction before his brows furrowed. God, she loved his face, and she more than loved that she—out of all the women who stalked him online—knew what he looked like behind the red devil mask and occasional balaclava.

Yeah, but the women he’s fucked have seen way more than just his face.

Stung by her own inner voice, she bit her bottom lip to hold back a whimper.

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