Page 4 of They Are Mine

I have everything.

Everything except him.

Noah.

He finally steps outside, locking the door behind him. Then makes his way toward his car. Economy model. Practical. Safe.

I wait until he turns the corner.

Then I start my car. And follow.

Just until I know where he lives.

Just until I can figure out my next move.

Noah doesn’t know I’m behind him.

He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate at intersections, doesn’t even consider the idea that someone might be watching.

He’s so trusting. So unaware.

It’s adorable.

He drives exactly the speed limit the whole way home, another note for my journal, and pulls into a small apartment complex on the quieter side of town. Older buildings, but clean. A row of neatly trimmed bushes lines the sidewalk, and there’s a cluster of mailboxes near the entrance.

He parks.

I park.

From my spot across the street, I watch as he steps out of his car, stretching. He rubs his eyes, yawning, then lifts his arms in a stretch, fingers splayed wide, back arching just enough to make his sweater ride up.

Oh.

I go still, breath catching, the air in my lungs turning thick and warm.

The sliver of bare skin is nothing, just a flash of his lower stomach, the soft curve leading into the waistband of his jeans, but it sends a sharp, liquid heat curling through my limbs.

God, I want…

I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together, pulse thrumming beneath my skin.

Does he even know how beautiful he is?

He ruffles his hair lazily, shaking off the exhaustion of the day, and I imagine running my fingers through it instead, imagine gripping it, tugging, tilting his head back to expose more of that soft, perfect skin.

A deep exhale leaves my lips.

I need to be closer.

But not yet.

He moves toward the mailboxes, and I lower myself in my seat, watching through the slit between my dashboard and the steering wheel. He flips through his mail, bills, junk, something in a small package.

Nothing important.

Then, she appears.

I stiffen.

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