Page 2 of My Deepest Desire

“Don’t call me that. You don’t know me,” I sneer. “Now get the fuck out.”

Her heavily made-up face twists into a scowl before she yanks her purse off the table and slides out of the booth.

Maggie stands frozen in place until the other girl leaves, then lifts her gaze to mine. I nod my head to the side and indicate for her to sit down. She hesitates for a moment but finally takes a seat at the edge of the booth, avoiding getting too close.

“You have my attention. Talk.”

An exaggerated sigh escapes her pretty mouth. She pivots her body toward mine. “I… I need…” Her shoulders slump as an exasperated expression spreads across her face. “I need your help.”

I’ve known this girl since kindergarten and she’s never come to me for anything. Not since the fifth grade. Not since we stopped being friends. Not since I became her tormentor when we were fifteen. If only she knew the truth, but that’d probably make her hate me more. Knowing I crave the feeling of warm, copper-scented blood on my hands would scare and disgust her. It would any normal person, but I’m far from that.

“I can’t help you.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Can’t orwon’t?” She shakes her head with disappointment. “I never should’ve come here. I don’t know what I ever did to you, Trey, but?—”

She’s trying to get away, but I stop her in her tracks with a heavy palm landing high on her thick thigh. My fingers wrap around the inside of her leg and if I flexed my index finger, I’mpositive I could brush it across her denim-covered pussy lips. My dick twitches and begins to lengthen inside my jeans.

“Get back here, Mouse.” I drag her supple body into my muscular side and wrap a protective arm around her, caressing her shoulder with my thumb.

I shouldn’t touch her like this, but it’s been more than a decade since I’ve been this close to her. Her familiar scent is intoxicating, warm and sweet and innocent like fresh-baked sugar cookies. She’s so fucking beautiful and she’s not even trying.

“Now, talk.”

Her gaze falls to the hand I still have on her—the same one I refuse to move until she makes me. “I… I think someone might be stalking me.” Her words penetrate my chest like a sharp knife.

“What the fuck do you mean, Maggie?”

She starts to explain, but doesn’t look at me. That won’t do, so I lift her chin with my free hand and force her eyes to meet mine.

“His name is Chris. Or at least that’s what his profile said.”

I’m struggling to listen while getting lost in the gold-flecked amber of her eyes. “What does that mean? His profile?”

“That’s the thing about small towns. Nobody will date me now, after you deemed me some kind of pariah back in high school. You bullied me constantly and acted like I had the plague. Everyone took your cue and it’s followed me around ever since.”

I wince. I was attractive, athletic, and popular. Guys wanted to be me and girls couldn’t stay off my dick. They hung on every word I said like it was law.

Fucking lemmings, the whole lot of them.

“Get to the point, Maggie.”

She rolls her eyes but continues. “I don’t have a lot of friends. And now that my parents have retired to Florida, I’ve… I’ve beenlonely,” she whispers, dropping her chin to her chest. “I thought I’d try one of those dating apps and see what was out there.”

I barely contain the growl threatening to escape my throat. “And what did you find, Mouse?” It’s a struggle to keep the anger out of my tone, but I manage. Those sites are filled with nutjobs and predators, and Maggie makes the perfect target—beautiful, sweet, and finds the good in everyone.

“He lives a few towns over. He seemed so nice and kind at the beginning, and we had lots in common. We both love indie films and amusement parks and books. He thought my job as a librarian was cool. Or so he said.”

I chuckle, and she nudges me in the ribs. I used to tease her for always carrying a book with her, and now she does it for a living.

The truth is I loved hearing about her books. I was never into them myself, but Maggie’d get so excited summarizing the stories to me and telling me about the fictional worlds and characters. She’d come alive when she talked about them, and I was mesmerized by her passion and animated expressions.

“We chatted for weeks and weeks, getting to know each other. We were planning to meet in person, but then he started to say things. Things that…” Her voice trails off and she knits her brow.

My fingertips graze the bare skin of her upper arm and goose bumps rise to the surface. I like seeing that I affect her because fuck knows she affects me. She always has.

“Things that what, Maggie?” I know I’m not gonna like whatever she says next.

“It all started so sweet. I swear. But then… then he told me what he wanted to do. He scared me.”

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