Page 104 of Ruin Me Gently

For some unfathomable, completely insane reason, I didn’t even have the urge to call him Mr. Stalker.

Whiplash. That’s what this was—emotional, physical, mental whiplash—fear to fascination, resistance to something far more dangerous.

And I wanted it. Bad.

“Goodnight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Nothing says ‘definitely didn’tget finger-fucked by a masked man with really big hands’ like waking up in a disgustingly good mood for no reason at all.

Seriously. Disgusting.

I was practically skipping through my shift, humming like I was the embodiment of inner peace. The sun was out, the bookstore smelled like my fresh coffee and old paper, and the closest thing to stress I’d encountered all morning was debating whether to rearrange the romance section by trope instead of title.

Which meant something was deeply, deeply wrong.

And judging by the way Molly was eyeing me like I’d been replaced by an alien in a Lilith-suit, she agreed.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, squinting. “You’re in a good mood. What’s wrong?”

I scoffed, scanning another book. “Nothing’s wrong.”

She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. What was it with people freezing in my presence?

“Oh my God,” she grinned. “It’s Mr. Stalker, isn’t it?”

I kept my face neutral but raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m not saying you’re dick-drunk or anything but this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. And considering you’re usually about three minor inconveniences away from arson, I feel like I should be concerned.”

I scanned three more books.

“Okay. We’re doing the thing. The thing where you pretend like I can’t drag stuff out of you in five minutes flat.”

My mouth stayed shut.

She huffed. “Fine, whatever. I like him, anyway.”

I looked up at her,brow lifting again.

She shrugged. “What? He feeds me. I’m getting free lunch out of this. And my best friend is weirdly happy. Kind of living for it.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Wow. Glad this is all working out for you.”

She hopped up on the counter, swinging her legs. “I mean, yeah. It’s kind of nice. You don’t look haunted for once.”

She wasn’t wrong. Amazing what a good orgasm and a series of forbidden, questionable encounters could do for a person.

Even if I’d woken up desperate for another one, only to find an empty pillow and an annoyingly vague text on my phone telling me had to leave. But at least he’d left me a whole tied box of pastries in my fridge like some kind of silent apology. Which definitely added to the‘less haunted’look.

A voice cut through the store. “Delivery for Lilith Whitlock?”

Molly snorted. “Aren’t you sick of that part yet?”

I groaned. Audibly. “I’m starting to hate my own name.”

Except for when it comes out of his mouth…

---