Page 61 of Ruin Me Gently

Technically, I wasn’t getting closer. Technically, I was still keeping my distance.

Technically.

Except none of it felt like distance when she kept throwing glances at me, scowling like she was two seconds from whipping a rock at my head.

She stopped at her front door, keys dangling from her fingers, turning back to face me with an exasperated sigh. “You coming in to murder me, or what?”

My lips twitched under my scarf, but I didn’t answer. Just shook my head.

If eye rolling was an Olympic sport, she’d be taking home the gold. Hell, if she went any harder, she’d be the first in line at the ER with a critical case ofExorcist Syndrome.

She turned, shoved the door open, then slammed it behind her.

I stood there for a second, listening to the deadbolt slide into place, then exhaled slowly and turned on my heel, heading back into the city.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mr Stalker

Have you eaten?

Ihad not. ButI wished I was eating something. Somethinghot. Something filthy. Something I could sink my teeth into.

“Goddamn it,” I muttered out loud, slamming my phone face down on the pillow.

If I kept this up, I was going to end up chewing on the damn bed sheets.

This was unhinged. Like, truly, beyond all rational thought.

I should not have been having these kinds of thoughts about a stalker—a man who had, by all accounts, lurked in the shadows, made my life significantly weirder, and somehow gotten into my head like some kind of obsessive earworm.

I cracked one eye open, begrudgingly picking the phone back up.

It was a normal text. A simple, harmless question.

He hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve these thoughts. All he’d wanted to do for the last week was buy my lunch and make sure I didn’t get mugged on the way home.

But me?

I was ovulating. Hard.

Like, cartoon wolf banging on the table, howling at the moon hard. My hormones had clearly gone feral, hijacking my brain like a pack of horny pirates. And instead of being a rational adult about it, I was over here mentally objectifying a man I didn’t even know.

I’d let him become something else in my head, a mystery I could unravel thread by thread, and now, I wasn’t thinking about his motives. I wasn’t wondering who he was or why he’d chosen me.

Now I was thinking about his hands. About how he moved. About what his voice might sound likein my ear.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because the more I thought about it, the more those thoughts twisted and coiled, blurring the reality of what this was.

Would seeing him snap me out of it? Would putting a face to the fantasy bring me back to reality—remind me that this wasn’t normal? That I should be running fast and far in the opposite direction?

I groaned, tipping my head back against the pillow. This was so stupid. I needed to stop. To shove these thoughts into a box, tape it shut, and launch it right into the sun.

Except no…

No. Screw that.

If I saw him, itwouldbreak the illusion. I’d take one look, realise how ridiculous this whole thing was, and that would be it. Done. Over. I just had to know. Had to prove to myself that this was one hundred percent down to ovulation, and a temporary fixation. Just a stupid little game.

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