Page 50 of Shadowed Obsession

Scar

Keep telling yourself that, mi beba.

I set my phone on the nightstand to charge, draping the blankets over myself when it hits me that I do sleep better when he tells me goodnight.

I’d rather not read too much into that, but if the circumstances were different, maybe we could’ve had a shot.If only.

19/

sisqo & sancocho

César

6:41 p.m. | 3 days after ‘the third incident’

It’s been a few days since the gun range incident, and while stalking is my job, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing when it comes to this woman.

The other night at the shooting range was unplanned, but I impulsively approached her—while she was wielding a weapon. Practicing her aim for next time, I’d assume. And here I thought we were starting to hit it off.

First she shoots me, then comes with the name Scar on her lips, though I wish itwas mine, but I’m the bad guy once again. I accept that I probably took it too far with those texts and the selfie. Reasonably, I’ve taken the hint and stayed away for the past few days.

I’ve been surveilling from my car and phone, at semi respectful distances, and may have changed my mind about hacking into her webcam at work.

Sometimes, I still find myself waiting outside her window. I’m playing with fire, but I’ve never encountered a flame more tempting than this.

I’ve been spending time at my parents’ today and have made good on my “no work on the weekends” rule, untilmi abuelakicks me out of the kitchen and boredom strikes. Curiosity floods my mind, and I tell myself a quick glance at her feed won’t hurt.

I pull up the app and zero in on the movement in her kitchen. She appears to be having a normal day, wiping down her countertops and gathering cutting boards. Deirdre squints at her iPad, scrolling with her knuckles as she follows a recipe online forsancocho.

Sancocho? Is she trying to seduce or poison me? Maybe both.

Her hips sway as she gathers all her ingredients on her spacious kitchen island. Curious about what she’s listening to, I fumble through my pockets for my AirPods, and to my surprise she’s listening to “Thong Song” by Sisqo.

Haven’t heard this one in a while.

It quickly reminds me of the very thong in my nightstand that I used to taunt her the other night.

Plantains, yuca, potatoes, corn, squash, and seasonings crowd around her as she moves to the sink to wash and chop her vegetables. Afterward she focuses on the stew meat and chicken thighs, cleaning and patting them dry before dicing into small cubes. She scrapes them off the cutting boards to brown in the stock pot on the stove.

She seasons it correctly, pausing to retrieve thesofritoI left her in the fridge, and I smile to myself as she adds it in per my instructions.

Good girl.

My breath catches when she disappears off camera, returning with thepilónI gifted her. I study her as she uses it to mash the potatoes and yuca to thicken the base. My brow lifts in suspicion, because that tip is not in the recipe she’s using.

Let me find out she knows some other Puerto Ricans.

I’m mesmerized as she dances around the kitchen cooking, and intrigued that she is learning to make it after I mentioned it, and using my gift.

Deirdre is seemingly unaware that I can see everything in her search history, but she isn’t naive and certainly has put two and two together.

And judging by the gun tucked into her waistband, she’s awaiting my return. Possibly even baiting me with this little cooking show,ifshe suspects I’m watching.

She thinks I’m stupid enough to come running because she makes some Puerto Rican food? Maybe she’s right, but it’s more fun to prove her wrong. Especially after her little stunt with the video.

She said it herself,“lions like the chase.”I’ve never been one to entertain a game, but this one keeps me on my toes. Maybe that’s her game. Being prey is a farce, only to reel you in for the kill.

Is it so bad that the thought entices me? There’s pleasure in chasing her, but what if she succeeds in catching me first?

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