Page 42 of Jealous Stalker

The pinkie touchlingers like heat on my skin, even hours later.

I shouldn’t feel this dazed. Not from something so small.

But it wasn’t small.

It was everything.

A promise. A tether. A warning.

I’m pacing my room now, phone in hand, the message thread open—just staring at his last text.

That was the best day of my life.

I type something. Delete it. Type again.

Finally, I send:

Me: [4:22 p.m.]

You never told me if you read the chapter I left open for you.

The one with the hot book boyfriend.

Who doesn’t always ask before he touches.

But she never wants him to stop.

The moment I hit send, my skin prickles with nervous energy.

Maybe I’ve said too much.

Or maybe... it’s time I stopped pretending I don’t want more.

The reply takes exactly six minutes.

Him [4:28 p.m.]

I read it.

Twice.

I liked it.

That’s it. That’s all he says. But it hits like a drumbeat low in my stomach.

God. He read it. He liked it.

And suddenly, I want him to know Imeantit—that chapter wasn’t left open by accident. That I’ve been testing boundaries because I want them broken. That I’ve been wondering what it would feel like if he finally stopped holding back.

So I walk to my nightstand, pull open the drawer.

Take out the lipstick I never wear.

And start writing a new note.

But this time, I won’t leave it on my pillow.

I’ll leave it onhiscoffee cup.

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