Page 46 of Twisted Shot
“Obviously what?” Mila says warily.
Naomi gives her a look. One that saysI’ve been waiting for you to catch up to your own feelings, dummy.
“I don’t chase anymore,” she says. “If Theo—or whoever it was—wants me, he can come find me.”
Naomi nods like that settles it. “Good. Let him earn it.”
It’s past midnight when Mila’s phone buzzes on her nightstand.
She’s in bed, wrapped in a worn sweatshirt, hair in a messy bun, bowl of her favorite guilty pleasure cereal balanced dangerously on her stomach. A true crime documentary is flickering on the TV, showing drone shots of cornfields with haunting piano music, but she hasn’t been paying attention for the last twenty minutes.
Because she’s thinking about him again.
Her man in black.
God, she really has to stop calling him that.
The buzz comes again—one sharp vibration, like a tap on her shoulder.
Mila frowns and picks it up, expecting some late-night agency email or another group text from Jesse with too many emojis. He’d been messaging her non-stop, asking if she’d heard about the pitch.
Unknown Number
I hear you’ve been asking about me, Daisy.
Her stomach flips.
She stares at the message like it might vanish. But it’s still there. Blunt. Teasing. It has to be him, right? Who else would call her Daisy?
She swallows and types back before she can overthink it.
Depends. Who’s asking?
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Someone who’s been haunted by you since Halloween.
Thinking about that black dress. And what it looked like sliding up your thighs.
She sits up, the spoon clanging into the cereal bowl as her heart takes off like a starter pistol just fired. The sweatshirt feels too hot. Her bare legs tangle in the sheets. She glances at the door, as if someone might be standing there, reading the texts over her shoulder.
This is insane.
And she wants more.
How do I know you aren’t a stalker?
I prefer the term devoted admirer.
But I’m willing to get on my knees and show you if that’s more your speed.
A scandalized little squeak escapes before she can choke it back, and she slaps a hand over her mouth like that’ll help.
Who is this guy?
Her fingers hover over the screen. This is equally thrilling and a terrible idea.
You have a name, or should I keep calling you “creepy but hot”?
