Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“What if we’re bad at it?” she says suddenly.
“At sex?”
She nods.
“Do I look like a person that is bad at anything?”
“No.”
“It’ll be good. You and I were meant for each other.” I hold her close and get to my feet. “Time for some fuel. Then we’ll stop over at your place and get your belongings and move you in.”
“What about your sister?”
“What about her?” I deposit Bell onto a bar stool in front of a marble countertop and then go and retrieve a blanket for her. Once she’s covered so that I don’t go crazy looking at her bare skin, I pull out some egg noodles, a few vegetables, and two chicken breasts.
“I’ll miss her chickens. I never thought about raising my own, and now that I’ve done some research on it, I think I could do it.”
“We can raise chickens here.” I chop the carrots, celery, and onion and dump them into a pot with a box of bone broth and seasonings.
“This place doesn’t look very chicken coop friendly.”
We both look around the white marble kitchen with the stainless steel appliances and the black leather stools and chairs. The place is modern, I’ll give her that. It’s sleek lines, concrete, and glass. I bought it because the clean lines called to the orderly habits I’d developed in the military, but it’s not what you’d say is particularly warm.
“We can find something you like.” I place the well-salted chicken on the frying pan and let the breasts cook up while I make biscuits.
“A new home?” She sounds panicked.
I put the biscuits in the oven and then slice the bread for the sandwiches. “Let’s just move you here temporarily and see how you like it. This place has four bedrooms, and two are practically empty. The other one I use as a study. You can pick one of those and use it as a studio. There’s one with great sunlight that has a small terrace attached to it. It’ll be perfect for you. Here, have some bread. You look hungry.” I butter her a piece of the crunchy French loaf I bought earlier and push it in front of her. “Why don’t we table the house discussion and talk about the stalker? Have you contacted the police? FBI?”
“No. I told Nina, she’s my rep. She owns a gallery in NY.”
I keep my eyes on the sandwiches I’m making so she doesn’t see my frown. What’s an art gallery owner doing making decisions about Bell’s safety? “She got a family member in the force?”
“I don’t think so? I guess I’ve never asked.” Bell chews on her bread. “Wow. Now that I think about it, I’ve been pretty self-absorbed. How do I not know what Nina’s family does?”
“So a guy broke into your apartment, rifled through your drawers, and left. He also sent threatening letters to you and Nina?”
She nods. Nina’s involvement here feels off, but what would her motive be to scare the shit out of her best artist? That part doesn’t make sense.
“Where do you think you ran into this guy? Where’d his obsession start?”
“I’m not sure. I usually don’t go to many parties or anything. I bring my works to Nina’s galleries, I buy groceries. Sometimes I go to the movies or out to eat by myself. I guess I could’ve met him anywhere because obsessions are rational, right?”
This time I do look up to stare her straight in the eye. “Damn straight. That’s all on him and nothing to do with you.” It’s fucked up that victims think that they’ve done something to bring trauma upon themselves. Amidst her fear and anxiety, Bell doesn’t need to deal with guilt, too.
She sighs in relief and in sorrow. “I don’t know who it is. That’s part of my anxiety. It could be anyone. I never really liked going out much anyway but now I’m looking at every strange face in every store, restaurant, and gas station wondering if that’s the person who is stalking me. It’s hard to sleep and sometimes even to breathe.” She presses her hand against her stomach. “Even talking about it makes me upset.”
I take the chicken off the pan and shred it into the soup mix. Silently, I ladle up a bowl for her and sprinkle some cilantro on top. “Eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
As she digs into the soup, I chow down on my sandwich. The only thing that is going to make her feel better, besides my cock, is getting rid of the stalker. She said that me being with her means I’ll become bait. That’s actually perfect. Like I said, I want to be the bait. We need to be out there, as open and obvious as possible so the asshole comes after me.
“We’ll stay at your place,” I tell her. “But we need a new bed. Let’s go shopping.”