Page 16 of Obsessive Cravings

I held the phone back as he screamed at me.

“Come home now.”

“I’m not coming home,” I answered, his anger shifting my mood. What had I thought? That he wouldn’t yell at me for hurting him? Because I knew that’s what I’d done. Hurt him because he’d hurt me.

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not coming home? I will find you and drag your ass back to Treemont.”

“No, you won’t, Mace. You’ll leave me be. I can’t live under your shadow anymore. What you did?—”

“What I did? What did I do, Riley? Tell me. Because all I’ve ever done is keep you safe. You were the one who snuck behind my back and who let that asshole in.”

“An asshole I would have known about if you’d ever bothered to tell me the truth!”

He was quiet. I couldn’t tell if he was seething or contemplating my words.

“Just come home, Ri. Please.” His voice was softer, and it squeezed at my heart.

I held the phone to my chest, trying not to cry. I wanted to run to him. To tell him what was happening and have him guide me. Bringing the phone back, I bit back my tears.

“No. I need to do this on my own, Mace. You need to let me go. I don’t belong in your world, and you don’t want me in it…or you would have let me in long ago.”

“Riley—”

I disconnected, powering the phone back down and sliding down the side of the car. The tears rushed out like a torrent. It hurt to hear his voice, hurt to bring him pain, and I wrestled with that. I wiped my eyes, pushing the tears away and rose, climbing into my car and making the journey back to Bridgeville. By the time I made it to my apartment, it was dark, and I was exhausted. I ordered delivery but didn’t bother eating it. Curling into bed, I finally drifted to sleep with the salt of my tears still dried on my cheeks.

There was no sign of my stranger that night, but when I woke, the smell of coffee invaded my senses. He’d brought me breakfast. A cup of my favorite coffee, exactly like I ordered it, and a bagel sat on my table, my scarves laid out next to them. I couldn’t help smiling. The act was sweet, even if it was creepy to know someone had been in my apartment again, watching me sleep. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he would have that first night.

I decided I’d continue the game with my stranger. He was giving me something to think about other than Greyson Tides, the pain of missing Mason, and the ever-looming threat of Clint Randall.

I spent Sunday alone, contemplating my dilemma, my rising obsession with Greyson Tides, and the growing curiosity with my stranger. The scarves I’d found over my eyes that night twisted in my hand as I absently held them. My eyes remained fixed on my bedframe with its slatted boards, perfectly distanced. The racing of my heart was a worrying reaction to the thought that he hadn’t haphazardly thrown the scarves over my eyes to give him time to leave. They’d been deliberate, a calculated move. One he’d considered yet turned from. He’d wanted to touch me, to do more than watch me, more than brush his fingers over my cheek.

The pounding in my chest was loud. He’d moved the scarves both mornings, an invitation to play, a seeking of permission to go further. My hands shook at the mere fact that I was thinking of playing his game. It had been a long time since anyone had touched me, aside from the brief temptation of Greyson in the elevator.

I rested my head in my palm, the soft material of the scarves pressing against my skin. My stomach flipped in excitement. I attracted bad boys, and they drew me in. This wasn’t the worst one I’d had, but this would be right up there under Clint. An invitation for the stranger who’d been stalking me the past few days, likely more, to take what he wanted.

“Shit, Riley, you’ve gone mad,” I scolded myself. But my insides twisted in anticipation.

I needed to get out, to take my mind off this, but I didn’t know where to go. Ava was working a double at the bar, so I couldn’t talk to her unless I left my apartment. And maybe that’s what I needed to do. Dropping the scarves, I changed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I ran my fingers through my hair and put a light layer of makeup on before heading out.

The bar was just down the street and as I walked, I wondered if my stranger was following me. The thought, although creepy, gave me some comfort. It was dark, and I didn’t like being out this late by myself. Clint was a shadow ever looming over me, one that was hard to escape, and I pulled my coat closer, hurrying my steps. I found Ava behind the bar, serving drinks. The place was bustling for a Sunday night.

“Riley!” she yelled, rushing over to where I’d squeezed in at the bar. Her hair was piled in two small, tight buns that gave her a girlish look. “What can I get you? And why are you out this late?”

“It’s not that late. It’s only eight o’clock!” I argued before ordering a beer.

She ran off to get me one, helping a few customers on the way back. A handsome man with a boyish grin shoved his way in next to me, but Ava plopped the beer in front of me and gave him a look. “Don’t even think about it, Paul. You’re not messing with this one.”

“Still sore you weren’t a keeper, Ava?” he asked, flashing an even bigger grin.

“Nah, just that you don’t know how to make a girl come, even with as much as you fuck.”

His grin faltered, and he huffed off.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“He pestered me until I gave in. He’s pretty to look at and that body is definitely worth the fuck, but he’s a prick, a player you want to avoid.” She hopped away to pour a few more drinks before she grabbed someone to cover for her and returned to me. “I can point out the good ones if you’re looking for someone to warm your bed, though.”

I thought about her offer. Was that what I wanted? Why I’d gone out in the first place? To have someone fuck the thoughts of my stranger from my mind, to make me come so hard Greyson Tides would disappear for at least a few hours? Two men who wouldn’t leave my mind, neither of whom I should have let in there in the first place.

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