Page 16 of Look What You Made Me Do

Shaking my head, I move down the hallway, and up the main staircase, taking the treads two at a time. My bedroom door is ajar, and I pause at the threshold. I know I closed it, and the fact that someone is ballsy enough to enter without my permission grates on my nerves.

As I step into the room, I see a shock of blond hair fanned out on my white pillowcase, and a swath of creamy thigh peeking out from beneath the sheet. I know it’s impossible, but I imagine it’s Wyn lying in my bed, waiting for me to fuck her until her pussy is bruised and raw.

But as I approach, I notice the hair is a shade too dark and the flash of thigh isn’t quite thick enough. I pull the sheet back and see Ava lying naked and asleep.

“Fuck,” I whisper to myself.

I’ve really got to have a talk with this chick. She’s my consort, cool, but I told her from the start that I didn’t want anything serious. She’s been pushing to move in, and I’ve managed to stave off that conversation, but damn, a guy needs his space.

I consider waking her up and taking her home, but I know what that’s going to lead to. Tears, questions about what I’m fucking feeling, and I just can’t deal with that shit right now.

I grab a pillow and head downstairs to the study. The couch in the living room is more comfortable, but there are people in and out of that room constantly, so getting any sleep would be impossible. Not that I expect to sleep well tonight, anyway.

Once I’m in the study, I lock the door, strip down to my underwear, and then walk over to the desk where Christian keeps his stash of pot. I pull a blunt out of the drawer, and lightit up, then drop down onto the cold leather sofa. I extend my six-foot-four frame, and take a pull from the blunt, drawing the smoke into my lungs, and then letting it back out slowly.

My thoughts stray to Wyn. Of course, they do. She’s a fucking force of nature and filled with so much anger, it intrigues me. Maybe it speaks to my own anger, that dark specter that I hold tight to my chest. I don’t know.

All I know for sure isonething. If I’m not careful, my obsession with Wyn Barker will consume me…

Even more than it already has…

CHAPTER SIX

Wyn

I come awake slowly,blinking my eyes open, then I sit up and glance around. It’s morning and I’m in my apartment, alone. My laptop is on the bed next to me. My phone is on the nightstand.

Did I dream about the stranger breaking in? Was it all inside my head?

If I was really drugged, then I’d have a headache or something, right? I touch my temple, trying to assess how I’m feeling. But I feel fine, maybe even a littletoorested. Like I fell asleep early and slept too long.

I reach for the memories from last night, but they’re elusive. My mind is filled with vague, wispy images. There’s nothing solid or concrete. I can’t even remember if the stranger spoke to me.

It was just a dream.

As soon as the thought flits across my mind, disappointment washes over me. I pause. Am I seriously disappointed that a stranger didn’t break into my apartment and tongue-rape me?

Rubbing my eyes, I shake my head. “You’re an idiot, Wyn.”

Grabbing my phone, I scooch off the bed, and that’s when I realize I’m completely naked from the waist down. My shirt is oversized, and my comforter is tangled around my waist, so I didn’t realize it right away. But there’s no mistaking it. That shit with the stranger happened. He was here.

I fly to my front door and see that it’s locked. Then spinning around, I glance at my nightstand. The tea bottle is still there, so I unscrew the top and smell the contents. It smells like tea.

Frowning, I screw the top back on and toss it into a large plastic baggie. I’m giving it to the police. I don’t even bother taking a shower before throwing some clothes on and tossing my hair up into a messy bun. Then tossing my laptop and tea into my backpack, I head out.

I’m standing in the police station lobby at exactly eight in the morning. On the dot. The guy behind the reception desk barely even looks awake. Without waiting for him to ask, I tell him why I’m here, and with a yawn, he slides a form across the desk to me.

“Fill this out and someone will get back to you.”

I blink at him in disbelief. “And how long will that take?”

He shakes his head and hands me a pen. “Not sure. We’re understaffed, so it could take a few days.”

“A few days?”I repeat, incredulous. “Dude, I’ll be a Dateline episode by then.”

He glances up at me dispassionately, like he sees this kind of thing every other day. “Is there someone who can stay with you? Or can you get a hotel room for the night?”

Un-fucking-believable. Shaking my head, I hold up the baggie with the tea bottle. “What should I do with this?”

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