Page 25 of Untamed

I whisper a quiet plea to the universe:Don’t let him drag me back there.

I can’t.

Before I can help myself, I check my messages. My heart thumps.

He tagged me in another video.

I scrutinize every detail. I can’t help it. I’m looking for a clue, something,…but there’s nothing.

Again, I don’t comment and hours later,my phone’s on silent.

I’m being good. Sensible. Diligent.

I’m tucked under a blanket, the heft of a new book in the palm of my hand. My huge mug of hot cocoa sits beside me, the fragrance lifting heavenward and warming the interior of my teeny, tiny, cramped apartment.

I left twinkling white fairy lights around the window after Christmas because I liked how they looked. I’ve spent every last penny building this book sanctuary in my shitty little apartment, and now it’s time to do what I love best—escape into my fantasy world.

Three chapters in, I’m drumming my fingers on the back of the book, waiting for things to pick up. I’m an impatient reader. I don’t like slow-moving plots or info dumping. I want action, and I want it now. Yes, I get that she’s a school teacher with dumb luck and a shitty past. Yes, I get that he’s a single dad in need of a nanny. They should be kissing by now.

Frowning, I put my book in my lap and wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I haven’t been able to get into a good book in weeks, and Ineedto. I have videos to post, goddammit.

I sip the tepid dregs of my cocoa and heave a sigh when I glance at my phone. My skin prickles the same way it did when Mr. Hottie ogled my ass at the gym.

I know what my real problem is though. I want another look at hot Mr. Fake Mafia, the one who’s been posting thirst traps and tagging me mercilessly. I have to stay focused though; I want to escape in my fantasy world—but wait.

Isn’t my online presence my fantasy world? There, where I have friends who share the same passion for romance and happily ever after, and where we can collectively drool over the mafia bad boys and tattooed heartthrobs, like modern-day heroines of Regency novels and their dashing scoundrels.

I’ll take one little break. Just a quickie.

I open the app on my phone and stare at the unending list of notifications. I’ve starred one, though, and his are at the top of the list. The little triangle on the top of the notifications that indicates my private messages.

I haven’t responded to his videos since yesterday.

Bratvabloodline

You ghosting me, kitten?

I roll my eyes even as heat rises in my chest I try to ignore.

I can’t help myself and post a comment.

Ghosting you? That would require a relationship, methinks.

Bratvabloodline

Touché. It’s been twenty-four hours since you responded to me and your last message said BRB

I was unaware you were counting. I have a day job, you know. Sadly, as fun as reading romance books and posting videos is, it’s not the most reliable source of income.

Bratvabloodline

Of course. Understood. But the next time you say, ‘be right back,’ I expect you to be right back

Ohdoeshe?

My pulse spikes. I can imagine those words in his dark voice, touched with that accent… masked up and tatted, those muscles flexing while he grabs my chin and makes me look him in the eyes.

My hands shake when I reply.

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