Page 12 of Sexted By a Stranger
"I remember you. That night, in the VIP room. The gentleman who didn't throw money at me. Right?"
"Yeah." I leaned slightly closer, closing the distance.
She turned to look out the window, pausing as if searching for the right words. When she looked back at me, her eyes were bright. "The others, they looked at me like I'm a toy on sale." Her voice was soft. "But when you looked at me, it was different."
Something soft in my chest took a hard hit. Without hesitation, I covered her folded hands with mine.
She trembled slightly but didn't pull away, just let me hold them.
"With me here, no one will ever look at you like that again." I was rarely this serious.
She tentatively squeezed my fingertips back. That slight touch was like a feather brushing my heart, bringing a pulse of intoxicating sensation.
The car fell silent again, but that timid response silently tested my self-control. I couldn't help gripping tighter.
The car finally stopped in front of a run-down apartment building.
Peeling walls, rusted fire escapes, air thick with the mixed smell of garbage and cheap food. For me, this was the entrance to another world.
"This is me. Thank you." Sheila finally found her escape from this thick, charged air. She snatched her hand back like touching a live wire. Her fingers skimmed my palm—I reached to catch nothing but emptiness.
She reached for the door handle.
"I'll walk you up."
Her movement paused slightly.
"The apartment is very basic, if you don't mind."
"It would be my honor."
Lennox opened the door. She practically fled from the car. I followed close behind, climbing the creaking wooden stairs with her. The hallway was cluttered with junk, the lighting dismally dim.
She pulled out her keys but fumbled several times before getting them in the lock. Finally, the door opened, releasing a wave of old furniture, cleaning products, and food smells.
This was her world.
I stood in the doorway, nearly filling the entire frame.
The furniture was worn but spotlessly clean. A family photo hung on the wall. In it, a kind-looking man had his arm around a woman. Young Sheila wore pigtails, smiling carefree. The woman held a swaddled infant—that must be Leon.
On the small desk by the window sat several neatly stacked books. The top one's cover showed something about jewelry design, corners worn from frequent handling. Beside them lay sheets covered in sketches, clearly the owner's treasured possessions.
I sat on the sofa, watching Sheila stand somewhat awkwardly in the kitchen with her back to me, busily pouring water. The kettle was old, and the cup's rim showed obvious chips.
"Sorry, this is all I have." She turned around, looking embarrassed, carefully holding out a mug decorated with cartoon characters.
I took the cup, glancing around before taking a light sip. My gaze returned to that desk. Those sketches were full of life.
"Why don't you relax a bit and take a seat? Those," I lifted my chin toward them, "did you draw 'em?"
She obediently sat at the other end of the sofa. Following my gaze, her body tensed almost imperceptibly, as if her hidden treasures had been discovered. "Just doodles." Her face reddened.
"Just doodles?" I set down the cup and walked over to the desk, picking up a sketch. It showed a finished ring design—flowing band, the center stone carefully rendered to capture starlight, with tiny notations for dimensions and materials.
"Starlight?" I murmured the word noted beside the sketch as inspiration, fingertips lightly tracing the somewhat amateur but spirited lines. Something tugged gently at my heart.
Sheila's head shot up, eyes full of surprise. "You know jewels?"
