Page 51 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
“Are you wearing a nightie?” he teases, still talking barely above a whisper.
I look down at myself, only just remembering what I’m wearing. A thin piece of satin covers my body. I notice my hard nipples are poking through the fabric.
Cole notices too, if the hunger in his eyes as he stares unashamedly at my breasts is any indication.
The hot tension in the air is palpable. Then slow, torturous steps bring him closer. The freshwater scent of his cologne is mixed with undercurrents of raw masculinity that make me feelcrazywith desire.
He engulfs me in an embrace that sends tantalizing tremors down my frame. A barely audible gasp leaves the confines of my parted lips as his fingers gingerly move upward, tracing white-hot paths of arousal down my back.
I lead him into my room, onto my bed, and in a moment he’s kissing me, everywhere. I begin to lose myself in it before suddenly I stiffen.
“Everly? Are you alright?”
“I-uh-yeah, could you actually just stay with me in here tonight?”
Cole shifts so that my head rests in his lap. He strokes my hair gently.
“I think I’d just like to be near you,” I squeak.
Without another word, Cole pulls us both under the covers, holding me tightly from behind. I lean and soften into his embrace. I fall asleep to Cole kissing my hair and whispering that everything is going to be alright. And for once, I believe it.
COLE
ONE WEEK LATER
Iwake early out of an ingrained habit, taking a moment to savor the tranquility of dawn's soft light filtering through flimsy curtains. Everly's even breathing fills the quiet bedroom as she continues sleeping.
Careful not to disturb her rest, I slip out from under the covers. Padding barefoot to the kitchen in athletic shorts, I assemble ingredients for her favorite vegan protein shake she'll need after our upcoming workout.
We've hidden away the past week — no new threats, just rediscovering rhythm together again through shared rituals of exercise, working side by side, and movies that make her snort when she laughs too hard. We've also been making love to each other a lot, likea lot.From the moment we wake up, we can't get enough of each other. I am addicted to her, and luckily she seems just as addicted to me.
Our universe has narrowed down to this healing haven where no ghosts can permeate. I nearly forgot the simple joy of having someone to care for without hiding. It's stirred long-dormant needs — to offer comfort when the stressors of her public existence overwhelms her and to receive comfort when my own shields splinter.
We've only been leaving the house to run every few days. Otherwise, we're both just enjoying living in our momentary bubble in the small space between the chaos we're facing.
Pouring the smoothie into her favorite mug, a notification flashing insistently from my secure work server grabs. With one final check up on Everly, still cocooned under quilted covers, I head back downstairs, and I click it open.
My heart plummets reading the brief message — encrypted security camera footage from Everly's violated home shows a clearer angle of the stalker. Four screenshots attached capture the intruder's form before they disabled the system permanently.
I'm examining the shots. You can’t see too much, since they’re wearing a mask, I pause on the nails.Is this guy wearing nail polish?Padded footsteps approach from behind. Everly's voice is still husky when she comments.
“Making your famous gross gorilla treen shakes, I see?”Still sassy even half asleep.
But noticing my taut expression, she shifts rapidly to concerned. “Cole? What's going on? What is it?”
Wordless, I turn the laptop screen toward her and watch her features blanch, lips parting soundlessly. One look at the figure in the lens triggers recognition flaring hot in her eyes. Her nails dig painfully into my shoulders as she sways on her feet.
“I know who that is,” she gasps.
EVERLY
Ismooth nonexistent wrinkles from my shirt. The wire taped securely beneath feels alien against my skin. It was Mr. Park who convinced us that we need to involve the authorities officially at this stage. Cole initially wanted to find and “handle” her himself, which I immediately shut down.
After speaking with some people he knew, Cole informed me that we still don’t have enough concrete evidence to do anything real against her without something more. Apparently, recognizing the cloud nail art on Kirra’s fingertips wasn’t evidence enough. But I knew it was her in my gut as soon as I saw that. He hesitantly explained that there was one other option, but he made it clear that he did not like it.
So I agreed to this covert sting operation set up with Detectives Cruz and Grant. Two of my new buddies. The plan is straightforward: lure Kirra here by asking for her help, then record her incriminating admission after I confront her about the whole thing. With our history, she’ll likely let her guard down once emotions heighten.
Cole prepares tactical backup points throughout the house, stone-faced and radiating displeasure at allowing close proximity. But neutralizing Kirra safely requires controlling the environment she enters. On my end, all I have to do is keep her engaged verbally no matter how much skin might crawl being near her knowing what she has been doing.
