Chapter 3

Iwalk into the café and find our favourite booth empty. Sitting with my back to the wall, my gaze facing the door, I get comfortable as I wait for Eloise. We were both free for lunch, which doesn't happen often, so we jumped at the chance to meet up.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Eloise says, plonking herself down in the seat opposite me.

"Five minutes doesn't really count as being late." I smile at my always punctual friend. One minute also means late in her book.

"To me, it does. You know how much I hate being late to anything." She sighs.

"I do."

"Have you ordered already?" Eloise asks.

"No, I was waiting for you."

"Okay, I'm starving." Eloise picks up the menu from the table and scans the contents.

"Sooo… is it just work that's been keeping you occupied, or is it something or someone far more interesting than prancing around rich people's houses that's been taking up all your free time?" I ask her with the makings of a grin on my face.

"It's work, and I've been spending more time with Jenni since her surgery."

Eloise's little sister was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis not all that long ago, and the fact that the guy Jenni is dating never called or showed to check up on her doesn't sit right with me. So I decide to broach the topic.

"Oh, have you met that boyfriend of hers yet?"

"No, which is odd, right? I should make that happen." Eloise sighs again. Something is definitely going on with her. I don't push her for answers though. I know she'll tell me when she's ready.

"Yeah, we don't want little Jenni dating a Ted Bundy or something." I laugh.

Eloise's right shoulder lifts up and down in a half shrug. "Ted Bundy was hot. I would have gotten in his car." She smirks.

"Please do me a favour and do not get into random hot guys' cars," I plead with her.

"I'll try my best. But you know how partial I am to hot guys… and their cars."

"Well, don't look now, but you have one fine-as-hell man staring at you as we speak." I peer over her head at the handsome stranger standing a bit behind her. And a sense of déjà vu hits me.

Once again, I feel like I know this guy, but can't for the life of me picture where I know him from. Eloise turns around.

"I said not to look," I hiss at her under my breath. I chance another peek, and the stranger appears to shift his gaze.

"You do know that when someone says not to look, the other person is going to do the exact opposite, right?" Eloise turns back around to face me.

"Well, people need to listen and follow instructions better," I scold, using my best authority figure voice, the one I don't possess.

"I have to make a call. Can you order me the chicken burger, with some waffle fries and a Coke?" Eloise digs through her bag for her phone and slides out of the booth.

"Sure." I pick up the menu and walk over to the counter, watching as Eloise steps outside where the mystery stranger-not-stranger is presently lurking.

Where the hell have I seen this guy before?

After placing our order, I return to the booth, and Eloise slides in right after me. "Sorry about that. I have an asshole client who thinks the world revolves around him and that I should just drop everything and do as he says." She huffs out an exasperated breath.

"You sell real estate, El, not your body," I remind her. I don't understand her complaint. I mean, if a client is bothering her, can't she just pass him off to someone else?

"There are some days when I don't see much of a difference. I think I may just be selling my dignity, having to deal with all these entitled asshats," she groans.

"Why don't you go back to selling to everyday people, like you and me?" I suggest. Ever since she moved to selling elite properties to Melbourne's rich and famous, she hasn't been the same. Or happy.

"Because that would be admitting I failed."

"You haven't failed though. You've sold properties. You've done it. You just don't like it. That's not failing." I hate seeing my friend so conflicted and unsure of herself and the great things she's achieved in such a short time.

"Taking a step backwards is like admitting I can't cut it with the top-tier agents."

"Who cares what other people think if you're miserable?" I gave up caring what people thought of me a long time ago. When you grow up the way I did, you have to develop thicker skin. Otherwise, you'll crumble under the constant disapproval, the never-ending looks of pity.

My name is called out to go up and collect our order. As I'm sliding back out of the booth, Eloise stops me with a hand on my arm. "Hey, Daisy, care if we take it to go?"

"Ah, sure, where do you want to go?" I glance outside. I can't stop myself. And notice that the guy is gone.

"Your place?"

"Okay. Let's do it," I agree, before collecting my bag and walking over to the counter to ask them to pack the order up for us.

I've always prided myself on trusting my instincts. And right now, they're telling me that Eloise is hiding a big secret. The fact that her phone keeps ringing, and she declines every single call, is a big red flag waving right in my face.

She's also been holed up in my apartment for the last few hours, much longer than our lunches would normally last. The counsellor in me wants to probe, wants to know what's going on with her. While the friend in me knows it's better to give her the time she obviously needs to be comfortable enough to tell me on her own.

"So, are we just gonna pretend that your phone isn't ringing hot while you glare at it like you want to commit murder?" I end up asking before I can stop myself.

"Yep," she replies, still glaring at the screen.

"Okay, well, if you need help digging a hole, we can call Claire and Dani. The four of us will be able to get the job done in no time at all." I'm only half-kidding.

"It's fine. I gotta go though. Thanks for letting me hang out all afternoon," she says, pushing herself up from the sofa.

"You know, I'm always here if you want to talk about it." I walk her to the entryway and hope she knows I mean it. She can tell me anything.

"Thank you, and I promise I will fill you in on the details soon." Eloise hugs me, and I close the door behind her.

My apartment faces the street. So, naturally, I head straight over to the window to watch her exit my building. What I don't expect to find is her stopping to talk to a guy in a suit standing by a Lamborghini. But it's when he opens the passenger side door and she gets into the car that my mouth actually drops open.

Please don't be a Ted Bundy wannabe, I silently pray. Something tells me that this Lambo-driving, suit-wearing guy of Eloise is the same entitled asshole she was referring to at lunch.

I smile at the thought. Did Eloise go and get herself a fancy boyfriend she's hiding from us? If so, good for her. She deserves to find some happiness and her own version of an addictive dick.

Come to think of it, she did seem awfully satisfied, like how you'd expect someone to look if they were getting screaming orgasms on the regular.

My mind drifts back to that stranger-not-stranger I saw at the café. I can't help but feel like I know the guy. I just wish I could figure out where the hell I've seen him before. The more I picture his face, the more I come up empty. I just don't get it. I know that I know him.

Walking over to my front door, I make sure it's locked before heading for my bathroom. Where I reach into the shower and turn on the hot water. Then I strip out of my clothes, place them into the hamper, and step under the spray. I squirt my favourite bodywash onto the loofah, and the scent of vanilla and strawberries fills the air as I close my eyes only to open them right back up again.

Because I saw him. His darkened eyes staring right back at me. A cocky tilt to his lips, like even in my own head, he knows I'm thinking of him.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Now I'm just getting annoyed that I can't figure out how or why I know him. Is he a figment of my overactive imagination? That's a possibility, but I didn't really think I was that close to the crazy farm yet.

A few minutes later, I turn off the water and step out of the shower. Pick up a bath towel and pat my skin dry. I grab my moisturiser and head for my bedroom. Squirting a healthy heap of lotion on my right leg, I start rubbing it in.

I wonder what his hands would feel like doing this instead of mine. Closing my eyes, I let myself imagine that it's him touching me. My body falls back onto the bed as my fingertips inch higher and higher up my inner thigh.

Okay, I'm doing this. I can masturbate to images of a hot stranger. It's not like I'm ever going to actually meet the man. I reach over to my bedside table and slide open the drawer. This is where the hard part comes in. Choosing which pleasure-inducing toy I want to play with.

An array of pink, purple, and black devices stare back at me. Why do they make these things in such weird colours? Why is the dildo with the clit sucker on it pink? I mean, I've never seen a pink cock before.

I swipe up that little beauty, press the button down, and it whirls to life. Sighing in relief that it's not flat, I lie back on the bed and undo the towel, letting it fall open.

My right hand cups my breast. My fingers roll my nipple between the tips as I close my eyes and picture his face. He's hovering above me. Those eyes peering right into my soul.

I run the vibe over my clit and down to my entrance. I should be embarrassed over how wet I am for my mystery stranger. The toy slides in easy, bottoming out when it hits that magic spot deep inside. The one guys never seem to be able to find.

My thumb presses down on the second button, and the clit sucker comes to life. I position it just right, and my entire body tenses. This is why I love this little toy. It always makes me come hard and fast.

My hips gyrate up and down. My thighs clench together as the sensations of the vibe inside me mix with the feel of my clit being sucked to perfection and my fingers pinching down on my nipple. Right as the tidal wave of an orgasm is about to crash over me, he smiles. My mystery man fucking smiles at me. His face is goddamn beautiful. A chiselled jaw with a five o'clock shadow, high cheekbones, and those dark eyes that look like they're trapping a lot of fucking secrets.

Eyes of a liar.

With that realisation, my orgasm tears through my body, leaving me breathless. Eyes of a liar? What the hell is that about?

Removing the vibrator from my body, I switch it off and toss it next to me on the bed. I stare up at the ceiling as my mind tries to work out the puzzle of this stranger and why I'm so obsessed with him.

Melbourne is a big city. It's highly unlikely I'll ever see him again, and that's a good thing. Because I don't do obsessed. I vowed a long time ago to never get so enamoured by a man that I become trapped in his spell. Besides, the fantasy of it all is always better than the real deal.