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3. About time

THREE

My nerves are fucking shot.

It's been four days since I decided that I've done enough watching. I've done enough research. At this point, I think I know Simone better than even she does, and I'm ready to move ahead with the next step of my plan.

Like I said. I'm a planner. I've learned to be since my past reckless behavior has only ever lost me my girls in the past.

First, there was Casey. Casey Mead. My first love, and the one I thought I would be with forever.

I still remember the day she walked into Mr. Madison's eleventh grade history class. She had her pretty blonde hair falling like a sheet down her back, her soft brown cast down on the floor, hugging her books to her chest as Mr. Madison told her to take any free seat.

Scott Genovese whistled at her, then tapped the back of the empty seat in front of him. Casey got the look of a startled deer on her face, frozen in place at the front of the room, eyes darting from Scott's smug grin to any available desks nearby.

Then she saw me. Average build. Average height. Plain brown eyes, plain brown hair, and an expression that said she could trust me. I wouldn't bother her. She'd be safe.

Casey scurried over and plopped herself in the seat next to me, and from that moment on? She was mine.

But it didn't last. She was the one, but after spending junior and senior year together, she vanished after graduation. I wasn't as good at tracking down my girls then as I am now, and Casey seemed to simply disappear. I still search for her on social media—and obituaries—from time to time since I never really forget one of my girls, even when I have a new one. Nothing. When I was eighteen, she was gone, and I had to force myself to get over her.

I did with Heather Valiant.

Unlike my relationship with Casey, we weren't together together. It never got to that point. I was still watching her, stalking her, trying to get her to notice me—to want me—when Heather decided my obsession for her was too intense.

I was barely twenty. She'd just turned twenty-one, the coddled younger sister of a member of the Libellula Family. I scared her, but she didn't go to the Dragonflies for help.

Nope. Heather went to the Sinners. Knowing Royce was my cousin, she went to him to see if he could get me to back off. She didn't realize how much danger she was putting him into by crossing over from the East End of Springfield to the West Side. Not from me; hurt as I was that Heather fell for Royce McIntyre instead of Jake, I do have some boundaries, and as long as Royce didn't betray me, I'd never blame my cousin for something he couldn't control. The Dragonflies, however, didn't like the idea of their property spreading their legs for a Sinner.

Royce never fucked Heather. I never got the chance to, either. As much as I loved her and would've given her the world, she got killed in the crossfire when a Dragonfly aimed for Royce and hit Heather instead.

And then she was gone.

To keep me from being collateral damage in the brewing turf war between the two mafias, Royce helped my parents ship me off to California. There were so many blondes there, I thought I'd be in trouble, but I didn't feel that spark again until I came home to visit for Christmas.

Simone…

I refused to make the same mistakes with Simone, especially since her marriage was a complication that made my feelings for her a little bit more challenging.

So I plotted. I planned. Even before she threw a curve ball at me, running from Will Burke, I was slowly but surely infiltrating my way into her life. I'd even put my name on the waiting list for her apartment after I completely shut down my life back in LA.

I had to. Simone was in Springfield which meant I had to stay in Springfield. Just like how she moved to Merrill Grove and now that's where I'll be.

At least it was a whole hell of a lot easier to find a house to rent near Simone. Luck was on my side there, with one of the rentals willing to sublet a house on a month-to-month basis. I'm right there, and she has no idea.

Maybe I showed my hand a little early, sending her that note. I had to, though. Every time I caught a glimpse of Simone still wearing Burke's ring on her finger… it made me want to ask Royce where his crew buried the prick just so I could dig him up and stab him a couple of more times. Besides, she needed to know that she didn't have to look out her window, afraid she'd find Will standing there again. She was safe, and soon she'd be mine.

I won't lose her. Not this one. So, following Royce's advice, I didn't overwhelm her with my affection. Be the nice guy, he said. Considering he eloped with Nicolette last month, getting married in Las Vegas, maybe he's on to something. He has his girl.

I'll do anything for mine.

So I've been nice. I've watched her from the shadows, slipping into the trees across from her window, standing on the edge of my rented property so that I don't miss anything. I've done my research on her. Casey might not have any social media presence, but Simone has a few different profiles.

I obsess over them constantly, saving any photo she posts to my phone so that I have something to jerk off over while waiting until I can have the real thing. I take any post as gospel, making sure I know any and everything about my sweet vixen.

My impression of her hasn't changed. Like me, she presents an innocent appearance to the rest of the world, but there's something broken inside of her that calls to me. I'll fix her. I'll make her whole. Whatever it takes.

That was the first stage of my plan. First, I needed to learn what makes Simone tick.

Next? I need to infiltrate her life.

I've done that already. I'm that somewhat familiar, kind of forgettable face that you see around town and think, do I know him? We haven't been introduced yet—though not for a lack of trying. Simone rarely leaves her house, and even when I mowed her next-door's neighbor for her, trying to size up the chatty nurse to see if she knew anything about Simone that I didn't, I didn't get a single peek of her through the window.

I did, however, plant a seed in the woman's mind that I'd be a perfect guy for the lonely new blonde who moved into the cul de sac…

That wasn't enough for me. I'll take it because it was an opportunity and I'll never let one pass me by, but already I've been thinking about how to get Simone to notice me without breaking into her house and introducing myself as the Watcher.

Not that I have any issue with doing that. Hell, I broke into Simone's house the first night I saw her leave it. Being a mechanic, I'm good with my hands. Even better with burglar tools. I slipped in through the back door where no one would see me, then spent twenty glorious minutes basking in being surrounded by everything Simone.

I stole a pair of silky panties before I left, leaving a pale pink rose on top of her dresser as a sign that I was there.

It was gone the next time I had the chance to sneak into her room, putting up another couple of cameras so that I could keep an eye on her when it was too risky to stand in the shadows across the street from her window. So I left another one, and watched her look at it in puzzled confusion before dropping it into her pajama drawer.

She doesn't seem to know they're from me. Maybe, next time, I'll leave her another note.

She kept my note, too. I take heart in that, just like I did when I found Simone's wedding ring in the same drawer. It seemed like she got my message just fine: she's single now. Widowed. Whatever. Will Burke won't stand in our way any longer, and the sooner she accepted that, the better.

I wish that was done so easily. Considering I've caught her on camera, staring into the corner of her room, her kitchen, the living room, having a one-sided conversation with who could only be her dead husband… she doesn't seem to be grieving. Not like I did when Heather died. This is something else entirely, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do to help her get through this.

Except bring that fucker back to life.

No. She's better off without him. I'm the better man for her, and I'll just keep following the plan until she accepts that.

I need her to get to know me. Jake. What better way to get her to fall in love with me than by making myself available to her?

But how?

The answer came down to her car. While I've convinced myself that Simone never really loved Will Burke—not the way that I'll insist she love me—that pink car she kept in her garage is the true love of her life. It has to be. Bringing a car like that to a town like Merrill Grove… if she was trying to stay under the radar, that went out the fucking window as soon as she drove into town in a pale pink convertible, the wind catching her pretty, pretty blonde hair.

To get to Simone, my best bet was to go through her car. And, lucky me, I'm a mechanic.

I wouldn't destroy the Mazda. To do that would be to hurt Simone, but I could screw with the fuses, fuck with the window mechanism, and eventually she'd need to get it looked at.

Merrill Grove is small enough that there are only two garages on this side of town: Frank's and one called Tire Central. I charmed my way into a job at Frank's because it was closer to the cul de sac. Assuming she'd need to get her car serviced, knowing Simone as I do, she'd go there.

Only one problem: she wouldn't need to bring the car down to the shop until she got in for a drive and realized something was wrong.

It's been four days since I tampered with her car. I have a ten-day stint, working overtime to cover for Frank since he took his wife out on a cruise. Simone might not go out everyday, but I knew she'd go for a ride some time during the next week and half.

Four days into it, and I'm going stir-crazy, wondering why the fuck she hasn't yet.

And then, when it's just me and Brendan working on replacing a transmission for one of Frank's buddies in between oil changes and tire rotations for some of our other regulars, I catch a flash of pink out of the corner of my eye and my cock immediately starts to harden.

The color does it to me. When it reminds me so much of Simone, I've gotten sprung by just the shade of it. Same thing happens when I stop over at the local flower shop to pick up a few pink roses that I keep in case I want to leave one for Simone. Half the time I'm adjusting my hard-on while one of the clerks wraps them up for my ‘wife'.

It was easier in Springfield. There's a shop there—Louise's, I think—where I used to buy flowers for Heather first, then sending them anonymously to Simone's apartment. She was an old married woman who runs the shop who suggested the pink roses to me in the first place. In Merrill Grove, the clerks are all girls around my age who seem to think they're special enough to get me to buy them flowers instead.

Even after I emphasized that these are for my wife—because Simone will be my wife one day—the two clerks smirked at each other before the brunette slipped a scrap of paper with her number on it into my bouquet.

As if my erection was for either of them. Fuck no. From the moment I decided Simone would be mine, it's my hand or nothing. The next time I sink my cock into a woman, it'll be her and she'll be the last one who ever gets it.

Because I'm not losing her. Not this woman. Not this time.

And I promise myself that again as Simone parks her car, then walks hesitantly to the open garage where we're working.

I'm elbows-deep into this transmission right now. I wish I was fast enough to get my head out of the hood, but Brendon's already sizing Simone up by the time I'm standing up, wiping my hands on one of the grease rags.

I catch the tail-end of their conversation as Simone's sweet voice asks, "Will that take long?"

Brendon smiles down at her. Simone is only a few inches shorter than I am, but Brendon seems like a fucking goofy ass giraffe next to her. He brags that he's six-five, though I'd put it him at six-two at the most, and seems to think his height will make up for any of his flaws.

Dickhead. He doesn't even notice that Simone is shrinking away from him.

Her bastard husband was about six-feet tall. I can't imagine she feels comfortable standing next to a man even taller than that, especially when he's purposely using his advantage to get a peek down her low-cut pink t-shirt.

His straw-colored hair is thick and straight, reaching his ears. He runs his fingers through them, then smirks. "Some guys might take all day for a fix like that. Not us. Give me a half an hour, hour, tops, and I'll send you on your way, pretty lady."

Simone's smile freezes on her face, and I tell myself that Brendon deserves everything coming his way for spooking my sweet vixen.

Tossing the grease rag back onto the pile, doing my best not to stare at Simone, I say, "Hey, Bren. I'm gonna go grab a Coke from the vending machine. You want anything?"

He doesn't even bother to take his eyes off of me. "That's okay, Jakey. I got iced tea in the back."

I know that. Nice to have confirmation, though.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to walk away as Brendon gets Simone sorted. He'll give her a clipboard to take down all of her info—since Frank's and old-fashioned shop, and our cantankerous boss thinks computers are the devil—and tell her to sit down tight while we get right on her vehicle.

He's so fucking full of it. I know what's wrong with her car. I did it. It's a five-minute job at the most, maybe ten because he'll have to check it over first. But if Brendon is interested in a customer, he'll make them stick around longer, doing a little small talk as he acts like he's fixing their car.

I've seen him do it. Then, when he charges a small amount for the fix as a ‘favor'—and not because most jobs are quick fixes that he draws out on purpose—the customer is so grateful for the discount, they're a whole lot more interested in him when he suggests they meet up for dinner—or sex.

And he thinks he's going to do that to my Simone?

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