9. His attention

NINE

He's gone as quickly as he came—both figuratively and literally.

As soon as the Watcher rubs his come into my skin, I expect him to return the favor. I got him off, right? The least he could do is go back to what he started, touching my pussy until I orgasmed all over his hand. If I'd lost my mind to give my masked stalker a handjob, I'll stay crazy long enough to let him do the same to me.

But he doesn't. Still wearing his soaked mask, he drops a kiss to my forehead. I feel it through the fabric, hands landing on his chest as I just about fall into him. He sucks in a breath, moans my name just once, and then he's gone.

I almost follow him. I probably could've. He needed to grab the clothes he discarded, and unless the Watcher is also a flasher, he would've gotten dressed before leaving my house. I had plenty of time to hop out of the shower, grab a towel, and demand to know what the hell is going on.

Who is he?

What does he want from me?

And, most importantly, what happened to Will?

All pretty damn valid questions that it never occurred to me to ask when I had him naked, hot, and hard in the shower with me—and I don't know what the hell that says about me, but it's probably not anything good.

I almost follow him, but I don't. I can't. My legs are shaky, my body aching from the way he touched me so masterfully before pulling away, demanding I take hold of his dick instead. My boobs are impossibly heavy right now. I swear to God, my nipples are so hard, I could poke out an eye. Leaving the sanctuary of the steamy shower, knowing I'll have to confront my actions—and his—when I do… I stay under the spray until the water goes cold, my lust is a little more manageable, and the Watcher would have had enough time to slip back out in the night.

I finish my shower alone. He washed my hair for me, scrubbing my back with the washcloth, but I still needed to wash my lower half. I take care of my legs and my feet, gasping when I touch my swollen clot with the washcloth. I'm so fucking horny it hurts, and I give myself a quick wash before rinsing off.

Not my stomach, though. If only for tonight, I like the idea of leaving his spunk right where he left it. The streaming water washed off some of it anyway. The rest can stay until I shower again tomorrow.

Maybe by then I'll get my head out of my dark fantasies and realize just how insane it is that I was intimate with the man who admitted he's my stalker.

My stalker—and the most obvious suspect in my husband's murder.

That's a splash of water in my face that's even colder than the shower. I'm trembling a little by the time I turn the shower off, easing gently out of the tub before reaching for a towel. I notice that one of my pink set is missing, and it makes me smile a little to think of the Watcher drying off with it.

I trade my towel for the fuzzy pink robe I ordered from the internet the other day. After running my brush through my hair, not bothering to throw it up in a ponytail so that it can air dry, I tighten my robe, take a deep breath, and leave the bathroom.

Is he still here? I don't… I don't sense anyone else in the house. Of course, that doesn't mean shit. The only way to know for sure if he left is by checking the house out by myself.

He's not in my room. Not in the spare room, either. Heading downstairs, my heart lodges in my throat as I go down the hall, peeking into the living room first before walking into the kitchen.

I pause, staring at the table.

My towel is there. Folded up neatly, placed in the middle of the table, I smile to see that he left my towel behind; I was pretty sure the Watcher would've taken it with him as some kind of a trophy. But there's something else, too. Tip-toeing into the kitchen, I gasp when I see the pink rose left on top of a scrap of paper.

Welp. There goes any idea that the pink roses I kept finding were blowing in through the window. No doubt in my mind that they've been a gift from the Watcher all along.

Damn it. Next time Will pops in, I'm gonna get another lecture from my dead husband about he's always right and I was always wrong…

I set the rose aside. Grabbing the paper, I see that it has writing on it. Distinct writing. From the all-caps print, to the name scrawled at the bottom, even if I doubted that the man I pleasured isn't the same one as the man who sent my Will's ring, this would set me straight.

It's another note from him, and it says:

How did he know?That I had every intention of laying back on my bed, legs spread, touching myself to the memory of his gruff voice and the powerful way he touched me before commanding me to do the same to him… how did he know that I was going to give myself the orgasm he denied me, even though a part of me was so caught up in the heat of the moment that, if I bent me over, I would've welcome him fucking me?

How did he know? Because he's the Watcher, and he knows everything about me.

At least, that's what he wants me to believe. Impossible. I don't care how much you spy on me, stalk me, there are secrets that I'll take to my grave. Things that not even my husband knew, and anyone who might, I've already cut myself off completely from.

He knows the Simone he wants to know, and he thinks he can tell her what to and she'll listen.

Don't touch my pussy…

His pussy, huh? He certainly fingered it like he owned up, but it's going to take more than that before he's able to claim it—to claim me—as his.

I'll be watching…

I'm sure he will. He already proved that tonight, coming right over after I bared my tits in the window. There's a good chance any of my neighbors might have gotten a show, too, but if the Watcher was out there… and he obviously wants me to believe that he's always watching… I thought that might be enough to tempt him.

Do I know how he's watching me? The paranoid side of me has me looking suspiciously in every corner, checking to see if there's some kind of camera in this house. It's not mine. Not really. I'm just renting it, and I don't know anything about the previous tenants or the landlords. There might be cameras, and if there are?

I'll be watching…

He'll know. If I disobey him, he'll know. And while I'd like to think that might be enough for my masked stalker to make a return trip to my place, what if it does the obvious? What if it turns him off and he punished me by staying away?

Do I want him to stay away?

I don't know. I should say ‘yes', but since, deep down, the answer is ‘no', I just take a deep breath and tell myself that, fuck, I don't know. But it's enough that, as twisted up as I am, needing release, I don't slip my hand under my robe. I tighten the sash instead, fisting the note before turning around and heading for the stairs.

I don't stop until I'm standing in the same spot I was… shit. Was that only twenty minutes ago? Maybe thirty? My whole life flipped upside down in the time it would take to stream a fucking sitcom on TV.

Bracing my hands on my windowsill, I peer out into the street in front of my house. It's dark. A few houses are completely black, while a handful—including Jake's across from mine, and the Millers two houses down—have one or two lights still on like I do.

It's quiet. Calm. How much do you want to bet that none of my neighbors have any idea that a masked man with a body built for sin joined me in my shower and nutted all over my back?

But someone does. Someone knows.

He's out there. Somewhere.

Watching.

And as I grab my shade, tugging it down, I know that not even that will stop him.

I didn't realizehow much I masturbate until I catch myself every time I'm about to slip my hand through the folds of my pussy. As though I'm being shocked before I can use the tip of my finger to rub my clit, I think of him and yank my hand away.

It's ridiculous. I know it is. Even if he does have cameras in here, it's not like he can see what I'm doing under a blanket. I'd like to think my shower's off limits, too, but who knows?

It's been almost a week since I saw him. Since I proved to myself that he was real. Instead of just looking over my shoulder for my dead husband, now I'm expecting to find a toned body wearing nothing but a mask—only I haven't. Just like Will, it seems like the Watcher has vanished.

I don't know how to feel about that. Maybe that quick shower was all he needed from me. I gave him what he wanted when he pushed his dick into my hand. So he said he was watching… I'm watching back and, unlike before, I can't find him out there in the shadows of the street.

What's even stranger to me is that no one else has. I've asked. Ruby's husband Mark is head of our local neighborhood watch, and when I saw him taking the trash out the other day, I struck up a conversation, wondering if he'd heard anything about strangers lurking around our street, playing pranks or messing around by wearing a mask. He seemed concerned at my question, but assured me that he would've heard about that if it was the case.

Then he asked me if I had a report to make, and I quickly brushed him, passing it off as a rumor I heard from the Field twins who live on the other side of me. Two very curious eight-year-olds, they're the darlings of the cul de sac, and just as nosy as Mark's wife. They're still kids, though, and the childfree Mr. Douglas smiled indulgently at me when I told him that I got my intel from the twins.

I felt bad about lying, but it's not like it was the first time I've done so. My life's been built upon a pyramid of fabrications and untruths so, really, what was one more? Especially when I got what I wanted: confirmation that either I imagined the Watcher the same way I do Will, or he's just really that fucking good of a stalker.

I have to lean toward the second because, even in my messed-up brain, I don't think I could imagine a body as delicious as the Watcher's…

One good thing about the Watcher stepping out of the darkness—whether he's real or not—is how much more comfortable I am in leaving my house. It's almost like I don't want him to think he scares me or allow him to control my life; keeping my hands out of my panties the only exception. The cul de sac is a cozy community, and I'm starting to actually talk to my neighbors instead of high-tailing it into my house whenever someone else opens their door.

I know that the girl Field twin likes to dance, while her brother does soccer. The Millers go away to visit Mr. Miller's ailing sister every weekend, but if I see someone letting themselves into their home, it's the dogwalker they hired to take care of their beagle, Betty. Ruby hosts a poker game every Friday night with a couple of her girlfriends, and she invited me to come over for the next one. I gave her a half-assed answer, mentioning I might be busy, and her knowing grin as she glanced over at Jake's house was all I needed to know where she stood on the matchmaking front.

As for Jake… it's weird how I barely ran into him the first few months we both lived in Merrill Grove, but once I realized he was both one of the mechanics at the garage where I brought my car and the young guy who moved in across from me, it's like I can't miss him.

I saw him at the grocery store two days ago, where he waved at me in between deciding what cut of steak he was buying for himself that night. I picked up a pizza the other day, and when I left the shop, he was coming out of the liquor store next door, carrying a six-pack, telling me with a grin he had the whole next day off and he was going to enjoy it.

And then, of course, there was the day he caught me checking out his co-workers job on my window, teasingly mentioning the garage's guarantee…

I don't get the vibe that he's into me. And while he doesn't have the same undeniable magnetism as my stalker, the casually friendly way he regards me is… refreshing almost. Like he'd be down if I gave him any sign that I was interested, but since I've been nothing but guarded since he introduced himself to me, he's following my lead.

He's safe. I don't know why he makes me feel that way, but I do. And the more he purposely keeps some distance between us, the closer I want to get to him.

Is that because I'm feeling a little put-out that my so-called ‘obsessed' stalker doesn't seem as interested in me anymore? I'm not saying ‘no', but I'd sure as hell deny it if anyone asked.

Doesn't matter anyway. I just got out of a bad relationship. Jumping into another one might be another mistake in a long line of them—but that doesn't stop me from calling out a friendly ‘hi' of my own when I happen to be sitting on my porch one early June day just as he's walking out of his house.

He's not wearing his coveralls. I've noticed that, when he does, he's like Ruby: on his way to work. When he's in regular clothes—in this case, he has on a grey t-shirt, worn jeans, and a pair of brown boots—he's got a rare day off from the garage.

Instead of heading toward his car like he was probably going to, he jogs across the empty street.

I rise up from the porch.

Jake waves. "How are you?"

Wondering why he couldn't just wave from his property… "I'm fine. You're up early."

"You, too."

It's true. I had another nightmare of Will. Since I still don't know for sure what happened to him, I keep having this recurring nightmare about how he died. Last night, I dreamed that he fell into a pit of quicksand, cursing my name until it swallowed him up whole.

Do I really think that's how he died? Not at all. I was afraid of quicksand when I was a kid, though, and since I've already gone through the usual suspects—a shooting, a stabbing, strangulation, poison—it was a matter of time before my wayward brain dragged quicksand into it.

What's next? Piranha?

I shake my head, clearing it. "It was a nice morning. Thought I'd get some fresh air before I hole up inside, maybe veg out in front of the TV. What about you? Big plans for the day?"

"You could say that. My mom needs my help moving some furniture around and building a new bookcase for my dad's study. Poor guy's useless with a screwdriver," he confides, a hint of humor in his tone. "I promised her I'd head over to Springfield to help as soon as I got a day off."

Wow.

"You're such a good guy— wait. Did you say Springfield? You mean like Springfield Springfield?"

"The big city about an hour away from here?" He waits until I nod, then says, "Yup. That's where I'm from."

"You used to live in Springfield? I used to live in Springfield!"

"Really? I spent my whole childhood living there. Downtown mostly, but my parents live on the West Side these days."

"That's so weird. We lived in the quieter side, out in the ‘burbs for a couple of years before I went to Connecticut for college."

"Connecticut, huh?"

"Yup. Graduated from Fairview University," I tell him.

"Cool. I went to school on the West Coast. California," he explains. "But I'm an East Coast guy. I moved back east at the beginning of the year, hanging out with my parents for a while before I found myself settling in here in Merrill Grove. But I still visit Springfield all the time."

For a second, I expect him to invite me to take the ride with him. I'd have to refuse, of course—no way in hell am I setting foot back in Springfield—but he doesn't.

Instead, he says, "Hey. I'd love to talk about this some more, but I promised my mom I'd be there by nine." Jake pulls out his phone, scowling when he sees the time. "I still gotta gas up before I get there."

"Raincheck, then," I tell him.

"How about dinner?"

I blink, a little stunned at the way he blurted that out. He didn't invite me home with him—that would've been way too damn much—but it looks like he finally decided to make some kind of move.

Didn't he?

I have to check. "What's that?"

"Dinner, Simone. You and me. I should be home by five. Six at the latest. I don't know if you've been to Myrtle's, but she runs this great diner down the street from the garage. They have the most amazing soup and sandwiches. Ice cream sundaes, too. Why don't you let me take you and we can finish this conversation later?"

We could do that here. Or, if he'll need to eat after he gets back, I could whip him up a sandwich in my kitchen. There's no reason for us to go out to dinner—but there's also no good reason for me to refuse.

I nod. "Yeah. Sounds like fun."

And that's how I find myself going on a date with Jake McIntyre—and wondering if my stalker will even notice…

I wakeup the next morning in the best mood I've been in in a long, long time.

I slept like a fucking baby. I didn't have a single dream, and I actually slept through the night instead of waking up randomly, reaching out for a body that wasn't there. No Will. No masked man who slipped into my bed as easily as he joined me in the shower… it's just me, and when I peer into the early morning sun, my room is just as empty.

I wait for Will to appear. To accuse me of paying attention to another man when he was the one I promised myself to, but no matter how I try to manifest him, I don't see him. I don't hear him.

And I smile up at my ceiling, thinking, ‘til death do we part, asshole.

Despite my inexplicable disappointment that I haven't heard from the Watcher since our shower, that's not enough to spoil the morning. There's a spring in my step as I start my day, getting dressed, and peering out my window at another beautiful spring day. The sky is a vivid blue with only a few whorls of clouds dotting it. The sun is shining brightly, and if the Watcher is out there somewhere, I hope he enjoys knowing that my dinner with Jake has put me in a fan-fucking-tastic mood.

He's cute. It's the best way to describe my neighbor. He's cute and he's kind, and I love that we have the Springfield connection. When he looks at me, it's like he knows me, like he actually sees me, but he's not expecting more from me than I can give him.

It was a friendly dinner date. We went dutch, got ice cream to go, and went home to our own houses. There weren't any expectations. No talks about tomorrow, either. Just a nice night out, and a morning where the guilt doesn't weigh me down first thing.

It'll come back. I wouldn't be surprised if Will isn't following me around the house by lunch time, giving me grief for turning to Jake, but you know what? I don't care. He's dead. I got exactly what I wanted, and it's time he went to Hell because God knows that's where Will belongs.

But for as long as I can keep him out of my head, I'm going to enjoy it—and I get to do just that all the way up until I eat my breakfast, go outside to take a few moments to enjoy the gorgeous weather, then head over to my baby.

I'm feeling like a drive. Not because I'm tired of being haunted by the ghosts of my memories and my bad decisions, but because I don't feel shackled to them this morning. Why not taste a little freedom today, and if Will appears in my passenger seat, I'll know it's time to return to the house.

It sounds like a great plan to me. Who knows? Maybe I'll pick up donuts and see if Jake wants one…

I keep the top of my convertible up unless I'm actively driving my car. The doors are locked; unlike the night I let the Watcher in, I would never leave my car vulnerable. Nobody should've been able to get into my car unless they had an extra key, which when I see what's waiting for me on the driver's seat, might just be the case.

When it comes to my stalker, I wouldn't put anything past him.

No rose this time, and my stomach goes tight even before I pick the note up off of my seat. It gets worse when I see the block print and notice that he didn't sign it.

Wow. I must've really pissed my stalker off—and the tone in the four words seals it.

I guess I got his attention after all.