Page 134 of The Art of Almost Losing It

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It means he was watching me.

But the horny part of me is like, well, at least someone likes them.

Outside, it’s sleeting again—frozen slush that wants to be snow but just can’t quite get there.

If I’d stayed another hour, I could have called an Uber.

I’m so busy concentrating on that that I don’t see the big black car until it’s right beside me…

26

GRAHAM

Those are her nails, tugging at the thin lace panties around her pussy lips.

I want my face in that.

I set the phone down.

Go to war with myself about deleting the video.

She’s tempting me.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

She doesn’t know who I am, what I want to do to her.

I need to scare her. Need to show her that I’m not trustworthy, that I’m not safe.

I could just move. Could just flee the country. Go to that remote island I bought that I didn’t tell my brothers about.

But I don’t want to leave without seeing Dani.

I can’t let my last memory of her be her fingers playing in her cunt.

That loud moan that escaped her, like she was imagining me there between her legs.

I’m in control, I remind myself as I grab my car keys.

I stopped once.

I can stop again.

She stays lateat the office.

I know because I wait for her for hours, cruising around the block, listening to Liam Neeson narrateThe Picture of Dorian Graywhile icy rain pelts the roof of the car.

Waiting to see her come out of the building.

There.

She’s walking down the dark sidewalk, on her phone, of course—oblivious to her surroundings.

She doesn’t notice as I pull up next to her and roll down the window.

“Get in, Dani.”

“Graham?”

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