Page 12 of Come Find Me Tonight

Then for fun, I reply to the commenter asking if we know each other.

@AppaPie: I don’t know. Do we, @Rook?

Thinking back to his stunt last night, if he had wanted to ruin me, he would have done it. Instead, he wanted me to feel him. My fingertips tingle with the memory of his smooth but meticulously perfected muscles. I tear my gaze from my phone and stare out the back windows.

Two can play this game.

Chapter Six

Robby

@AppaPie: Did you, @Rook?

@AppaPie: I don’t know. Do we, @Rook?

I scratch my jawline, rereading her comments. I choose silence in true Rook fashion. Because if I respond, it’ll spiral into a chain of public back-and-forth comments. Appa put enough fire on this between the video and her comments that her followers will eat it up, but now, we’re associated with each other. That might get people talking. I smirk to myself.

So much for your perfect image, Appa.

Her aesthetic brand is going to change drastically if people think she’s tangled up with Rook. But she named me in that video. Intentionally. I graze my fingertips over the healed rook piercing in my ear when a video idea pops into my head. It’s something I could film and post tonight off my usual schedule. This won’t help the comment situation and will only fuel speculation.

But little Appa Pie is coming up to bat.

When the sun dips low enough, I set up my lighting scheme, but this time, I tilt the lights to illuminate my face. I’m not going to show what I look like, but it’s time to show off the rook.

I set my phone up on the tripod and leave myself in a pair of gray sweatpants. I never read comments, but videos with my gray sweats always inspire more comments. I shove them down to reveal the V-line above my pubic area. Just enough to make my viewers drool, but they’ll never see the real thing…aside from Appa. My body is for her, and before long, hers will only be for me, too. And based on her response to my stunt last night, it’s only a matter of time.

Of course, breaking a few laws last night—breaking and entering and knocking out Wi-Fi for a street—wasn’t ideal, but no one blinked when a few houses lost Wi-Fi for five minutes. I snort thinking about what Appa would report to the police.

Rook really brings the crazy out of me.

Going back to the video, I do a few quick crunches on the hardwood floor to make my abs more prominent. I like my pasta and pizza too much to give them up, so I have to be mindful. But I am well cut at the moment. Shit, I need a prop—something to keep my hands busy. I facepalm.

So much for gray sweats.

I decide to change into a pair of dark-wash jeans, cinched with a black leather belt, and pull on a black long-sleeved dress shirt tucked in haphazardly.

Like Daddy had a rough day at the office and was ready to take it out on…Appa?

Rook’s usual style isn’t refined like mine, and I enjoy dressing up in a full suit when the occasion strikes. This isn’t the time, but as I push my sleeves up my arms, the wheels turn in my head on how I could incorporate a full suit into a video. I keep the shirt unbuttoned, leaving the crisp fabric bunched around my elbows, and return to the filming room.

After a quick lights readjustment to their normal angles to keep my face dark, I’m ready to do this. Sometimes, filming goes this way where I have a plan but make a game-time decision to change it up for maximum effect, which can include the app-controlled color LED strip behind the couch. It glows red now.

I shove the dark jeans down for V-line exposure like I did with the sweats. I press record on my phone, moving into frame slowly and deliberately. I draw in a breath and flex my abs and pecs. I always have to remind myself to go slow when I film, so I can edit down instead of rushing through each beat of the video. I bring my fingers to my belt, letting them toy with the buckle before abruptly pulling it from the loops of my jeans. I twist the belt around my hands, smacking my open palm with the end, hard enough to get the sound effect and make my hand sting. It’s a good sting, though.

That should do for a video.

But before I stop recording, I lean down toward the phone, turning my head to the side to flash the rook piercing in my ear. Good thing I just got a haircut, and the faded sides of my head are sharp. I’ll have to splice the video together to cut my face out of the clip, but I have the perfect caption idea.

I stop recording and pull my phone off the tripod. Changing back into my fleece sweatpants and with a glass of red wine in hand, I settle on the couch and edit the footage on my phone. I haven’t clicked back to Appa’s profile, but I haven’t noticed any new stories from her at the top of my feed yet either.

The video comes together easily, and in my semi-professional opinion, it’s hot. No audio, but the sharp sound of the belt being pulled from my jeans and then hitting my hand as planned. I fade it out and fade in the clip of the side of my head, cutting the part that shows anything of my face, then fade out again. I apply my usual instrumental rock music in the background but keep the video sounds louder, and it’s ready.

It’s an unpredictable post, and the comments are going to be loud about yet another surprise video drop. I upload the video with a simple caption: ‘Didn’t flinch’. And post.

I sip my wine, letting it coat my tongue. I maniacally refresh to see if Appa or her burner account interacts with the post. She had to have seen it. The algorithm would have pushed it to the top of her feed, and she should still be awake.

Don’t hide now, baby.