Page 6 of Secret Obsession
“I’m gonna puke,” I inform him.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
2
MILES
Willow’s projectile vomit somehow misses me, and she passes out two seconds later. The smell of the new club, Prime, still clings to both of us. I’m tired and irritated, and the fact that she looks like a sleeping devil doesn’t really help matters.
And with her limp in my arms, I can’t resist heading to her apartment instead of my house. There are too many memories of her there, waking up in Knox’s bed.
When I fuck her inmybed, inmyhouse, she’s not going to be thinking of my brother.
Besides, I’ve been curious about her living space. It’s not the same one her and Violet lived in together last year. She subleased a room from one of the dance team girls over the summer. Now, she’s on her own in a tiny little apartment only a block from campus. It’s close to the stadium, close to Haven. Close to everything, actually.
Minus the “small” factor—the bedroom is only large enough to hold her bed in the corner, a nightstand, a dresser, and an armchair that’s covered in clothes—it’s actually not bad.
After I set her on top of her comforter, I explore the rest of her space. The counter in the bathroom is covered in makeup. I pick up the lipstick and touch my thumb to it, inspecting the dark-red color that matches what she wore tonight. I rub it between my fingers and set the tube back down.
What would be a common area, the kitchen, dining, and living room all one space, is tidy. The gray linen couch with a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back, the plants. It all screams…nice. Except there’s a chill in here that has nothing to do with the winter.
It’s set up like it’s from a magazine. It’s nother. No trace of personality exists here.
Satisfied with my initial search, which includes fiddling with the locks on her windows and making sure they’re secure, I return to her room. She’s on the second floor, so burglars looking for easy theft wouldn’t likely pick her apartment. The one smart thing she did when she chose this place.
She cut her hair and lost some weight that she couldn’t afford to lose. Her hair used to be long, and now it barely brushes the tops of her shoulders. It’s a brutally blunt cut, and yet, it works on her. Her makeup has turned her into a seductress—on the outside anyway. No use arguing that she ensnared me from the moment I stepped foot on CPU’s campus, and that was long before she indulged in edgier aesthetics.
Right now, her dark-red lipstick is smeared across her mouth and cheek and is definitely getting on her pillow. I don’t even know why I wish it’smypillow she’s drooling on. My feelings are too confusing around her. All-consuming. Which is why it’s better that I take her in now, get my leering over with, so the true work can begin tomorrow.
I shove clothes off the chair and drop into it, toeing off my shoes and socks. What I should do is go home, shower, and prepare for the start of the spring semester on Monday—but instead, I find myself just fixating on the passed-out girl.
It’s been a month since my brother wrecked her. Her social media accounts were dormant. Even Violet, via Greyson, had nothing to report. Willow went radio silent over winter break. But in the past few days, Crown Point University students have flocked back to town. Including her.
And damn it if I can’t stop thinking about what I’m going to do to her.
I shouldn’t have gone to the club, that’s for sure.
I pull her phone out of my pocket and set it on the arm of the chair. I’ve got a remote spyware app downloaded to my phone already, and it only takes a few minutes to connect it to hers.
It’s hilarious how companies can package these apps in the form of parental controls. Like any normal parent would want to monitor notifications, social media, texts. Plus, location tracking and creating a geofence. That was of particular interest to me.
And the bonus: it’ll give me access to her cell’s camera and microphone.
I test it out and find that it works perfectly. The glowing blue dot on my phone with her location, right down to the room she’s in.
She rolls over and makes a noise in the back of her throat, but I resist the urge to go to her. We’ve done this before, her and I. I’ve watched her sleep after my brother slipped out of the room. I’ve seen her cry when she thought she was alone.
Always watching, never able to cross that barrier.
That ends tomorrow.
My phone buzzes, and I scan the text.
Knox
Team meeting. Stadium.
I bite back my sigh. It’s not a real team meeting—it’s fucking past midnight. These things used to be a source of excitement—but not when it’s tearing me away from Willow. Not when I finally have a chance to do something about her.
