Page 6

6

KIRA

M y heart still races as I lie on my bed, thighs pressed together. The lingering sensation of that intense orgasm makes my skin tingle. Someone watched me. Someone invaded my space. The thought should terrify me, but a delicious shiver runs down my spine.

I grab my water bottle, taking long gulps. My mind drifts to Jenna’s voice of reason. She’d freak if she knew, probably drag me straight to the police station. But this felt... different. Special. Like whoever did this understood exactly what I needed.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers warnings. This is how horror movies start. This is literally what every cybersecurity PSA warns about. I push the thoughts away, but they linger like a shadow at the edge of my consciousness.

I hear the ding of a chat notification pop up on my computer. I get off the bed and head over, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Rogue.

Rogue: Hey, good game earlier.

Should I tell him?

We’ve been gaming partners for ages, sharing strategies, jokes, and personal stuff. But this feels too intimate.

Mischief: Thanks! Yeah, we crushed it.

I type back, trying to act normal despite my racing thoughts.

Rogue: You seem distracted. Everything okay?

I bite my lip.

Mischief: Just tired. Been a weird night.

Rogue: Weird how?

The cursor blinks at me accusingly. How do I even begin to explain? “Oh, someone hacked my devices and gave me the best orgasm of my life while watching me through my webcam?” Yeah, that would go over well.

Mischief: Just... stuff. Nothing major.

I deflect, fidgeting in my chair.

Mischief: Hey, have you decided whether you’ll come to GamerCon?

Rogue: Sorry, Mischief. Got stuck with work. Can’t make it this time.

My stomach drops. The lingering warmth from earlier vanishes, replaced by a cold weight in my chest.

My fingers tremble as I type.

Mischief: Oh. But you said you’d try to come.

Rogue: I know. Things got complicated at the office. Rain check?

He waited the night before the Con to tell me, after weeks of maybes and we’ll sees.

Mischief: You could have told me sooner.

I hit send before I can rethink it.

Rogue: Don’t be like that. We’ll meet eventually.

Eventually, the word feels like a dagger. I sink onto my bed, hugging my knees to my chest.

Mischief: Right. Eventually.

Rogue: Come on. Nothing changes. We’re still gaming buddies.

Gaming buddies.

Is that all this is? All these late-night conversations, inside jokes, shared victories—just pixels on a screen?

Mischief: Sure.

Iknow saying more would be a mistake, so I leave it.

Rogue: Hey, I gotta go. Early meeting tomorrow.

I stare at his message, throat tight.

Mischief: Yeah, whatever.

His status switches to offline before I can say anything else. I grab my phone, pull Jenna’s contact information, and stop. Her “I told you so” hovers redundant in my mind. She warned me about getting too invested in online friendships. I didn’t want to hear it.

The worst part? I’d built this whole fantasy in my head. Meeting Rogue at the Con, maybe discovering we had chemistry in real life. Stupid. So stupid.

I flop back on my bed, staring at my ceiling and wiping my tears. A bitter laugh tears from me. Here I am, crying over some guy I’ve never even met. What am I, fifteen?

My reflection in the monitor catches my eye—mascara smudged, hair a mess. This isn’t me. I’m not this pathetic girl pining over keyboard warriors who can’t commit to showing up.

“Fuck this,” I huff, grabbing my phone to call Jenna.

She picks up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?” The concern in her voice makes me smile.

“Nothing’s wrong. Well, okay, Rogue’s being a dick, but whatever. Want to go out? I must dance, drink, and forget about stupid guys hiding behind screens.”

“Now that’s the Kira I know.” Jenna’s laugh fills the line. “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll bring that bottle of tequila I’ve been saving. We can pre-game while getting ready.”

“You’re literally the best friend ever.”

“I know. And Kira? I’m proud of you for not letting this bring you down.”

“Yeah, well.” I stand up, already moving to my closet. “Life’s too short to waste on people who won’t show up for you, right?”

“Exactly. See you soon, babe. Wear that new black dress—the one with the mesh panels.”

I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. The heaviness in my chest lifts as I dig through my closet. Screw Rogue and his excuses. Screw mysterious hackers and their mind-blowing orgasms. Tonight’s about me hanging out with my best friend.

I pull out the black dress Jenna mentioned. It’s time to remind myself that there’s more to life than gaming and online relationships.

The doorbell chimes, and I practically skip to answer it. Jenna stands there, a bottle of tequila in one hand, a makeup bag in the other, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Ready to forget about Rogue?” She waves the bottle.

“God, yes.” I pull her inside.

We sprawl on my bed, passing the bottle back and forth while I vent about Rogue. Jenna nods, adding just the right amount of supportive sounds and “what an asshole” comments.

“Hold still,” she commands, wielding an eyeliner pencil. “I’m giving you smokey eyes that’ll make every guy at the club wish they were worthy.”

I try not to laugh as she works her magic. The tequila settles warm in my belly, making everything feel lighter. “Remember when you tried to teach me winged eyeliner, and I looked like a raccoon?”

“Oh my god, yes!” She snorts, nearly poking my eye. “Sorry! Don’t move!”

I help curl her hair while she does her lipstick. Our practiced choreography of getting ready together smoothly after years of friendship makes my heart happy. The music from my playlist fills the room as we dance around, take selfies, and down a couple more shots.

“Uber’s here!” Jenna announces, checking her phone. “Last mirror check!”

We stumble to the full-length mirror, arms around each other. My black dress shows just enough skin to be sexy without trying too hard. Jenna looks amazing in a red dress that hugs her curvy body.

“We’re hot,” I declare, the tequila apparently providing liquid courage.

“Damn right, we are.” She grabs my hand. “Let’s go show the world.”

We giggle all the way down to the Uber. Our driver probably regrets his life choices as we belt out Taylor Swift songs from the backseat. The city lights blur past, and I feel invincible with Jenna.

The bass from the club thumps through the air as we step out of the car, already swaying to the beat. The line isn’t long, and the bouncer waves us through with a wink.

The club pulses with energy as Jenna and I weave through the crowd toward the bar. She flags down the bartender with practiced ease while I lean against the counter, still riding the buzz from our pre-game session.

“Two tequila sunrises!” Jenna shouts over the music. “And two shots of Patron!”

“Living dangerously tonight?” I bump her hip with mine.

“After that Rogue bullshit? We’re going all out.”

The bartender slides our drinks over. I lift my shot glass, clinking it against Jenna’s. “To real-life adventures.”

“And to men who actually show up.” She winks.

We down our shots, and I chase them with a sip of my cocktail. The sweetness cuts through the burn, but then the hairs on my neck stand up.

I scan the crowd, trying to be subtle about it. The dance floor writhes with bodies, and the bar area is packed with people trying to get drinks. And then I see him.

He’s leaning against a pillar near the VIP section, a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and even in the club’s shifting lights, I can see his eyes—ice blue and intense, locked right on me. Tattoos cover his arms, disappearing under a fitted black t-shirt that shows off every muscle.

My breath catches. The man doesn’t look away when I catch him staring. His lips curve into a knowing smile that makes my stomach flip.

That smile sends a warning signal flashing through my brain. It’s too confident, too knowing… like he’s been waiting for me. I think of the hacked Alexa earlier, Rogue’s constant excuses, and every true crime podcast I’ve ever listened to. Red flags everywhere, like a freaking circus.

But then he raises his glass slightly in my direction, and my body responds with a flush of heat that has nothing to do with the tequila.

“Holy shit,” Jenna hisses, following my gaze. “That man is eating you alive with his eyes.”

I take another sip of my drink, larger this time, trying to drown the warring voices in my head. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Go talk to him!”

“What? No!” But I can’t stop stealing glances. There’s a familiarity about him, but I don’t know why. “I’m not sure, Jen. He’s setting off my creep radar.” The way he’s staring is oddly intense. Definitely creepy.

“Yeah, but in a hot way or a ‘call the police’ way?” She studies him critically. “Because those are two very different vibes.”

I laugh, but it comes out as nervous. “I honestly can’t tell. That’s the problem.”

His eyes seem so familiar, but I can’t place them. The rational part of my brain that double-checks my locks at night and carries pepper spray is screaming caution. But another part, still tingling from my hacker situation earlier, is drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“If he’s interested, he can come to us,” I decide, deliberately turning my back to him. “I’m not chasing some random guy, no matter how hot he is.”

Jenna raises her eyebrows, impressed. “Look at you, setting boundaries. I’m so proud.”

But even as I try to focus on our conversation, I feel his gaze burning into my back. My skin prickles with awareness. I take another large sip of my drink, hoping the alcohol will dull the magnetic pull I feel toward him.

It doesn’t work.

Jenna’s eyes widen. “He’s coming over!”

I hear someone approach, and before I can prepare myself, he’s right in front of me, extending his hand in silent invitation.

Up close, he’s even more striking. Those blue eyes hold an intensity that makes my breath catch. The tattoos covering his arms aren’t random designs—they’re intricate, meaningful pieces that tell a story I suddenly need to know. His hand stays extended in invitation, patient but commanding.

Two distinct voices war in my head:

Don’t be stupid. You don’t know him. This is exactly how women end up on true crime podcasts.

But look at him. Feel that energy. When was the last time anyone made you feel this alive?

“I—” I hesitate, almost stuttering, my hand halfway to his. “I don’t even know your name.”

He doesn’t answer; he just continues to hold my gaze, his hand unwavering. The silence should be awkward, but it feels charged.

“Seriously?” I glance at Jenna, who shrugs, equally confused by his silence.

His confidence both unsettles and enthralls me. In a world of men who hide behind screens and never show up, here’s someone so present, so physically real, it’s almost overwhelming.

“One dance,” I say finally, placing my hand in his. “Just one.”

His fingers close around mine, warm and strong. As he leads me toward the dance floor, I glance back at Jenna, mouthing, “Keep an eye on my drink,” and holding up one finger to signal I’ll be back soon.

The silence should be weird, but he’s so alluring. He pulls me close as the music shifts to a slower, more sensual song. His hands find my hips, and mine naturally rest on his chest. God, he’s solid muscle under that shirt.

The bass thrums through us as we move together. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “You move beautifully,”he purrs. His lips brush my earlobe, eliciting a gasp from me.

That voice tugs at my memory, but the alcohol, the music, and his proximity make it hard to focus.

His hands slide lower, guiding my hips in time with his.

“I’ve been watching you.”

My body freezes momentarily. Those words—the exact phrasing—set off alarm bells. Watching me? Like the hacker from earlier? Like someone who’s been stalking me?

I try to pull back slightly to see his face clearly, but his grip tightens just enough to keep me close. One hand slides up my back to tangle in my hair.

“What do you mean?” I manage to ask, my voice barely audible over the music.

Instead of answering, he continues moving, guiding my body with his. He speaks in a hushed voice between songs, each word making my skin tingle despite my growing unease: “So beautiful. You feel amazing.”

I should walk away. Every instinct for self-preservation tells me this is dangerous territory. Still, I respond to his touch, melting against him as we move together in the crowd.

His fingers draw patterns on my lower back, making it hard to focus when Jenna appears beside us.

“Hey! Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got that other place lined up.” She glances between us, eyebrows raised. “Unless you’re... occupied?”

I look up at my mysterious stranger, his blue eyes still holding that intensity that makes my stomach flip. Part of me wants to stay here, to keep dancing until the club closes and find out where this connection between us leads. The rational voice in my head finally breaks through the fog of attraction, breaking the spell.

He hasn’t said more than a few words other than he’s been “watching” you. He won’t even tell you his name. These are not the actions of someone safe.

“I should probably head out,” I state, pulling away from him more firmly this time. The momentary flash in his eyes confirms I’m making the right choice. “Thanks for the dance.”

Jenna loops her arm through mine, and we weave through the crowd toward the exit. The cool night air hits my flushed skin, clearing my head somewhat.

“Okay, spill. What was that?” Jenna flags down a passing cab.

“I don’t know.” I slide into the backseat, my skin still tingling where his hands had been. “He was... different. Barely said anything except whispering in my ear.”

“Yeah, that was kind of weird. Like, hot, weird, but still weird.” Jenna tells the driver the name of the next club. “Did you at least get his name?”

I shake my head, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment. “He just... danced. And whispered. Wouldn’t really answer questions.”

“Major red flag.” Jenna squeezes my hand. “Though I get it. The mysterious, intense thing can be hot. But also potentially serial killer territory.”

“I know.” I sigh, leaning back against the seat. “That’s why I left with you. But...”

“But what?”

“There was just something about him.” I turn to the city lights that blur past the window. “Something familiar, but I can’t place it. And the way he said he’d been watching me... it creeped me out, but also?—”

“Turned you on?” Jenna finishes, raising an eyebrow.

I nod, embarrassed. “What’s wrong with me? I’m attracted to someone waving red flags in my face?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Jenna’s voice softens. “The fantasy is hot. The reality would probably be a nightmare. That’s why we have brains and not just hormones—so we can make good choices even when our bodies are like, ‘Yes, please, dangerous stranger!’”

I laugh, the tension breaking. “My body was definitely saying that.”

“And yet you walked away. That’s growth, my friend.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Now, let’s go have fun without mysterious, silent men who are probably planning to wear your skin as a hat.”

“Gross!” I shove her playfully, but her words sink in. I did walk away. Despite the attraction, despite the pull I felt, I chose safety.

As we ride toward the next club, I can’t help but glance back once, half-expecting to see those intense blue eyes following us. The street behind us is empty, but the sensation of his eyes on me lingers like a phantom caress.