Chapter 3
Toby
O ne of my current projects features a supernatural witch—Josh was right that I was doing something paranormal—so I thought maybe I could have him be tortured and he could magically stop the flow of blood. My poor main character. Readers were going to feel so bad for him. It was gonna be fantastic.
I realized then that I hadn’t said anything, and my neighbor was staring at me.
Dammit. I was totally being weird again, getting lost in book ideas. Josh would so yell at me if he were here.
“I’m a writer,” I explained, like that made everything better. “I’m not, like, a serial killer or anything,” I laughed.
Hot neighbor was still just looking at me.
“Or a stalker. Not a serial killer or a stalker,” I added. Then I could have hit myself in the head. God, could I be any more awkward?
“I’m Toby,” I said, sticking out my hand, because I figured if we talked about dismemberment together I ought to at least introduce myself.
“Dex,” he said, reaching his hand out and enfolding mine within it.
Fuck. He had very large hands. Like his hand just totally wrapped mine up in it, and I was getting horny wondering if my hot neighbor, aka Dex, was that big everywhere. Because yes please.
And he totally did have tattoos peaking out from underneath his t-shirt. They looked like symbols of some sort. I realized I was just staring at him, our hands clasped together, and I pulled mine back.
“Do you mow your own lawn?” I blurted out.
Dammit. I really needed to get out more. I was so out of practice at having normal conversations.
“I do. Do you need yours mowed as well?” Dex asked, smiling a little.
Ohmygod. Yes please. I tried not to blush just thinking about it.
“Um, I usually hire someone,” I muttered. Because yeah, yard work was not my thing. Tools were not my thing, as evidenced by the fact that I’d almost brained myself with my own hammer.
Which reminded me that sexy, muscular guys were not usually my thing either, as much as I would like them to be. I was a writer who didn’t get enough exercise or sun and liked potato chips too much. And I was socially awkward. I mean, we’d just had a whole conversation about severing body parts.
“So how do you know so much about dismemberment?” I asked.
I almost facepalmed myself. Great pick up line, Toby. And if he was a serial killer, that probably wasn’t a good thing to ask either, although my brain seemed to have decided he wasn’t since he saved me from hammering myself.
This time Dex looked a little awkward. “Um, I have some experience in traumatic injuries,” he murmured.
Huh. That was weirdly vague.
“Like, you’re a doctor?” I asked.
“I have a lot of medical knowledge,” he answered, which wasn’t really an answer.
So he wasn’t a doctor, but he had medical knowledge and experience in “traumatic injuries”—maybe he really was a serial killer? Although Josh would still insist he was something normal like a nurse or an EMT.
Ohh, maybe he had been in the military and was one of those soldiers who worked in interrogation. That probably happened in real life and not just the movies, right? They’d totally cut off limbs and stuff, wouldn’t they?
“Are you in the service? Were you, like, an interrogator or something?” I asked, because my mouth didn’t always have a mute button.
Dex looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I, uh… I’ve served…”
“It’s ok,” I said, patting his arm. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry if my questions brought back bad memories.”
“It’s ok. I don’t mind questions,” he said, looking at my hand, which had stopped patting his arm and was now sort of rubbing it, because the man had some gorgeous forearms. I didn’t even know forearms were my thing, but his were lean and corded with muscle and hairy, and he felt really warm.
I forced myself to pull my hand away, chuckling nervously. “Good! I sometimes get lost in my head plotting, and some of my books are fluffy and sweet, but some are thrillers, and there’s the occasional bad guy. There’s also the occasional good guy who’s badass, because that’s so totally hot, so, yeah, dismemberment and stuff,” I finished lamely.
“Well, anytime you have any questions for your books, feel free to ask,” Dex said. “I’m happy to help.”
It almost looked like his eyes glowed for a second, but when I blinked, he was just my normal, although excessively hot, neighbor.
I chuckled nervously again. “Ok! Well, I’m gonna go write about hot men while I’m feeling inspired by you. I mean, your answers, of course. Yeah.”
With that I turned around, opened my door, gave an awkward little wave again, and shut the door behind me. My god, I really needed to get out and do more peopling. I was totally an embarrassment to myself.
I waited to hear his footsteps leave my porch, and after a moment I heard him going down the steps.
“You’re such an idiot, Toby,” I muttered to myself. “You should not be talking about cutting off body parts with the hot neighbor.”
I thought I heard a laugh, but when I peeked out the curtain at the front window, my neighbor was far enough away that there was no way he’d heard me.
I sighed and then headed over to the couch to grab my laptop, where I’d left it when I’d decided I needed to go and try to fix the numbers on the front of the house, which were attached a little crookedly. It was amazing the things I could accomplish when I was procrastinating. My house was clean, I’d done some laundry, and I’d even resorted to home improvement projects, all because I really needed to write my next chapter.
Hot Neighbor had definitely provided some inspiration, though, and I opened up my current work in progress and got writing. If the badass vampire love interest suddenly started to resemble my neighbor… Well, I was fairly confident Dex wouldn’t be reading my books. I started typing away, losing myself in my paranormal world.
By the time I came up for air, the sun was setting, my stomach was growling, and my whole body felt stiff. I closed my computer and wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge. There was nothing good to eat. I closed it and opened the freezer. Frozen vegetables and frozen meat that I’d cook someday. Maybe. I checked the pantry. Still some chips left, and I took off the chip clip and munched on them as I opened the fridge again.
Because, you know, maybe something had magically appeared in the thirty seconds since I’d last checked.
Nope. Fridge was still sadly devoid of anything resembling a meal.
I sighed, picking up my phone to take a look at what was available on the food delivery app, only I got mildly distracted by the little red circle with the number of unread emails listed. I hated when it got into the double digits. I may not be able to stock my fridge, but by god I could keep my inbox cleared out.
I clicked my email and deleted half the messages—sales, store updates, and some random health newsletter I swear I never signed up for. I totally didn’t think beet juice was the miracle cure for all my ailments. Oh, one of my author friends had a new newsletter out. That would be fun to look at.
Then I saw a random email to my author account. Sometimes fan emails were awesome, but sometimes it was someone critiquing my work or telling me something was wrong, and I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood for that tonight. I put the chips down and sat down at the kitchen table, debating leaving it for tomorrow. Of course, the suspense would probably keep me up all night if I didn’t open it.
Once I clicked on it, I skimmed it over, wincing a bit the further I got. I went back and read it a second time, even though I felt nauseous.
Fuck. This was from a “fan” who had caused me some issues, and I’d thought removing him from everything and blocking him had taken care of the issue.
Apparently not.
The guy had started off after my first book as a fan—he’d been in my Facebook group and followed all my socials. Then the messages had started. They’d been ok at first, if a little presumptuous. He’d told me stuff that was wrong with my book, like that my characters shouldn’t have done this or that, and did I know I’d gotten some aspect of mythology wrong in my book?
It was slightly infuriating—like, dude, I write fiction . I could make up whatever I wanted to. That was what made writing so awesome. If I wanted Medusa to be a guy who had a bad hairdresser experience, then that was totally my prerogative. But I’d taken the advice of my PA and just replied with a simple “Thanks for the feedback! I’m glad you enjoyed my book!”
Only apparently that wasn’t enough for this guy, because he’d gotten more and more hostile, eventually critiquing my sex scenes and asking me when the last time I’d had anything up my ass had been. That was the point at which I’d blocked him from all socials.
He’d sent me an angry email—he was my biggest fan, and how could I do that to him, and blah blah blah. So I’d blocked his email, and I had figured that would be the end of it. I wrote under a pen name, and no one knew my real name, where I lived, or how to get in touch with me. Sometimes people sucked on the internet, and I thought this guy was just an example of that. I’d almost been ready for him to blast me in other groups or post bad reviews, and I’d been relieved when I hadn’t heard anything.
Apparently my relief was premature.
This email was the most toxic so far. He made some long comparison about how he was like one MC in my book and I was like another. It scared me a little that he compared himself to the slightly unhinged MC who kidnapped the other MC. Of course it all worked out in my book and they fell madly in love, but that was because it was fiction .
Stalking and kidnapping in real life were totally not sexy. I didn’t think I needed to put that disclaimer on my books, but maybe I should start? Like “Hey folks! Please don’t try this at home! Consent is important!”
I was spiraling, and maybe hyperventilating a little bit. I focused on trying to calm down my breathing.
He was just a rabid fan. He didn’t know where I lived. I kept my address private and had everything sent to a PO box. He wasn’t actually stalking me—one crazy email did not equal a stalker like I wrote about. Josh was always telling me I blew stuff out of proportion, and I’m sure I was doing that here. This guy was just creepy as fuck and had to have the last word.
I just really hoped this was the last word from him.