Page 2 of Thirst Trap

He sometimes replies to her messages, just little words or emojis.

But he posted just after hers.

He liked similar memes.

He once quoted a comment she made in a caption.

It meantsomething.

And now she was headed to Creams Tower, to a job she had no business getting dressed like a woman who dared anyone to underestimate her. She reached the front doors, straightened her spine, and painted on her most dangerous smile.

“Game on, city boys” she whispered.

Chapter 2

Jawlines and Ghosts

Lucas Creams scrolled through the endless sea of notifications like a man checking for landmines. @helmetdaddy_xo has over four million followers now. Not that he’d ever admit it out

Loud.

The latest reel was at 3.2 million views. Just a shot of his hands gripping the wheel of his motorbike, knuckles flexed, leather sleeves rolled. A caption he’d debated for twenty minutes before just writing:

“Thinkin’ about you.”

She always replied.

booklover69.

The name sounded ridiculous, but her comments never were. She was a stalker. He knew that. But she was his stalker. And her DMs always made something in him ache not just in his cock, though definitely there too but deep in his chest. Like she saw him.

"I know you’re watching me back, Helmet Daddy. I can feel it. Still not brave enough to post the good stuff?"

He smirked despite himself.

Lucas leaned back in the velvet chair of his too big, too cold office, surrounded by steel and glass and legacy. He rubbed the side of his neck, then stared at his phone again.

Five years ago, he’d made the account on a dare to himself, either be the ghost of a man with secrets or be wanted.

Just once.

Just for him.

Not his last name.

Not his empire.

Not the money or the blood or the legacy.

Just the man with the bike and the scars and the jawline.

He sighed and looked at the cream tower HR email again. Assistant Interviews.

He hadn’t wanted a new one. His last assistant, Maggie, was sixty two, crocheted him dog sweaters he didn’t ask for, and smelled like biological washing powder and boiled sweets. She’d been kind. And now he was here. Interviewing replacements.

His stomach twisted.

What if they’re fake? What if they’re like everyone else? What if they look at me like they know what I’ve done?