Page 36 of Who The Hell Are You?

He frowns. “But you don’t care if I do?”

“No.” Yes, yes, yes.

“Why?”

“I have so much on with writing and studying, there’s only enough of me left to share with one person.” I think of the excuse on the spot a lot quicker than last time, rather than saying I think I became smitten with him the first time we met. “You.” I clarify, wanting to put his mind at ease that he doesn’t have to worry about my commitment. This entire conversation is a mess, he’s confused, I’m still unsure if he’s figured out I’m his masked stranger, but he sits back on the sofa and lets out a long exhale.

“Ok…we’re casually dating, then. Open. Safely.”

I nod, wanting to snap the words out of his mouth and stomp on them, because they’re so wrong. “I hope this conversation made you feel better. I didn't realise you were still thinking about it.” This doesn’t feel casual for me, but even if it would end the confusion, I can’t give up the moments I’m able to have with him when the ghostface mask is hiding my identity. At this point I’m clinging to the fact he said no to my unmasking each time. The excuse fueling me being a shitty person right now. He doesn’t look eased at all as I let go of his hands and lean into his shoulder, both our attention falling back to the television and the movie. The scenes flicker before me but my mind is far away, worrying over if I’ve taken this too far and dreading the consequences of if this goes tits up. It may or may not break this, but I can’t stop. I don't want to and deep down I don’t think Cassie wants that either.

14

Iglare down at my phone, entranced against my will at the video on social media that I’ve now watched over twenty times. It just keeps repeating on a loop, until my brow is twitching from how harshly it's pressing down the middle of my face. I have to physically massage it back into place, before I give myself a migraine and can't drive. I'm obviously on Yourghostboys account, because I'm a fucking addict and can't stay away. Watching his new video–which he tagged me in, with the caption, When Boo is mad at you for being a bad ghost. In the video he's on his knees, looking up at the camera and his shoulders slump. The mask is the same plastic ghostface, but it looks sad, the black eyeholes pleading like a scolded puppy. The comments? Hundreds of people asking if we're boyfriends, what he did to upset me, crazy comments telling me in detail how to punish him and then there are more demanding videos of us together. I'm not sure if I'm even mad anymore, because I'm sure at some point he would have convinced me to do just that. Film with him.

Whilst I received the best blowjob of my life he filmed me, discreetly obviously because you can't see who I am in the video he posted, but I think it's because he outwitted me. Yeah, I think I'm fucked up. I'm annoyed because he got the upper hand and my competitive ass is throwing a tantrum. Very mature…

@Yourghostboy: Baby, are you still sulking? You're driving me crazy.

Look.

My cocks weeping without you.

He then proceeded to send me photos of his long length standing to attention, precum dripping from the tip.

Out of principle I didn't touch my own dick. I completely ignored the ache and signals it shot to my brain all night, so now I'm sitting in my car outside of Miles’s house, semi-hard and unable to get the thing to go down. I'm wound so tight, thinking over this new video, but also the conversation I had with Miles last weekend. The entire thing has left my mind in pieces if I'm honest, but nothing had changed and we'd made out more in the week. We'd sprawled out on his bed, unable to keep our hands to ourselves and pretended to pay attention to The Shining. Due to it officially being October–spooky month as he calls it–he’ll only watch thrillers, Halloween related films or wholesome Disney moves like Hocus Pocus. It's adorable really and I'm fully on the autumn acid train with him. We’d gone out on a date last night too, back to my friend Jemmy's bar because she was hosting a couple of bands. It'd been great, openly being pressed up against him in the packed room. Miles had planned the whole thing like he’d said and it was perfect. We’d seen Grace again who seemed livid with the both of us, and it really seemed to piss him off. With her, it felt like everything I did was in hopes she'd like me back. But with him it all felt effortless. Natural. Cosmically written. Meant to be.

So taking things slow and keeping it open, didn't feel right at all. He wanted me to sew my queer oats, if that even was a thing you did when you figured out your sexuality. I still didn't know if I had, but I knew going forward, a man was probably going to be in my future. Flashes of a beaming Miley in the cafe and the masked stranger pinning me to the tree overwhelm me. Christ. Mum was going to have a field day if I asked her for a session…

My thumb is hovering over our private chat, but then my passenger side door opens and I throw my phone into the cupholder as Miles slides in.

He’s beautiful. Honestly he's taken my breath away from the moment we collided outside the coffee house. His blonde waves are swept back and he's wearing a black bomber jacket, over a faded grey hoodie which I know has a printed spaceship scene zapping up cows. It's ridiculous and I love it, especially when he told me the hoodie reminded him of me. Usually he's in skinnies, but today he's wearing loose black jeans with rips, and they're rolled up to show his converse. The entire look is cool as fuck, but my favourite part is how the dark clothes make the turquoise in his eyes glow.

He definitely knows I'm checking him out as he smirks, throwing his duffle bag into the back and quickly leaning over in the process to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Mm, you look good.” He rumbles from somewhere in his chest, and I tug his hoodie collar to steal a kiss on the lips before he sits back.

Inspired by the occasion I bought a burnt orange and teal checked wool shirt jacket, wearing it similar to him, over a grey hoodie. I've got black cargo trousers and Adidas trainers, and I can admit we look fire together. “Me? Nah, you're the one that looks good.”

Chuckling, he eyes me up and down, biting on his bottom lip. “Nope, you look edible.”

Well, there goes my dick. Again. Cursed to be hard.

Pushing the thought of biting into his lip myself, I start my car and offer him the wire that will connect his phone. “Want to be DJ?”

He eagerly nods, clicking in his seatbelt first before taking the wire from me. “I'll get the directions up to the cabins too, we're only just over an hour away.”

“Perfect. There's some snacks by your feet in that bag too.” I know the general direction out of the city, so I look around at the empty street before pulling out. “There's something in there for you too.” I shoot him a quick glance and see he's discarded his phone on his knee, to pick up the carrier bag and look inside. He's quiet for a long moment as he stares in, then my eyes snap again from the road to him as he makes a grumbly noise in his throat.

“Y-you are…” He pulls out the chocolate and healthier options, but only to take out the cute bat plushie. He laughs, shaking his head and his tone is the perfect level of husky. “You are ridiculously cute. This is spoiling me.”

Unashamed I reach out and squeeze his hand, bringing it to my mouth and kissing his knuckle. “I like spoiling you. In fact, it gives me all the good endorphins. If it makes you feel uncomfortable though, tell me a fancy word term to call it instead.” I love this game we have, where Miles reels off different meanings for the same phrase or when he ‘fancies up’ words as I like to call it.

Huming, he lets our joint hands rest over the gear stick as I manoeuvre into third. “Let's see, there is pamper, indulge, overindulge,” he raises his brow at me and I playfully squeeze his hand, licking at my lips.

“I very much like pampering you, Miley.”

He fans himself, teasing me more. “Oh baby, aren't I just the luckiest kept wife.”

I laugh, starting to slow as the traffic starts and shift gears. We crawl towards the roundabout. “Straight over.”