Page 32 of Not Another Dark Romance

“Well, where would you go on a vacation?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in Europe, maybe.”

He answered way too quickly to not know, so I try again. “Well, why Europe? Is there something you’d want to see?”

He shrugs as if he’s trying to cover up his interest. “I’ve been trying to learn about brewing beer, so it would be cool to visit the big breweries there, or maybe even the old monasteries that have been doing it for hundreds of years.”

“So why don’t you?”

He gives me a look like the answer should be obvious. “Well, now I can’t because I’m probably going to jail. But also, did you miss the whole two jobs thing? I’m a waiter. I could never afford a trip like that.”

“Never say never!” I encourage with a big smile. I hate to see him look so defeated when I know I would never turn him in. As long as he doesn’t kill me, he has nothing to worry about. “The brewery could take off. Or you could call it a business expense.”

He laughs bitterly like the idea is completely impossible. “Whatever. I need to get ready for work.”

“Don’t listen to the book without me!” I call out as he walks up the stairs. “If you get bored, start a different one. I’d recommend Stealing His Love or Imprisoned in Love.”

“Not happening,” he yells down before slamming the door.

We’ll see.

14

Listen to another one of his gay stalker books?

Yeah, right.

It’s bad enough I’m as invested as I am in the one we’re already listening to. But that’s only been because I couldn’t help but listen when he was. I wouldn’t purchase one for my own enjoyment.

I listen to music while I drive to work like I always do. And it isn’t boring at all.

The rain is annoying as fuck, though.

I didn’t bring an umbrella because I have bigger things to worry about right now than checking the fucking weather report, so I’m drenched when I clock in for my shift. I look around the nearly empty restaurant and groan. Fuck. They probably don’t even need me here.

I walk around to check if anything needs to be restocked, but whoever opened clearly beat me to it. The lack of anything to distract me work-wise has my mind wandering back to Mason. Obviously because I’m stressed about what to do about the whole killing him thing. But more than once, my thoughts are more focused on the way he touched himself, or how surprisingly hard I was watching him jerk off. My dick twitches, and I really need to stop thinking about him.

Maybe I should attempt a dating app hookup with a woman at her place before I end up in prison. Because the longer Mason is in my basement, the more likely prison seems for my future.

Killing a complete stranger would be hard enough, but I sort of know the guy now. How can I kill him when he still has dreams as simple as seeing the Grand Canyon? Maybe I should take him and kill him while we’re there… make it seem like a tragic camping accident. That would really make him happy before he dies. Not that I care about his happiness. Besides, how the fuck would I explain the time off work? The brewery opens in a few weeks; I can’t disappear for days without it being suspicious. And if I did “accidentally” kill him, I’m sure I’d be the number one suspect with how little he seems to interact with anyone else. How would I even explain how I knew him?

So yeah. I’m going to jail.

But as good as a dating app hookup sounds on paper… I don’t know, I just can’t find the motivation to put in the effort. Mason is willing and available, that unhelpful voice in my head reminds me. Again. I kind of haven’t been able to stop thinking about how he would react if I actually called his bluff and agreed to fuck his face.

Except, the longer he’s in my basement, the less I believe he’s bluffing. So would he actually be happy if I decided to try something sexual with him?

It still feels so wrong to even consider from a consent standpoint, but as I focus on that, something low in my gut heats, and I realize with some shame that I’m even more turned on by the thought of the circumstances not being totally proper.

Apparently, there’s a totally fucked-up, twisted part of me that wants to fuck him purely because it would be so wrong. Not wrong because he’s a man—I’m not necessarily against the idea of being bi even if I’m still pretty shocked by it—but having sex with Mason would mean fucking someone I have total control over. He’s my literal prisoner. I shouldn’t be so fucking into the idea of truly owning him like that.

I blame the audiobook.

My dick starts to thicken as I think about the possibility. Yeah, it’s getting really hard to deny that I might be a little less straight than I’d previously thought. Maybe I won’t like it, but he wasn’t asking me to suck his dick. He wants mine in his mouth. And a mouth is a mouth, right? My cock is definitely into the idea, and I try to shift to adjust myself discreetly, but my still-damp pants probably aren’t hiding anything.

It takes another twenty minutes for anyone to even show up in my section, and it’s an elderly couple who eat here nearly every day. I get them their waters and let them pretend to look over the menus for a solid five minutes before they decide to split the same lunch entrée they always do. They’re nice enough, but the tip on such a small bill is going to suck.

After another half an hour of no one coming in, my manager, Carol, approaches me with an apologetic smile while I’m pretending to check if any of the syrup bags need to be swapped in the soda dispenser.