First message
It was just casual hookups. Hotels. Fake names. No strings attached.
But seeing him here in an orange jumper, surrounded by ruthless men, I want to quit my job and drag him into the stairwell at the same time.
It should be easy to treat him like any other inmate. I’ve handled worse—real killers, like Declan—dangerous, mean, and in here for crimes that’d horrify any normal person.
None of them have ever made me lose my breath the way he used to. I still have his contact favorited in my phone.
I watch him play dominos in the rec hall, careful to let my gaze flit away just often enough to seem casual. I was the one to lead him to his cell when he arrived a few weeks ago. He tried to ask me something toward the end. My heart slammed so fast I locked the door before he could finish. I told him to enjoy his stay. I never tell inmates that.
Worst part?
He ghosted me four months ago. Right when I’d started to care—poof, gone. I was going to ask him on a real date, only to find he blocked my number.
I tell myself he’s nobody to me here. He has to be—I have an obligation. But the chemistry we still have, the way he pretends he doesn’t know who I am—it’s unbearable. Especially because he doesn’t care. In fact, I’m convinced he enjoys seeing me struggle.
He looks back, catches my eye, and…
Laughs. Winks. Damn it. Don’t react—don’t—
Is somethin’ funny?