Killer Crush

by Ella Goode

  People will let anyone into their house. For example, here I am ostensibly fixing a leak in apartment 3A on behalf of Anderson Plumbing, but in reality, I’m planting a camera and a mic. I brought four with me but only place three of them—one in the living room, one in the kitchen and one in the hallway. If this girl was a real target, there’d be no privacy for her. I’d be watching her piss and shower and rub one out. But the bedroom would be a bad place for a camera because if I ever caught her with a guy in here, he’d be dead before he could nut and then I’d be breaking my promise to get out of the game.

  I heft the bag over my shoulder, pull my cap down and perform one last sweep of the small apartment before hustling out of there. On my way out, I grab the motion sensor I left in the hall. Back in my own apartment, I log into my cameras. Nothing happens for the first hour and then the next. I wonder if I have the right place and double-check the information I obtained from hacking into the college admissions office. No, I’ve got the right place. I push back from my desk and walk over to the coffee maker. It’s almost empty and the coffee is cold but I don’t give a shit. I gulp down the last of the caffeine and set the pot into the sink. It’s when I return to my desk I realize how different my place is from hers. She has a coffee table with stacks of books on it and a colorful blanket tossed over the back of the sofa. I have one black leather sofa and my television is sitting on top of four packing crates. She has pictures on the wall—one of which I used to cover up my camera and mic—and plants in the corner. I don’t have pictures or plants. The large loft apartment with its separate bedroom is barren but for a leather sofa and my large desk with the three computer monitors. The only pictures I’ve ever taken is of a mark. Her kitchen has red things in it—two red plastic chairs for the table, a red coffee maker and red toaster on the counter.

  I glare at my stainless steel coffee maker. I should get some color, but not red. Red is...well...I should avoid that. I’ll have to see what her favorite color is. Hopefully not red. Damn, maybe I should’ve put a camera in her bedroom. It’s really for her own safety. It’s not like an intruder is going to walk in the front door. Smart ones will go in through the windows. I clap my hands together. Tonight, I’ll add the bedroom camera. The bathroom is unnecessary. At this point, it’s unnecessary. I may have to make adjustments later—-for her sake, of course. Not for mine. In fact, if she’s in bed, I won’t even look at her. I’m just watching the windows and doors. That’s my main concern. Just her safety. Yup. Yup.

  Chapter Four

  Quinn

  I lie on the sofa lifting my feet into the air, stretching them out. My thick fluffy socks are pulled up to my knees. I say a small prayer that my dad doesn't pick up the phone. It’s Friday and I’m supposed to call every Friday at seven o’clock on the dot or I’ll never hear the end of it. I mean, how many college students are home on a Friday night at that time? I know he does it on purpose to still have some sort of control over my life.

  Each call is the same. Him grilling me about changing my major. Reiterating that I should move back home next semester so that I can attend college and still live under his roof. I’ll never understand why he cares so much about where I live. Even when I did live at home he was never there.

  “Miss Parson.” Trudy, his assistant, answers the phone. He must have his calls forwarded to her.

  “Hey,” I greet her. She’s worked for my dad for so long that she’s like an aunt to me.

  “He’s stuck in a meeting.” She lets out a sigh, clearly not happy with him about missing the call. It’s okay for him to miss this call but if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d never hear the end of it.

  “It’s cool.” Why do I feel disappointed? When I called I was hoping he wouldn't answer. It’s probably because once again I’m not a priority to him. I never was and I never will be. I have to learn to accept it.

  “How is school?” she asks with genuine concern in her voice. “Are you still liking your roommate?”

  “Everything is good. I still suck at math and Trinity hasn’t moved out yet so I’m taking that as a good sign that she still seems to like me. Don’t tell Dad but she’s dragging me out to a party tonight.”

  “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing, Quinn. You should be going out and having fun.” This sofa is fun. It’s comfy like my socks. What happened to the whole Netflix and chill craze? Did I miss that fad? When is Trin going to fall into that one?

  “I know. I’m going.” I let out a long sigh, sitting up. “You know I don’t like crowds.” I keep thinking of all the movies I’ve seen. Those frat houses are always crammed with people. The music blaring. It isn’t only the crowds but the idea of being trapped, unable to move.

  “Yes, but the best way to get over these things is to face them.”

  “Are you going to hold a spider?”

  “There is no reason I need to hold a spider. That is not a skill I’ll ever need for everyday life.” I fight a laugh at her stern tone. “You’re a brat.” I sit up laughing, crossing my legs under me.

  “I’m going. I might find some hot guy I can bring home on my next break. Surprise Dad. I bet he’d love that.”

  “Ha ha. Let’s not push it. Getting him to agree to let you go out of state for college was hard enough.” That had taken both of us. Thank God Trudy is always on my side. She has a way with my dad. She’s the only one that can ever seem to get through to him. “He wants you to call him tomorrow. Can you swing that?”

  “Oh, you know me. My Saturdays are packed full. Let me check my busy social calendar to see if I have an opening.”

  “This new college is making you sassy. I like it.” I smile into the phone. “Have fun but be safe. I love you,” she tells me.

  “I love you, too.” I end the call. Trin comes bouncing in the front door a minute later.

  “You’ve got to get better at locking the door,” she tells me.

  “Sorry.” It isn’t a habit I am used to. I also don’t want to admit it wasn't a habit because at home no one could get near our front door. You had to pass through the front gate that had a guard at it. My dad does not mess around when it comes to safety.

  “Two girls living together. We have to lock the door.” She turns, flicking the lock. I know she’s right. I’m learning that I’m not the most street smart person. “So what are we wearing?” She drops her bag down at the door.

  “Jeans and a shirt?”

  “Oh, look at you. Getting wild and not wearing yoga pants.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?” Sometimes I’m not actually sure.

  “Yes.” She walks over towards me, pulling my hair out of the ponytail I have it in. “Let’s get ready.”

  “It’s only seven. Don’t these things start late?” I yawn thinking about it. I should have taken a nap.

  “We’re going to eat first.” I perk up at that. Trin has a car which means we can go somewhere good.

  “I’ll be ready in five minutes.” I pop up from the sofa. She grabs my arm.

  “You’re not getting ready in five minutes.”

  “I gotta at least put pants on.” I look down at my bare legs. We don’t have to leave right this second. I’m hungry and all, but pants are a must.

  “I meant that it’s going to take us an hour to get ready.” I know this is not a fight I’m going to win. I lean down, grabbing the gummy bears off the coffee table to hold me over.

  “You’re going to do my hair and makeup, aren't you?” She’s been trying to get at me since we moved in together. It’s not that I don’t like makeup. I just often forget about it. When I do remember to put some on, it’s usually only a little mascara and lip gloss.

  “Oh, by the time I’m done with you you’re going to look damn sexy.”

  “How is that different from how I look now?” I don’t necessarily think I am sexy but I think I look decent.

  “Right now you got that whole adorable thing going on. That girl next door look.” She pulls me by my arm toward her bedr
oom. “How do you do walking in heels?”

  “I’m actually not too bad,” I admit. I’ve had to go to a few events over the years that my father hosted. Trudy always picked me out something nice to wear. It typically included heels. I actually like them because they make me taller. The problem always was that I didn’t care much for the clothes that were paired with them.

  “I’m not talking wedges,” she teases as she sits me down in her makeup chair and turns on the lights that line the mirror, almost blinding me.

  “I give. Do with me what you want as long as you take me somewhere good to eat.” I put my hands up in mock surrender.

  “Deal. But only after I make you look good enough to eat. You’ll have the mouths of those boys at that party watering to get a taste of you when I’m finished.”

  I’m not so sure I want a boy. The man from the cafeteria today flashes into my mind. He’s been doing that since I saw him. There was nothing about him that even came close to being a boy.

  Chapter Five

  Daman

  Socks. I suddenly like socks. I open a tab on the browser and search for thick, fluffy knee length socks. There’s a lot of choices so I order one of each. She definitely likes color. My eyes drift around my barren apartment. Two clicks and I have a green toaster in my shopping cart. The recommendations tell me I can also buy a green butter knife and then a whole place setting in green. I order it all. I feel accomplished.

  Now time to pick out something to wear for dinner. It’ll be the first time we officially meet so I’ll need to make a good impression with her. It would be good if she’d fall in love with me so I don’t have to kidnap her. I don’t know much about how the whole Stockholm syndrome thing works. Anyone who locked me up has always ended up dying. I need to avoid that outcome with my girl.

  I walk to the closet and throw open my doors. A sea of black confronts me. I rub the back of my hand across my forehead. My former profession didn’t really lend itself to colorful clothing. I pull on a pair of black cargo pants, a thin black turtleneck and top it all with a black leather coat. Even my belt buckle is black. At least I don’t have to worry about everything matching. After pocketing my wallet, I return to the computer and order a pair of green socks. They'll get here tomorrow. All I have to do is not mess up tonight and when I see her again, I can be decked out in things she likes.

  My footsteps echo against the concrete floor as I head back to the computer to figure out the restaurant they’re going to. A man has to eat, after all. I’m not prepared for what’s on my screen. I take one look and grab my knife. And my gun. What my girl is wearing is illegal. Or should be illegal. High heels, short and tight skirt, a ripped T-shirt held together on the side and the shoulder with two knots I could slice off before she could voice a protest. Hell, a stiff breeze could probably render her tits out in a half second or less. I should’ve put a speaker in the ceiling because then I could’ve been her conscience telling her that going out dressed like this was going to cause problems. A glance down at the way my cock is filling up my loose cargo paints is exhibit A.

  Red blurs my vision as I think of all the other men who are going to have the same exact reaction and then I’m going to have to kill them. For their own safety, I need my girl to wear different clothes. Or, better yet, stay inside. I head back for the closet. They’re going to have a sudden electrical problem only I can fix. For that, I’ll need my uniform.

  Halfway to the wardrobe, there’s a loud knock on my door. More of a pounding. I ignore it, but the pounding continues, followed by a muffled shout, “Yo, Daman, I need to talk to you. It’s an emergency!”

  Reluctantly, I redirect my course, dropping the knife and gun into a drawer by the front door. My neighbor, Flip, tumbles in as I open the door.

  “Thanks, man.” He holds up a bowl. “You got some extra coffee beans? I’m all out.”

  I nearly slam his face into the table holding my gun and knife. “Coffee?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a little honey coming over and her favorite thing is coffee and hot chocolate. She drinks it every night before she goes to bed. I picked up some hot chocolate packets and was going to use my roommate’s coffee but he’s all out. You gotta save me. I haven’t had sex in like two weeks and if I don’t get some action tonight, my balls will fall off.”

  I push my neighbor out the door. “No. It won’t.” I’ve never had sex and my organs are all in working order. Running around and killing people isn’t a good environment for one-night stands or long-term relationships. You never know if the person in your bed tonight is someone who is going to be a target tomorrow.

  “You don’t know that!” He pushes back.

  “I do.” I start to close the door.

  “Please. I’ll do anything.”

  I pause. What was Flip wearing again? I let the door swing open again and inspect my neighbor. He’s got a pair of jeans on with tears on the thigh and the knee. A white button-down shirt with yellow trim on the collar and cuffs hangs open over an untucked pale yellow T-shirt. He’s thicker around the waist than me, but a belt could solve a lot of problems.

  “Take off your clothes and I’ll give you the coffee.”

  “What?” His eyebrows crash together. “What?”

  I repeat myself. Slowly.

  While he scratches the side of his head, I take the bowl from him. I place the nearly full bag of dark roast in it and return. He hasn't taken off one piece of clothing. One thing that never fails to surprise me is how dumb all these college students are. I don’t ever remember being this stupid. I guess that’s what having money does to you.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “I—look, man—you’re decent looking and all and I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way—”

  I grab my wallet and pull out two large bills. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

  His eyes bounce from the cash to my face and back again. A second later, he’s stripping.

  “Whoa. Whoa.” I grab the hand that’s about to pull off his boxers. “I don’t need your underwear.”

  “Okay, man. Your call. Do you think you should close the door because I’m not much into exhibitionism?” His eyes fall to the cash. “Then again, for the right money I could hop around in a bunny costume and call you Daddy if that’s what you’re into.”

  “What? No.” I drop the cash into the bowl and shove it into his arms. “Go. This is all I need.” I toe the clothes on the ground.

  “Really? You just wanted my clothes?” He gapes.

  “I said that.”

  “I didn’t believe it.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. That’s cool. Let’s just forget what I said about the bunny costume, heh?”

  I push Flip out the door. “It’s forgotten.”

  “Unless that’s something you’re into,” he yells over his shoulder. “I’m open to negotiations!”

  I let the door shut in his face. All right, Quinn. Hold on. I’m coming to save you and the entire male population in a five-mile radius.

  Chapter Six

  Quinn

  I step out of the car, having to pull my skirt down again. The thing keeps riding up on me. It could be the fact that it’s one size too small for me, making it shorter than it’s intended to be.

  “Stop fidgeting with your skirt. You look hot as hell.” I reach up, tucking my hair behind my ear. I’m not used to wearing it down. It always seems to fall in my face when I am looking down to read something or study. Sometimes I feel as though I’m the only person that has this problem. I see people wearing their hair down all the time and it doesn’t seem to bother them as much as it does me.

  “How come you get to wear pants and cover up?”

  “Could you see yourself wearing these?”

  I shake my head no. “I’d go to sit down and they would probably rip at the seams.” I didn't know that black leather pants were back in style. It doesn't really matter if they are or not because Trin looks smoking hot wearing them. But
that’s the case with most things she wears.

  “Come on. Let’s get some food so we can get to the party.” I follow her into the diner. I’ve never been to this one before. I have to say one of my favorite things about this town is there are diners everywhere. We don’t have them back home. They have everything you can think of on the menu. It’s wonderful.

  “Sit anywhere you’d like. Someone will be over with the menus in a minute.” The woman behind the counter calls out to us. I follow behind Trin so I can pull on my skirt again. I swear someone is going to see my underwear. I should have never agreed to wear this. It’s not my usual getup and I’m uncomfortable.

  She slips into one side of a booth. I slide into the other, grabbing one of the menus.

  “I’m ordering truffle fries and I’m not sharing so if you want some you better order your own.”

  “Fine,” Trin huffs. I think she has it in her head that the food she steals off my plate doesn't count toward her calories. I don’t know why she even diets. She’s rail thin. All of her weight has gone to her boobs. I haven't gotten up the courage to ask her if they are real or not. I wasn't sure if she would think it was rude or something. So I’ve held back. Anyway, that’s her business but I am curious.

  “You ladies know what you want?” the woman that was behind the counter asks. Her name tag reads Betty.