Watching You comes out on January 19th and I would like to share with you the first chapter before Friday’s release. I hope you enjoy–
A flourish of blonde hair passes me on the busy sidewalk, unaware of my presence. I follow my girl through a few downtown shops on the Upper East Side of New York City. She’s dressed to the nines, with no real place to go. Her skirt is so short it turns heads. Her body glistens in the summer heat.
I focus on the sway of her hips and the way her long, toned legs look in her killer heels. I could spend all day looking at Cindy Larson and never get tired. She is my muse.
She’s been one of my favorites to watch.
Cindy is a tantalizing bombshell, with hypnotizing golden eyes. Her tight body is what women spend hours in the gym to get. Her double D’s are perky and when she walks, they bounce. I love to picture what her ample breasts look like bare and if her nipples would pebble under my touch.
Her routine is predictable which makes it easier for me to follow and watch. Cindy is out the door of her apartment every morning at nine a.m. She makes her way across the street to Starbucks and orders an iced coffee with skim. She’s ordered the same thing everyday for the last three months. Never anything with more flavor, and I know it’s to help keep that figure of hers.
This Starbucks is the first place I ever saw Cindy. Our eyes had locked for only a second through the large, glass windows, while her lips were wrapped around her straw. She instantly became my new obsession.
It only took two days to find Cindy after my last muse, Heather, moved away. New York is a busy city and there always seems to be a new girl who catches my eye. Once I get bored with one, I move on to the next, a new one that sparks my interest and my desires.
Cindy breezes past me. Her signature scent reaches my nostrils, and I inhale her Chanel No. 5 perfume; such an intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine. I have traces of it on my pillow, so when I sleep at night I can imagine she’s there.
Like clockwork, she marches into the Elite Gym on 2nd Avenue, so she can take her ten a.m. Pilates class. She struts into the locker room and when she emerges she’s wearing a pale pink sports bra and yoga pants. The pants are so tight on her it’s like she’s wearing an extra layer of skin. It makes that peachy ass of hers look juicy and sweet, leaving me wanting to take a bite out of it.
I make my way to the treadmill with the best view of her ass. There’s no better sight in this gym than to watch her twist and bend.
I know everything about Cindy, from her favorite color to her favorite song. Her little snort when she laughs, all her snobby friends, her family, and even her bank account numbers. I know she’s never worked a day in her life. Her last boyfriend dumped her, right before I started watching. I also know last week she bought a pink vibrator to help with the ache between her legs.
I smile, thinking about her pleasuring herself – but now I need to adjust myself before anyone sees my raging boner. I’ll have to satisfy my needs later, while I ogle her pictures on my wall.
When the Pilates class ends Cindy opens the door and the sweat dripping from her skin makes her glow. I picture myself licking the beads off her neck.
I bet she tastes sweet.
After showering, she always goes shopping. I guess it’s one of the many perks of Mommy and Daddy’s money.
I don’t judge her though. I, too, come from a large trust fund my parents left me upon their deaths. The pain of their loss rips through my heart and leaves it in shreds. My eyes squeeze together painfully, remembering the sound of metal crunching, the screams, then the silence. Their faces flash in my mind, as I recall their final hugs, and never getting the chance to say goodbye.
No, we won’t think of them right now.
We need to focus on our girl.
I watch Cindy fling her immaculate golden hair over her shoulder, laughing with the sales clerk as she purchases a green cocktail dress. I’m sure she’ll wear it tonight when she goes clubbing with Alexa and Tonya.
She’s so beautiful. I go to bed every night dreaming of her face, wondering what it would be like to talk to her. What it would feel like to be inside her.
It’s something I will never know. I’m a watcher. I’ve always been just a watcher.
I remember when it all started.
I was in seventh grade when I met Lucy Carmichael. She had been in tenth grade and lived across the street from me. The first time we met was when she ripped Lance Sanders off me. He had beaten me up just for shits and giggles.
I was a loner in school, overweight, and I smelled. My grandmother used to say I tried to eat my problems away. However, it never stopped her from pushing a plate in front of my face.
Lucy was an angel. It was like she walked on water.
She’d smiled at me that day, before turning away and running off with her friends.
I had wanted Lucy’s attention and had started working out to lose the weight. The only thing I couldn’t do was work up any courage to talk to her. For a year, I watched as she left the house to hang out with her friends. I watched as she snuck out, and then back in the middle of the night. I watched her every second I could.
There came a day when I had thought I was finally ready to talk to her. I looked good. I was thin and buff, my hair looked fly, and I had a new wardrobe.
Then Randall Thompson happened. I’d walked up to Lucy’s front porch with a bundle of daisies in my hand. Daisies were her favorite, but Randall had been there too with red roses – I knew she hated red roses. He’d glared at me and laughed, taunting me, asking me what in the hell I was doing. He’d shoved me back when Lucy opened the door. Her eyes had gleamed when she saw Randall, sparkling just like when her father had bought her a pink Camaro for her birthday.
She had taken his flowers, told him how beautiful they were, and kissed him on the cheek. She’d then looked at me, disgust evident in her expression and shook her head, clearly saying I was no good. She’d pulled Randall into the house, but before he went in, he had turned to me with an evil sneer and said, “You will only ever be able to look. You will never be able to touch.” He’d ended his words with a gruff, “Loser,” before going into the house to kiss my angel.
That was the day I had become a watcher. You can’t get rejected when you watch.
A horn honks loudly, pulling me from my memories. Fuck! I was so lost in my thoughts, Cindy had already waved down the cab for her next stop at the animal shelter. She claims to work there, but I’ve never seen her lift a finger. She spends her time petting the dogs and letting them know just how cute they are.
I jog to the corner to hail a cab when I collide with someone, and they crash to the ground. Coffee splatters on the sidewalk and covers my shirt.
I look down and notice a mass of long, delectable chocolate curls. The girl grimaces as she rubs her ankle.
I should run. Cindy is getting away. But there’s a pull with this girl like we’re both magnets, and I have to attach myself to her.
“Are you okay, miss?” I can’t believe I’m speaking. My body moves on its own to extend a hand to her.
When was the last time you talked to a girl?
The answer would be never. You don’t talk to girls. You look and admire from afar without getting caught.
She pulls her head up, and I’m instantly mesmerized by her emerald eyes. She reaches out for my hand, and like a lightning bolt, her touch sends shocks through my body.
What the hell is this?
I think she feels it too, because when she finally stands up, she releases my hand, as if I had electrocuted her. I also notice her skin is deeply flushed. Her cheeks are the color of cherries and she looks adorable. I’ve never seen any of my girls blush so red.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She smiles at me.
She’s actually smiling at me.
“I’m Jess, by the way.”
She’s introducing herself to me? I look around and make sure she’s actually talking to me. When I look back at her, she’s giggling.
Great. She’s fucking laughing at me.
I’m about to storm off and catch up with Cindy because she doesn’t laugh at me, but when I feel her hand on my shoulder, electric shocks course through my body again.
“Hey, don’t I get a name?” she asks, her bright eyes searching me curiously.
“You want my name?” I ask, shocked. Nobody ever wants my name. I’m a shadow, a nothing. I blend in. I know everything about them, and they know nothing of me.
“Yeah.” She knits her eyebrows together. “I mean you knocked into me. I think I should get the name of the guy who now owes me a coffee, and also maybe the person I owe a clean shirt too.” She smiles and points to the mess on my blue polo.
“Well, Kyle, what do you say? Coffee and a trip somewhere to replace that shirt.”
“Doesn’t seem like an even trade for me running into you.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you could buy me another cup tomorrow too.”
“You want to see me tomorrow?” My voice cracks. Is this girl seriously asking me out?
She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe.”
“You just met me. I could be a serial killer for all you know.”
“Well, are you?” A small smirk graces her ruby lips.
“No, but would I tell you if I were?”
“Probably not, but I like to think I have a good read on people. There’s something about you.” She stares at me for a minute, and I can’t help but get lost in her eyes.
“Come on, Kyle, I want another venti caramel frap.” She walks past me and I’m stunned, stuck to my spot. She turns to look at me. “Are you coming?”
“Um, yeah.” I hurry to follow her.
Cindy is now long forgotten. I walk down the street beside Jess, staring at her.
Jess. What a lovely name. Her cheeks aren’t red anymore, but a faint pink. I’m guessing they are normally that way. I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and notice the tiny, pearl studs there.
She’s not like my other girls who always dress immaculately and are ready to impress. Jess is more relaxed, wearing a pair of jeans and a green blouse.
“Here.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into a storefront that reads Brich’s: New York’s Best Coffee. The place is bouncing with people and we stand by an elderly couple, who still look very much in love.
The old man grabs the old lady’s ass, causing her to yelp and smack the old man in the shoulder. She calls his name in a mock disapproving tone.
I look down and notice Jess watching them too. She giggles and leans in to whisper in my ear, “I can only hope my husband is still as frisky at that age.”
I chuckle with her, and it makes me wonder where I might be at that age. Will I be alone and still watching? Or will someone finally want me? Maybe it could be this girl standing next to me.
“Why are you talking to me?” The words spew from my mouth like a volcano under too much pressure.
“I think right there should answer your question.” She giggles again, and the sound sets fire to my skin. She’s sweet and bubbly and doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.
“What?” I ask confused.
“I told you I’m good with reading people. I could tell you needed a friend.”
“Yes, a friend. I can tell you probably don’t have many.”
I feel as though I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. What kind of aura do I give off? Does it really scream, ‘Hey this guy is friendless and pathetic’?
“You can tell that by looking at me?”
“Uh-huh. It’s kind of my gift to read people. My dad used to say it was a gift and a curse.” She stares at me, her green eyes dancing around humorously, her beautiful smile still turning up the corners of her mouth.
“So, you go around looking at people?”
Is she kind of like me?
“No, I don’t go around searching, but when I meet people, I like to get a feel for them. I’m always looking for new friends.”
“You go around befriending strangers? Is that safe?”
She shrugs her shoulders and approaches the counter to order. “You want something? I mean, you are buying.”
“No, I’m good.” I wave her off.
I listen as she orders the sugariest drink on the menu with whole milk, extra caramel, and extra whip. It’s clear that she doesn’t count calories and knows how to live a little. I can’t help but wonder if all that caffeine and sugar is the cause for her upbeat personality.
“That will be $5.15,” the cashier says.
Jess turns to me, her smile lighting the room. “Pay the good man.”
I reach into my pocket, grab my wallet, and pay the guy. We step away and wait for her drink to be made.
“You want to be friends?” I ask, needing to know.
Nobody ever wants to be my friend. Not that I’ve ever actively gone looking for one. Everyone looks past me like I am invisible. In school, I had been the freak with no parents, smelling of mothballs because of my grandmother. As I got older I hadn’t really cared, because I was too busy on a hunt with one of my girls. Every hour was spent with them. Now, a breathtaking girl wants to be my friend. I’ll be able to talk to her, reach out, and touch her.
“Do you want a friend?”
“I think so.” I chuckle. How could I pass up the chance? Friendship, something I haven’t experienced since I was a young kid.
The barista calls Jess’ name and she’s handed her caramel frappe. She wraps her lips around her straw and I’m a goner.
I have my new muse, to study and learn.
“Now sir, I owe you a shirt.”
Want to read more: Find it on Amazon- 2.99 and Free on KU– Also in Paperback