The writer
She couldn't believe she had asked him that.
It was one thing to use a scenario to flirt with a reader.
It was another to actually want to fuck a reader.
Heat crept up her neck as she groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. What kind of writer am I?
Would she get banned from Wubnovel for this?
Could they track her messages?
Would they know she had crossed that invisible line between playful teasing and something much, much deeper?
She sighed and reached for her phone, half-expecting some form of karma to have already caught up with her.
But instead, a notification flashed across the screen.
"Congratulations! Your novel has passed the vetting process and has been recommended on Fresh Stories."
Her breath caught.
Her heart stuttered.
For a moment, the embarrassment, the regret, the sheer madness of what she'd done, it all melted away.
Her lips parted, and before she could stop it, a wide smile stretched across her face. A real one.
One she felt deep in her chest, in her ribs, in the pit of her stomach.
She had been recommended. Somewhere.
Finally.
A rush of joy filled her veins, overwhelming and electric. She wanted to tell him.
He would have been the first person she'd tell, but, the thought made her hesitate.
She had left him on read.
Ghosted him.
It had been a week.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, uncertainty gripping her, but before she could do anything, her stomach growled,a loud, traitorous sound.
She winced, glancing around. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh white glow over the cramped aisles of the grocery store.
The faint hum of refrigerators filled the air, blending with the chatter of customers and the soft beeps of barcode scanners.
It was hot outside, scorching. Even inside, where the air-conditioning tried its best, she still felt the heat clinging to her skin.
Her throat was dry, parched from the afternoon sun beating down on the store windows. She needed something to drink.
A small, muted thump made her blink.
A juice box.
She frowned, staring at the carton that had just been set in front of her. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
And froze.
The man standing before her was partially obscured by a hoodie, a face mask concealing the lower half of his face. But his eyes, God, his eyes.
One was piercing blue. The other a golden hazel.
Heterochromia.
Beautiful.
Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the juice box. He stood there for a second, those mismatched irises locking onto hers, unreadable and yet… intense.
She didn't realize she was staring until he moved.
He turned.
Walked away.
Wait.
"Um… aren't you going to… pay?"
The words tumbled out before she could stop them, but he was already gone.
A chuckle made her snap out of it. Her coworker, smirking, arms full of Pringles cans.
"He already paid for it."
She blinked, stunned.
"It's for you." Her colleague rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world before turning back to the shelf.
She swallowed, gaze flicking to the entrance.
Gone.
Just like that.
Her fingers curled around the juice box, the coldness sinking into her palm.
And for some reason…
She smiled.