Page 59 of Wicked Little Secret
She takes her time lathering up her loofah and baskingin the clouds of steam. Once she’s in long enough for her fingertips to prune, she reaches for a bath towel.
I retreat back into the hall, biding my time, using my senses. The second she comes too close, I draw back and slip into the nearest hiding spot.
She emerges from the bathroom still wrapped in her towel, her skin glistening from the buttery body lotion she’s applied.
I’m watching in secret fascination as the towel falls and she replaces it with a large T-shirt. Her ginger cat meows and scampers over to join her on the bed.
“Peaches.” She smiles, scooping the cat up into her lap. “How was your day, my sweet girl?”
I hold my breath, hoping the feline won’t somehow lead her to me.
In order to avoid any issues like before, every time I visit I’ve brought her a can of sardines. My peace offering that she seemed to accept.
Nyssa spends a few minutes checking her phone, then it’s lights out. She reaches over and twists off the antique glass lamp that sits on her bedside table.
Darkness blooms. Shadows provide cover.
The tension gathered in my shoulders lessens. I step out from where I’d hidden in the hall closet and creep to the edges of her bedroom door. She’s left it partially ajar. My hand wraps around the handle and I ease it open so slowly, a minute passes before I’m done.
Stepping toward the foot of her bed, I make out the silhouette of her in the dark.
Nyssa’s a stomach sleeper—she lays flat on her stomach, cheek pressed into her pillow, arms curled underneath. Peaches sleeps dutifully by her head. The duo breathes gently in the night’s silence.
Sounds I find strangely soothing.
Nyssa thought she could pretend Halloween night never happened.
But she’s unaware how deep my preoccupation with her goes. I didn’t turn up by accident to rescue her from Samson Wicker.
I was tracking her every move that night.
Just like I’m listening to her every breath tonight.
Carefully, I inch closer until I’m at the side of her bed. My hand extends to gently stroke her cheek. The touch is featherlight. Barely a graze.
I’m not sure what I can do to make Nyssa Oliver understand there’s a genuine connection between us.
I’m not even sure how we can possibly have anything meaningful given she’s my student and I’m her professor.
But none of that truly matters. All that matters is that Miss Oliver is mine and mine alone…
Nyssa hardly spares time to dawdle in the morning. Her alarm goes off and she’s leaping out of bed in a flurry of movement. She buzzes from her closet to the bathroom in the middle of dressing for the day.
Shimmying into a pair of distressed denim, she tugs on a fuzzy sweater and then rushes into the kitchen. Peaches meows her dissatisfaction as her owner has little time to spend petting and feeding her.
“I promise I’ll be home earlier tonight, baby girl,” Nyssa says. “I’ve got class. Water and food bowls refilled. Behave yourself!”
A smirk creeps onto my face from where I’m stationedbehind the same window drapes I first hid behind last night.
It’s charming that Nyssa has entire conversations with her cat. I often do the same with Atticus.
The door thuds shut, and she’s gone.
Minutes pass before I reveal myself, ensuring she’s truly not returning.
Peaches spots me at once. The orange cat trots over to me as if we’re now friends.
Pride swells inside my chest. I crouch low and stroke her along her spine.