Chapter 2

"Dinner's here." Ashton pushed the door open without knocking, scattering my thoughts.

I stared at my phone's now-black screen and realized I'd fallen into another trip down memory lane. The smell of the spicy stew drifted through the basement, and my stomach answered with loud growls.

"You're okay eating down here, right?" Ashton set the food on the table by the bed, sounding pleased with himself. "I even got you this special beagle placemat. I picked it out just for you."

Oh. So he knew I liked beagles. How long had he been snooping on me?

I slid off the bed, gave the shackle on my ankle a light tug, then sat down at the table and took the cutlery he held out. My fingers brushed his by accident, and he jerked back as if I'd burned him.

Ashton held his hand to his nose and breathed in deeply. His face went slack with this weird, satisfied bliss, and he let out a breathy laugh.

"I knew it. You smell amazing everywhere, Cami."

If I weren't locked in this basement, I honestly might've called the cops and reported him for being on drugs. He sure looked the part.

The food tasted incredible. I'd never had takeout this good from any food truck. While I ate, Ashton didn't say a word. He just sat across from me, watching me intently.

When he kept his mouth shut, he looked totally normal. One could even say he had that polished, high-roller vibe. After all, he'd been wearing a tailored suit that definitely wasn't off the clearance rack.

There was also the fact that Seth had called Bianca, who resembled Ashton, a big client. That meant Ashton was probably some kind of CEO or whatever.

Of course, if he didn't randomly let out those creepy, pervy little chuckles, I'd be a lot more inclined to believe he was like a proper male lead in a romance novel instead of a full-blown obsessive stalker.

There was still a little food left in the bowl. When Ashton saw I wasn't going to finish it, he came around and took the chair I'd just been in.

That was when I noticed he'd changed to different cutlery. When he caught me looking, he seemed a little thrown for once.

"If you said I could use your cutlery, I would've. But you didn't." He rolled his own cutlery between his fingers, his voice dropping low. "The truth is, I really, really want to."

Well. A gentlemanly stalker, then.

I flopped back onto the bed and mumbled, "Knock yourself out."

It wasn't like I was the one using his cutlery.

That first night, Ashton didn't sleep next to me. He gave me the same line as before—he would only do it if I allowed him to.

I turned him down. Having the whole bed to myself felt amazing. I could roll around however I wanted. I had zero interest in going through some typical romance-novel scenario where the heroine woke up in the guy's arms—in the summer, no less.

Forget how hot and stuffy that would be—I wouldn't even be able to roll over. I'd be stuck in one position from lights-out to sunrise. Whoever slept like that would be miserable.

The next morning, Ashton came downstairs fully dressed for work. He asked for a hug, then headed out.

On the third day, he asked for two hugs. On the fourth, he wanted me to wish him good morning and goodnight. He recorded both on his phone.

On the fifth day, I received a bunch of intimate photos from Bianca. Some were of her and Seth in bed, some in the car, and some in a pool.

I had to hand it to her—it took real talent to look that satisfied with so little to work with.

To me, sex with Seth had always been extremely low-effort. Of course, that was because there wasn't much happening in the first place. Honestly, it was one of his few good qualities.