The Ice Next Door

Chapter 4

SEBASTIAN

Waking up this morning is different. I'm quick to get up, change into a pair of black sweatpants, a white t shirt, and pop a hoodie on before I leave the house for my early morning run before school.

Except this time, I don't just shake my head and chuckle to myself when I spot Hadley in her bedroom window watching me next door. I step in front of her house and wave to her, flashing a pearly white grin. I see the shock on her face all the way from down here just before turning around and heading across the street for the forest.

The air is a little chillier than it has been, so I pull my hood up and pop my ear buds into my ears and select a hip hop diss track as I push my legs to a steady jog.

Not long after I move further through the woods, my thoughts begin to wander.

Hadley Berry is usually one with the insults because I'd been around when she'd told guys off before. But I left her Reeling. Fumbling how to react.

And that was arousing. To knock such a fierce girl right down from her pedestal. And I quite enjoyed the banter between us. I enjoyed watching her stutter and falter beneath my dirty, dirty words. My closeness. The tease of a kiss I laid upon her pink plumpy lips.

She dropped to her knees in the mud so fast. She wanted to me to unzip my fly and take my c**k out. She would have taken me into her mouth, too. She would have let me stick it in so far that she choked on it. I know she would have. She practically salivated for a taste.

Maybe I should have let her have one.

Maybe I will next time.

The rest of my jog is swarmed with more thoughts of my stalker and before I know it, it's time to return home.

After I cross the street, I notice that Hadley's window is open, a sky blue curtain fluttering in the wind, like an invitation. I can't help myself. I barrel up the walk to her house and climb up the tresses, shocking her stiff when I climb into her bedroom.

"Sebastian— what— what are you doing here? In my bedroom?" She gasps, bolting up from the chair she's sitting in. I love the wide surprise in her eyes. The wild nervousness that has suddenly struck her stupid. It's different. A whole new Hadley from the one I propositioned yesterday stands before me now. Why haven't I done this before? Her reaction to me inside her sanctuary is enough to quiet my father's voice in my head. And almost makes me forget about the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing after graduation.

She tries to hide something behind her back as I begin walking around her room to look at her walls. There's posters of metal bands, one band seemingly taking up the majority of the space. Another poster of a country duo, sitting on top of a miniature house. A couple capybaras with motivational quotes and some with insults. There's strands of white Christmas lights weaved around the canopy of her bed, lighting up some pictures of her friends. Strands of moons and stars and bat beads that sparkle in the sunlight. All in all Hadley has a pretty room, but it's anything but the typical teenage girl room.

"What do you have there?" I ask her, pegging the hands behind her back with a popped brow. "Are you trying to hide something from me, little stalker?"

She shakes her head but continues to fiddle with something out of view. I catch a glimpse of it. It's her cellphone.

Was she looking at something she doesn't want me to see?

Did I interrupt her watching a naughty video?

"Hand it over." I suggest and hold my hand out.

"I don't know what you're—" She stutters and backs away.

But I'm too fast and quickly advance on her, reaching around to pluck the device out of her hands.

"Hey!" She complains, shooting her hands out after me like she stands a chance at getting it back. I'm taller than the girl. Hell, I tower over her. She's not getting the phone back until I want her to have it.

It doesn't take long to find what she was trying to conceal from me. As soon as I get past the lock screen on the phone, an old video of me kicking a soccer ball around with Devin starts to play. On it, I'm shirtless and wearing only a pair of black gym shorts, my toned body glistening with sweat. From the angle of the video, Hadley had to have taken it from underneath the bleachers. And she'd messed with the settings while capturing it, too, because it's been slowed down at certain parts, accentuating the length of my bare, sweat topped torso and moments I closed my eyes.

She is a little stalker after all. I knew she watched me, but I didn't know she was actually recording me. I suppose I should feel angry, slightly violated...but I don't. I feel flattered. How f****d up is that?

"That's not—" She stutters again.

I chuckle. "What is it not? Is this not a slowed down video of me, shirtless outside with my friends? Just where were you hiding when you took this?"

She doesn't say anything. What could she say? What would excuse away a video of me on her phone like this? She's been caught for the voyeur she is.

I could take this to the principal of the school and file a complaint. Get her into trouble for spying on me and taking momentos. Or I could use it to get what I want without giving her what she wants in return.

But. I have a better idea. Partly because her bold crush on me is kind of hot. But mostly because I want to stun her again and what better way to do that than to act impulsively.

So I do something that she's not expecting. Taking the phone in my hand, I lift the bottom of my shirt with the other one, then snap a picture of my prized abs, full on reveling in the full body gasp that shoots out of her mouth in response. "Nice job on your video, little stalker, but I think you'll like this picture better." I smile and hand the phone back to her with a flirty wink.

Her gaze is more wide shock as she glances down at the picture on her phone, then back up to me like she can't believe I'm inside her bedroom. A flush of pink rushes to her cheeks and makes my stomach ripple with...something that has large wings. Ignoring the feeling, I take another gander through her room, discovering a shelf full of vinyls. Picking one out in particular that catches my eye. The cover art looks to be a blue and green skull of smoke made of lightning wings floating in a purple cosmic sky, the earth being one of the eyeballs. Four vinyls later, I notice the similarities between the logo on the vinyls and the logos of the posters on her walls. They're the same things, or at least different plays on them.

Favorite band, perhaps?

"Can you stop going through my stuff?" She stalks over to me and rips the vinyl out of my hands, then folds her arms over her chest and glares at me.

"Can you stop filming me shirtless without my permission?" I toss it back to her, c*****g my head sarcastically as I reach out and pluck the thing back.

"You can't just come in here and do whatever you want." She huffs.

"Oh, I can't? Watch me." I shrug, strolling over to the desk beneath an arch in the room and flicking through the pages of the photo album on top. There's old family photos, past birthdays, Christmases, and some Halloween costumes. Apparently, she was Harley Quinn this past year, Maeve was Catwoman, and their bestie Sam was Deadpool. How cute.

"Sebastian, stop!" She follows behind me, huffing and puffing like she's irritated. It's adorable; the steamy anger etched in the lines of her face and the flash of irritation in her pretty eyes. I didn't expect to see it. I don't know, I just always thought her eyes would be swimming with joy every time she saw me. Especially here alone in her room.

I laugh again and sort of mimic her, "Sebastian, stop. Funny. Those aren't two words I ever thought I'd hear you say in one sentence." Turning to face her, I brush my finger along her cheek, "Unless the word "don't" separated them."

She shivers. Her eyelashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks. "You have to go. I need to shower now." She says, adding a firm nod of her head like it'll drive the statement home.

"I also have to shower. Wanna shower together?" I murmur, leaning down to catch her eyes.

This time she doesn't falter or stumble. Her response is a definite, "Yes."

It makes me chuckle, deep seated amusement comes rolling out of me before I can stop it. She is an eager one. I don't think I'll ever get used to how unapologetically herself she is. How blatantly smitten she is with me. My stomach clenches and the bottom half of me starts to stir awake at the idea of taking a shower with her.

But now isn't the time for s*x. Not yet. She hasn't earned that part from me. "I'm kidding, little stalker. I'm gonna take off and let you do your thing. I'll be back in thirty to take you to school." I tap her on the nose and she crinkles it.

Blinking, she asks,"You're taking me to school?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"We don't have science again until tomorrow. "

"I know. I just figured I'd give you a ride to school from now on. Do you not want that?" I pop a brow in regards to her questions. I thought I was doing something nice for her. Something completely out of the realm of normal for me. If she doesn't appreciate it, I can take back the offer.

"I do. Thank you." She smiles, her features softening, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Don't mention it. I'll be back in a little bit. Don't think of me too much in your shower." I tease, then make my way back to the opened window.

"Ughhhh. Would you just go?" She groans and walks out of the room—thinking I'll leave as she does. Oh, how f*****g wrong she is.

I'll leave... eventually.

But not yet. Not before I check what else she has on her phone. Because something tells me there's more to find, more of her obsession to unravel, more secrets she doesn't want me to know about. So after she leaves, I wait for her footsteps to pad down the hall and into the bathroom before I walk over to snatch the device from the desk where she left it.

I wake it from it's slumber to find her lock screen is a selfie of her and Sam at some rock concert, hanging on to the barricade with huge smiles on their faces, sporting band tees from a band I don't follow. Judging by the huge skull bat on the banner hanging behind the stage, I think it's safe to assume it's her favorite band, the one that lives in the posters that litter her walls.

Swiping my finger through the photo, I try to get into the phone—only to discover that it's locked with a pass code. A four number pass code.

Well, s**t.

Pulling s**t off the top of my head, I start putting in numbers that relate to me. First I try my birthday; 1210. Nope. Then I enter my jersey number twice; 2323. Also nope. And I'm rewarded with a nice little warning that pops up and locks me out of the phone for ten seconds.

I hear the shower kick on in the background. Good. I've got twenty minutes to figure this s**t out. At least.

When the pass code pops up again and allows me to put more numbers in, I blow out a sigh, then glance around her room for hints as to what the pass code could be. The band posters on the walls are no help. Although the main band featured has a number in its abbreviated name, I can't see a way to make a code with the number "7." The capybara posters aren't any better, either. They have no numbers surrounding them, no secret codes written in the cheesy sayings that accompany them. The pictures of her and her friends posted around her mirror are also a dead end.

Sighing again, I sit down on her bed and let my head hit the wood of the headboard, turning my head to the small lamp on a night stand where a copy of A Walk To Remember rests, a pink sticky note peeking out from the top as if it's being used to mark her place in the book.

That's... interesting.

I pause and listen for the sound of the shower to continue in my ears before I pick the book up and flip to the sticky note, finding my jersey number written on it, surrounded by a heart made of burning hockey pucks that she doodled. Awe. How f*****g adorable.

Twenty-three.

There's that number again.

It's got to mean something other than my number on the team.

Going with my gut, I tap the screen of the phone and try something else with my jersey number. This time I put two "0's" in front of the "23" And it works. The screen clicks and lets me in, a photo of the lead singer from her favorite band greeting me on the home screen, captured in mid-scream, his eyes squeezed shut like he's living in the moment while colorful lasers flash all around him.

Once inside, I open up her camera roll first and discover that the most recent photo is of her, Sam, and Maeve, the two girls on each side of him kissing his cheek while he makes a face of disgust. I laugh as I scroll past and find a picture of Hadley and Maeve ice skating outside during the night beneath white Christmas lights, both of them rocking very rosy cheeks and noses and thick winter coats, looking like two happy peas in a pod. Hadley's joy is palpable even through the screen, and I'm smiling like an i***t at her phone before I realize it. When I do, I shake my head and scroll some more until finding a picture of Hadley and her mother, standing in the middle of a lit up tree farm which must have been taken during the most recent Christmas. In the photo, Hadley is positioned just right so that it looks like she's holding a tree in her hands as her mother laughs and sips what looks to be hot cocoa.

The girl must have thousands of photos in her phone. Of her friends, her mother, scenery, critters from the forest. Too much to scroll through, so I back out of her camera roll and open the gallery app on the phone. Inside, I find different albums of different things. There are folders labeled for friends, family, concerts, school, holidays, vacations...

And one titled "Sebastian."

Curiosity piqued, I tap on it and am flooded with pictures of me. At my hockey games, on the ice, outside my house, coming back from the woods, going into the woods, during gym class, outside with my friends. There's even videos of me running drills at practice, making shots during games, f*****g around with my friends outside, candid shots of me, of my smile, of my stomach, of my... ass. She's even got more of her special videos, the ones where she's slowed things down and highlighted special moments. One in particular catches my eye and makes me laugh so f*****g hard. In it, I'm jogging slowly, the camera zooming up to accentuate my ass as my legs pound against the cold, wet road. The angle suggests she took it right outside her window. And of course she did.

You can't say the girl isn't committed. She is. To a motherfucking T. And I should probably be disgusted after finding more disturbing footage of me that she took without my consent, but I'm not. f**k. I'm not. Not even a little bit. I commend her for going all out, for creating this shrine of me in her phone. But more than that, I'm flattered by the dedication it must have taken her to put it all together. Delighted to know that she even cared enough to want to have a gallery of photos and videos of me in her phone in the first place. Because at least someone does, right?

Jesus. How f****d up is that?

I'd like to spend more time going through the folder because I know there's so much more to find, but I'm running out of time to snoop, so I exit the app and go back to the home screen—where her music widget draws my attention at first glance. The most recently played song is one I haven't heard of, the title is one word and it's obscene. Proactive. Highly suggestive.

Hmm. What's this?

As soon as I click on the song, it takes me to the music app—where I discover something else my pretty little stalker has curated in my name. A filthy Playlist a mile long titled "The Ice King" with a description that says "songs I want to f*ck Sebastian Tate to."

Heat unfurls low in my stomach.

My whole body stiffens when I see that the first song on the Playlist is titled "w***e" by the metal band In This Moment.

Whore.

Is that what Hadley wishes she was? My w***e? Does she dream of being my obedient, desperate, dirty little w***e? Does she close her eyes at night and touch herself to the idea of me commanding her? Controlling her. Dominating her. Pinning her to the mattress and—

Oh, f**k me.

I choke on surprise. The goddamn audacity of this girl, I swear. Her obsession with me knows no bounds. She actually compiled songs about f*****g me when I haven't even said a word to her in f*****g years.

Jesus christ. That's ballsy. Brave, bordering on stubborn. Or maybe it's just batshit crazy and I'm even more batshit for feeling appreciated and wanted. For once in my life. Either way, it doesn't stop the grin on my face from growing bigger, or my c**k from twitching in my pants.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?

I feel my jaw drop further as I scroll down the suggestive song titles in the Playlist, my chest swirling and flipping as my back burns. I want to play one, but the sound of the shower down the hallway cuts off and tells me I'm nearly out of time, so I jot the name of the Playlist down and make a note to ask her about it later, then exit back out to the home screen.

With one thing left to do, I find her contact list and add my name and number to the mix, and make my contact photo the one I took for her—the closeup shot of my abs—before I set her phone back on her desk and slip out her window like I was never even there.

Even though, I'd love nothing more than to wait for her to finish her shower so that I can play with her some more—especially since I'd just found additional evidence on her phone that is sure to make her f*****g squirm.