Scary Suitor

By Celia Crown

"No more running and hiding from me. I won't get mad; it's just a silly game."

 

Cassio doesn't believe in love. But Alina makes him happy, so unbearably happy that, in his twisted justification, he knows she's testing his endurance to prove he's worth her time.

 

She hasn't done anything to catch his eyes, but he has always had a knack for finding hidden treasures that others don't look twice at.

 

He doesn't want to lose her by pursuing too strongly. That's why he gave her months to hide, then he'll go whisk her away on their anniversary. There aren't set rules, which he takes blame for it when he benefits from them.

 

But who could blame him?

 

Certainly not his precious pretty girl.

 

So, when he finds her—stalking, she claims, and he vehemently denies the semantics—Cassio ignores how he's supposed to wait until Valentine's Day to show up and not weeks before.

 

Again, who could blame him?

 

He's impatient.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Crown
• Release date: Apr 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215537817

Book preview

SCARY SUITOR

____________________

CELIA CROWN

Copyright © 2022 by Celia Crown.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.

The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, locations, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

Contents

Scary Suitor

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Afterword

More Books

Scary Suitor

By Celia Crown

No more running and hiding from me. I won’t get mad; it’s just a silly game.

Cassio doesn’t believe in love. But Alina makes him happy, so unbearably happy that, in his twisted justification, he knows she’s testing his endurance to prove he’s worth her time.

She hasn’t done anything to catch his eyes, but he has always had a knack for finding hidden treasures that others don’t look twice at.

He doesn’t want to lose her by pursuing too strongly. That’s why he gave her months to hide, then he’ll go whisk her away on their anniversary. There aren’t set rules, which he takes blame for it when he benefits from them.

But who could blame him?

Certainly not his precious pretty girl.

So, when he finds her—stalking, she claims, and he vehemently denies the semantics—Cassio ignores how he’s supposed to wait until Valentine’s Day to show up and not weeks before.

Again, who could blame him?

He’s impatient.

Chapter One

__________

Alina

This is your last chance, the man with a smile that promised years of torment had said. When you’re done having a tantrum, pretty, I’ll come get you.

There is blood on his teeth, crimson triumph in his eyes, and a thin barrier of discipline racing through his body.

Danger. Wherever I turn my head, it’s the only thing I can sense. Elongated shadows hopping along the walls of closed businesses, unsuspecting objects flex their shadows, and iciness cloaks me like a phantom embrace.

Dull bass gradually convinces me I’m wrong. I’m not alone in the streets, vulnerable to the dreaded paranoia hitching a ride from the pit of my stomach to the acidic burn in the back of my throat.

I’m with my close friend, arms linked out of habit, as we walk on a busy street. A bustling flow of taxis and ride-shares whiz around us, picking up staggering patrons from the red-themed nightclub. Some are fist-fighting drunkenly in front of oncoming traffic.

The man, who I thought was the epitome of my nightmare, turns out to be a man waiting happily for his date to finish emptying her stomach on the sidewalk.

You know, Finny says slowly, pinching my wrist for attention, we can go clubbing this weekend. You’ve been eyeing the bouncer since we started taking this route home.

I roll my eyes, returning a playful pinch to her skin. Somehow, the man and I would make brief eye contact when I got off work, but they were simple exchanges from a distance. He would nod his head, I returned it with courtesy, and then a shared smile ended the interaction.

As if we aren’t around sweaty people enough, I mumble, swallowing a gag.

It’s been months, and nobody’s complained about it, Finny whines and throws her head to grunt up at the starry sky.

January’s wind comes with flurries of snow, bone-rattling chills, and teeth-shattering clatters.

Even if I were paid millions to live in New York City, it’s not my first option for a new home.

Tourists come to the infamous Times Square, leaving with disappointment and an overpriced souvenir. Neighboring states poke their heads in for a weekend getaway and fill the city with more people.

You think we can file an anonymous complaint? Finny inquires thoughtfully. That will get our manager to shower for once. I’ll chip in for deodorants.

The new manager had no shame when he blustered about his lack of hygiene to save water during wintertime. He had exclaimed with arms over his head, either willfully ignorant or intentionally ignoring the stifled gags and scrunched noses, that he doesn’t smell because the human body naturally cleanses itself.

I think the future physiologist on our team had an existential life crisis that day, and it’s still ongoing.

Don’t be so mean. I smack the back of her hand, chuckling as she inhales solemnly.

You’re supposed to say he stinks! Finny slams her hip into mine, but our thick coats take the impact.

Some things aren’t meant to be said, I correct her, because I’m petty she took the first sip of my morning coffee. I believe in kindness.

Please, Finny snorts, I saw you hang an air freshener on your lamp.

I regret the decision; the smell of our pungent manager and peppermint combined will haunt me for the rest of my life. I only buy citrus-flavored gum now.

Why he takes pride in not showering is a mystery best left unsolved.

Oh, there’s your ‘technically, not really’ boyfriend again, Finny wheezes and clutches my arm.

I elbow her, smiling at the irate groan as I return a polite nod to the bouncer when we walk by a couple of men with their heads hanging between their legs. The first strangled gag ignites a chain reaction of liquid splashing on the sidewalk, then comes the wave of moody wails about never drinking again.

Finny also waves at the man and winks seductively. If I knew you had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have set you up on a blind date.

You did what? My shoe dips into a small crack in the ground, but I manage to catch my balance.

In my defense, I didn’t know. Finny jerks her head back, mostly from the fiery glare I brand on her forehead.

She’s always been self-conscious of her hairline, said the tectonic plates of her brain’s hemispheres are colliding under her intelligence, and she got bullied for it. But she would headbutt those who made fun of her, so she didn’t have the friendliest reputation in grade school.

We were great friends when we were children; then my family moved, and we lost touch. I met her again under strange coincidences: same company, department, and apartment complex.

We’re next-door neighbors. We got close again, reconnecting as if no time had passed.

Invalid defense. I scowl lightheartedly. Maybe she thought the flowers on my desk were from my boyfriend. They weren’t. The flowers were from the swanky man from administration two floors down.

She says people our age are meant to have fun, date around, and charm the pants off handsome frat boys, or snag a rich second-generation son instead of their dad because being a homewrecker is ugly.

Totally is, she agrees with a firm nod of her permed head. You’ll still go.

I will not.

She has the guts to slap an offended hand over her chest. What am I going to tell my boyfriend when you ghost his best friend?

That I ghosted a stranger.

This won’t be the first or the last time she tries to set me up with people she knows. I ran out of excuses to decline on the fifth blind date. Finny won’t give up, convinced I’m waiting for prince charming and his horse.

Dating is the last thing I can do. That awful man will terrorize me even more if he finds out another man got closer to me than he is. Cassio—even his name breaks my resolve and has agitation rioting under my skin.

Knock on wood just in case, I think through a puff of white and flick Finny’s wooden earring.

Ow, she hisses and glares through her curled lashes. Please, sacrifice a Friday night for me. You owe it to me.

She motions to the earring, eyes gleaming wickedly.

Only this once, I mumble, regret promptly weaving through my frozen joints. I hope he stands me up.

You’d rather be embarrassed than sit through a date?

I pout and squish the puffy jacket that makes her look like a stack of dinner rolls. They are abs, as she had claimed this morning, and rubbed the sewn grooves with a brow wiggle.

Instead of telling her the real reason, I retort, Better than an awkward dinner.

He’s a nice guy, Finny defends, hilariously impassioned. Not that kind. A genuinely good man.

She goes on to make a list of husband-material qualities, each word filled with more desperation before she finishes with: He makes a mean rollatini.

My brow jumps at the specific ricotta-filled eggplant dish. Sounds like you want to date him.

My boyfriend isn’t into sharing. My crestfallen friend frowns, lips wobbling dramatically.

The more eggplants, the better. It has antioxidants that protect against cell damage! Finny shouts, startling the passersby.

I’m positive the woman was taken aback by what Finny said, and not the volume.

A facial has the same effect, I