Page 67 of King of Hollywood

I swallowed the lump in my throat, heart pounding. “Goodnight, Felix.”

He looked pleased that I’d used his name again. It was written all over his face as he stepped back, swiveling gracefully on his heel before hopping down the steps. When he was halfway across my yard, he twisted back around to wave.

I waved back.

But I didn’t stop watching him. Not until he’d crossed through the white picket fence that marked the end of my property. Not until he strode across the street to his own home. Till the door shut behind him, and I saw his shadow move up the stairs.

Later that night, I had my brilliant idea.

My brilliant, amazing, wonderful idea.

Innovative, really.

I’d been checking the camera footage from the security cameras like I did every night when a familiar, floppy-hatted man showed up in the feed. I paused it, zooming in on his face with near manic glee.

Cameras.

Yes.

Cameras!

I could see Felix’s pajamas again if I used this to my advantage, couldn’t I? And I wouldn’t even have to wait until we slept together. I could keep my eye on him. Make sure he was safe. That no one—cough—Barry—cough—would be bothering him throughout the day while he was sleeping. I could make sure his “friends” were treating him with respect. And if they weren’t? I could step in. Yes. Yes. Yes.

I was a genius.

An absolute fucking genius.

I should win an award for this.

I was only forward thinking. Protecting Felix was noble, wasn’t it? Not creepy. I shot down Winnie’s voice in my head—chest puffing up with pride. Never mind the fact that I had rather gleefully taken screenshots of the parts of surveillance video that had Felix in them, and saved them to my phone.

I was Suburban Serial Killer Batman.

Protector of tiny, lonely hermit men.

Not a lovesick stalker who would tattoo Felix’s face on my ass if I wasn’t terrified of needles.

It wasn’t until I was changing into my pajamas that I remembered the second gift Felix had given me. It spilled from my pants pocket onto the floor, and I grinned—evilly—when I saw what it was.

A key.

A key to Felix’s house.

So that I could go over and clean.

Unfortunately, I had to wait until I was off for the weekend to enact my evil plan. Which was, A: clean up the dust and cobwebs in Felix’s home. And B: install the cameras I’d purchased to spy on him.

He’d sleep all day—I already knew that—which meant I had plenty of time.

Cleaning his house, on top of helping him, offered me the perfect alibi.

Bright and early, I headed across the street to Felix’s murder-mansion, feeling like a giddy child as I used the key he’d given to me for the first time.

Dolly and Tiffany hissed at me where they lurked at the base of the stairs, and I waved them off with a positively sunny grin.

“Oh, hush,” I hummed, shutting the door behind me. “I’m helping your father, so behave.”

Never mind the fact that I was spying on him too. But they didn’t need to know that.