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• And you’re pulling off the coverup to reveal that tiny little scrap of cloth that’s the only thing standing between him and all your secrets. Luckily the street is dead today, hates when your neighbors are out and see too much of you. That’s only for him. Watches you squirt something in your hand before slowly rubbing it into your skin and he can smell the sweetness even from across the road. Addicted to that scent now because of you as your palms slick that stuff on yourself and there’s glitter in it to leave a faint flush of color to your skin. Every time he comes out here, he swears to himself it’s the last time. That he’ll leave you alone.

• Instead he finds himself right back here just in case you come out if he’s not on duty. You’re becoming an obsession. Watching you lay in the sun and wanting. He could transform, walk over and say something. Anything. Be smooth and romantic. He’s seen Kade flounder enough times to know exactly what not to do. And you’re digging a book out, rolling onto your belly to read, legs swinging in the air. Imagines striding across your yard, kneeling and cupping your face in his hand. Kissing you. Except, you’d probably scream. Growling in frustration at himself, he rocks slightly on his shocks. Because this is so fragging stupid. Why can’t he just talk to you? Why keep pretending he’s just a dumb robot?

• They’re back. Stealing a glance at the firetruck as it slowly rocks, all you can imagine is two firefighters going at it inside. Probably fucking nasty to get a vehicle that big moving like that, too. Maybe they’re voyeurs fucking while staring at you through those tinted windows. Oh. Ew. Immediately wishing you hadn’t had that thought, because now you can’t get it out of your head. And you’re standing up with your book and heading into the house, weirded out. Because that truck is always there.