The Pucking Wrong Number (Pucking Wrong, #1)

by C.R. Jane

The picture that came in then, it was life changing. Like my DNA had been rewritten. Like my stars had rearranged themselves. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. I didn’t believe in love at all. But if I could have, I would have fallen in love with the girl in that picture.

I didn't remember the drive to the stadium, and it barely entered my consciousness when Coach screamed at me for my tardiness. I was thinking about my angel. My obsession. Mine.

Holy Fuck. The man standing in the entry, I couldn’t look away. Tall. Commanding. Beautiful. A golden god that the rest of us were destined to worship.

“Lincoln-” He cut me off… With a barely there kiss, a brush of lips, that nonetheless had me gasping. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he boldly parted my lips with his tongue, not an ounce of hesitation anywhere to be found. The air crackled around us as if the universe knew something magical was happening.

“Alright, dream girl. I’ll give you tonight. But you and me…its fucking real. It’s the realest fucking thing I’ve ever felt in my life. And sooner or later, you’re going to realize it too.”

“If you ever wear another man’s jersey, I will kill that man. So be careful, sweetheart.”

“I would put you in my pocket if I could, baby. Keep you with me always.”

“When something feels this fucking good, you don’t fight it. You just follow it to the ends of the earth, no matter where it takes you.” “I’m scared,” I admitted, and he nodded. “I’ll show you how good it can be. Until you’re not scared anymore. Until trusting me is as easy as breathing.”

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her tonight. I’d copied her key, and after she fell asleep…we’d be having a sleepover party. Other people might call that scary stalker behavior. I called it true love.

“You think you don’t have a claim on me?” he finally growled, breaking the sex-fueled silence. “You think it’s possible for anyone else to exist now that I’ve found you?”

“Have you ever been in love?” she murmured, those green eyes staring at me like I was fucking everything. I was still inside her. It was where I wanted to live. “Not until I saw you.” It was the most honest thing I’d ever told her.

“I love you. And I’ll never stop,” he told me. “I’d do anything for you…I’d live for you.”

When I arrived at the podium, I walked in front of it first. And then I slowly did a turn, showcasing the custom jersey my assistant had wrangled up for me. I could see the confusion on the reporters' faces as they noticed the name on the back of the jersey. It was Monroe's last name. There were murmurs and whispers, and then the questions started to fly in.

Since the moment I’d seen her picture, I’d wanted to possess her, to keep her locked away where no one else could have her. And I guess now I finally had. I’m sick. But she made me this way.

"Maybe I am a monster, dream girl. But I'm your monster. And that's all that matters."

It turned out that a girl could easily get addicted to madness when she’d been alone for almost her entire life.

Because obviously, Stockholm Syndrome had sunk in much faster than I’d thought.