Counting Minutes | Gay MxM |

9. Flirty Stalker

I gathered my composure and turned my attention to the painting. I made sure Blake understood I was completely ignoring him. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was laughing at me cheerily while opening the note.

I turned my eyes at him when he wasn't looking at me, pretending to be painting. He took his time reading the paper I had left for him. After he read it, he searched his pockets for a moment and found a lighter. Before I even noticed what he was doing, he lit the paper on fire.

"No!" I gasped, stepping closer to the wall.

Blake turned to look at me and he dropped the paper on the ground. It turned into ashes and I stared at the remains of it. Blake stomped over it before turning to look at me.

He gave me a sign to wait for a moment while he pulled a notebook from his pocket. He grabbed the pen again and wrote something on the first page of the thick notebook and pressed it against the wall when he was done.

In case you want to call the cops after all.

I tilted my head. I hadn't even thought about it. I could've used that paper as evidence against Blake. The man was pretty clever for a thief, who hadn't been clever enough to stay hidden.

I squinted my eyes at him and returned to my painting. I did have a schedule after all, and I didn't want to miss it on the second night in a row. I saw Blake writing something on his notebook and pressed it against the wall again.

So, were you planning on calling the cops?

I ignored his question and turned my eyes back on the painting for a short moment until he wasn't watching me anymore. He sighed and took a step back from the wall, tapping the notebook against his hand. He looked like he was trying to think what to say next, but soon he started to write again.

I like your paintings.

I scoffed and took a firmer grip of my brush.

Can I see that one?

It was really hard to concentrate on my painting. I tried my hardest not to read the things Blake wrote, but my curiosity always seemed to win. I sighed and looked at him. He seemed to have mastered the puppy eyes. He was pouting and looking ridiculous, but I couldn't resist it.

I chuckled lightly and turned my painting so that Blake could see it. I studied his expression while he admired my work.

She's pretty, but not as pretty as you.

I blushed lightly and turned the painting around. So, I had a gay thief stalking on me. Was he hitting on me? I was feeling shy all of a sudden when I turned to look at Blake, who had now moved on to admire my behind.

"Stop that!" I snapped at him and hid behind the painting.

Blake laughed, but I couldn't hear it. I wondered what he sounded like. I was still blushing when I continued to paint. His laugh died away and he turned to look at my apartment for a moment.

Why can't you go out?

I stopped painting. His question brought back memories I didn't want to remember. Suddenly, I wasn't in my living room anymore. In my mind, I was back at that parking lot at the huge stadium. I took a deep breath, forced that memory out of my head and dipped my paintbrush in blue color.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.

Blake had an apologetic and slightly sad look on his face. I shrugged lightly and gave him a small smile, but I knew it was sad too.

"I wish I could go out," I muttered, knowing that Blake couldn't hear me.

Do you have some sort of illness?