Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Surely, his height and muscles certainly added to his sex appeal, but it was truly his confident demeanor and mysterious past that made him so irresistible.
He was the kind of man who commanded attention without even trying—an aura of power and intensity that was impossible for me to ignore.
I can’t say no.
But, could I balance my desires and responsibilities? Or would the temptation of passion and desire be too much to stay focused?
I headed toward my building, entered the small lobby, and pulled out my keys.
Yeah. There’s no way I can say no to him.
Was it the thrill of the unknown? Was it the danger of being pursued by someone so sexy and alluring?
I entered the lobby, waved at Raymond the night security guard, and pressed the button to the elevator.
Damn. I should be thinking about solutions, but all I can think about is Tristan.
Why couldn’t I focus? Was it some deep, primal instinct that drew me to Tristan on a subconscious level?
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped on and considered what could be going on in my head.
As a fierce academic, I was well aware of the many theories and concepts that tried to explain the psychology of desire.
Evolutionary Psychology claimed that we were drawn to partners who signaled reproductive fitness. For example, humans were attracted to partners who smelled good because scent was an important signal of genetic compatibility.
Also, many women loved men with deeper voices. But in a biological sense, a deep voice was associated with high testosterone levels, which was important for male reproductive health.
I could go on and on.
But reproductive reasons seemed too simplistic to explain the complexity of my desire for Tristan.
I could look to Attachment Theory, which suggested that our early relationships shaped our patterns of desire.
That couldn’t be it.
I didn’t have much of a relationship history. Lots of sex and not much commitment.
However, those past guys couldn’t have influenced my attraction to Tristan—someone so mysterious and aloof.
But in the end, the truth was even crazier.
I didn’t really care about the why of my desire for him.
All I knew was that Tristan had awoken something in me, something primal and wild, something that felt like a force of nature. It was like a fire that burned within my core, threatening to consume my body if I didn’t act on it soon.
On the elevator up to the fourth floor, I imagined myself standing before Tristan.
The flames of my desire licked at my skin.
He was a dark soul.
I could see it in his art.
Twisted and Tortured.
To date Tristan would be to play with fire.
Yet, the heat of it all was too tempting to resist.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
I left it, headed to my apartment door, and pulled out my keys.
But, before I could put the key in the hole, the door opened.
Scarlett’s excited face greeted my eyes. Her long pink braids bounced around her shoulders. And her usual bright pink eye shadow made her dark brown skin pop more this evening.
“Girl!” Scarlett raised her voice. “Paradise has a serial killer!”
I opened my mouth in shock. “What?”
“Okay. Okay. Let me calm down.” Scarlett grinned and backed up so I could enter. “I shouldn’t get too excited. For now, it’s only one victim, but all the details and showmanship screams serial killer.”
“Hold up.” I stepped inside. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh my God.” Scarlett shut the door. “Where do I even start?”
I placed my purse on the table. “Perhaps, start at the victim part.”
“Yes. Yes.” She hurried into our small living room. “I recorded everything. Let me show you the different news reports. I’m chronicling all of this.”
Of course you are.
Smirking, I followed her into the living room where blue and pink dominated the space.
Shades of blue covered the walls—the palest baby blue to the darkest navy. I loved that color. Meanwhile, Scarlett’s favorite color, pink was scattered throughout the space, from the bright fuchsia throw pillows on the sofa to the pastel pink curtains that adorned the windows.
“I shouldn’t get so excited.” Scarlett picked up the remote control. “I mean. . .it may only be one murder.”
“Uh. . .let’s hope. We don’t want more people dying.”
“Oh.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, yeah. We don’t want innocent people to die for the sake of improving my dissertation which is beyond boring right now.”
Scarlett was a PhD student studying criminology with a specialization in serial killers. We’d met in college due to having many of the same psych classes.
Unfortunately, my roommate’s interest in psychology began at a young age, when her father was arrested and convicted for the murder of several young women in their hometown.
Growing up, she struggled with the trauma and shame of her father’s actions. A strong desire to understand what led him to commit such heinous crimes was what drove her academic career.
Her dissertation was titled “The Role of Childhood Trauma and Social Isolation in the Development of Serial Killer Behavior.”