Zane
You ever getthe feeling you’re not alone?
It’s a prickly feeling, like icy fingertips running up your spine as your instincts tell you there’s someone watching you.
Right now, it feels like someone is in my backyard watching me.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone snuck onto my estate property to try to get a photo, an autograph, or confess their undying love.
If that sounds vain, it’s because it kind of is.
I’m a supermodel, what can I say?
I admit it does get old sometimes. Especially when I’m in a bad mood. I just want to have a drink, go for a swim and be left the fuck alone by everyone.
I swear I heard the Old Spice theme song playing in my backyard a minute ago, too. Considering I haven’t done a body wash shower promotion in a hot minute, I doubt there’s a rep hiding in my bushes. Besides, if I am going to promote a body wash, I’d choose their competitor; red isn’t really my color.
Which can only mean one thing.
I make my way down to the pool, desperately needing to cool off. I won’t go into why I’m so pissed off right now, but trust me, I have good reason.
The water feels good. Almost good enough to help me forget why I am swimming twice as fast and three times as hard as I usually do.
I swim until my brain declutters a little and I can scream without anyone hearing me. Until my lungs burn from the exertion. Then I’ll hop out and take a breather on the cobblestone edge of the pool.
That’s when I see rustling in the climbing plants on the pergola and hear the wood beams snap.
Then, there’s a flailing of limbs and half a shriek.
There isn’t just someone in my yard; there’s someone falling through the pergola, splashing into my hot tub below.
“Jesus Christ!” I shout, jumping to my feet.
Most people would probably call the cops or grab a weapon of some sort. I don’t know what to do; I guess that just goes to show how often I deal with this shit. I’m not even alarmed by the stupidity of stalkers. Annoyed, maybe, but not shaken.
I’ve been doing this for twenty-four years. It would take a lot to shake me at this point.
I march over to the hot tub and confirm there is a person in all black floundering around in the tub.
I sigh, reaching in and grabbing them by the scruff, yanking them clean out of the tub.
“Holy shit,” they let out.
“Holy shit is right,” I say. “What the hell are you doing in my hot tub?”
“Drowning apparently,” the person sputters, and I realize it’s a woman’s voice.
She’s clenching the front of the black hoodie in her fist. I grab the other hand to rip away the hood and find that it’s a young woman.
An attractive woman.
My jaw tightens, and I narrow my eyes.
“What are you doing drowning in my hot tub?” I ask.
“Well, I mean it wasn’t my intention,” she laughs.
“No. I can’t imagine it was. Why would break into someone else’s house–”
