Page 94 of Trick or Stalk

“To a different question.”

She points her sandwich at me. “Exactly. Torment.”

I almost laugh.

Presley takes a bite.

I reach for my coffee.

This is strange, sitting across from her, talking like we barely know one another.

Correction: she barely knows me.

I know more about this woman than she realizes.

Where she lives.

Which window belongs to her bedroom.

That she talks to Penny when no one else is around.

That she likes twenty-eight-dollar Halloween rugs that look like shit.

That she sleeps on her side.

That her skin is even softer than I imagined.

I even know what her house sounds like in the middle of the night.

But I didn’t know what kind of sandwich she orders. Or how she takes her coffee. Or what her favorite color is.

The things I've stolen aren't the things she's chosen to give me.

For some reason, sitting here waiting for her to give me something feels more intimate than standing beside her bed.

That realization unsettles me.

“So,” she says.

I look at her.

“You're new in town, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How new?”

“A few days.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Where'd you move from?”

I take a drink. “Somewhere else.”

She stares at me.