Page 22 of Faking the Goal

Fuck.

Why didn't I just wait for the Uber?

Who gives a shit if it would've taken forever? I could've sat my ass on the porch for another hour if necessary. But no. I just had to get away from that house before Kentaro Azuma found another opportunity to lecture me about my life choices.

Great fucking job, Taylor.

My pace quickens.

The sound of my boots against the sidewalk follows me in a steady rhythm, and for several seconds, that's all I hear.

Step. Step. Step.

Then I hear something else.

I slow slightly.

There it is again.

A faint crunch somewhere behind me.

My heart gives one hard thump.

I keep moving, listening harder now, but the noise disappears beneath the distant hum of traffic. Maybe it was my own footstep echoing strangely. Maybe something moved in the grass. Maybe I'm drunker than I thought and my ears have decided to start freelancing.

Another sound.

Closer this time.

I can't tell if it's a footstep or the scrape of something against pavement, but every muscle in my body tightens.

Fuck this.

I whip around but the sidewalk behind me is empty.

I stare down the path I'd just walked, waiting for someone to step from the shadows.

Nobody does.

There's nothing but empty sidewalk, parked cars farther down the road, the dark lake, and tall grass shifting gently in the breeze.

A nervous laugh escapes me.

"Jesus Christ, Taylor."

I drag a hand over my face, half relieved and half embarrassed that I just scared the living shit out of myself.

"Get a fucking grip."

Apparently my paranoia has officially graduated from nightmares to inventing stalkers on empty sidewalks. Fantastic. Maybe tomorrow my toaster will start looking suspicious too.

I turn around then I hear a rustle.

I freeze.

The sound comes from the tall grass beside the lake.

My heart stops so abruptly it feels like someone yanked the plug.