Page 37 of The Stalker Snafu

I let out a breath and closed my eyes. A small miracle.

“Therefore, I won’t be reporting your mother’s actions to the ethics board,” Slade continued, and my heart started pumping regularly again. “But I might ask that you have a word with her over her incessant email correspondence.”

Fat chance of that happening. “Of course, Professor. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“See you in class tomorrow,” he said shortly.

The line went dead, and I rubbed a hand across my chest—convinced my life had just flashed before my eyes.

“Sounds like a close call,” Teresa mused from her side of the room.

I swallowed. “You could say that. My mother is trying to ruin my life, and I’ll need a few days to recover before doing anything strenuous, like calling my boyfriend.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she nodded at the phone clutched in my hand. “Nice try, but call him. Now.”

I groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“Do you want to keep feeling like this?”

“… No.”

“Then call him.”

I groaned louder, sitting up and trying to gather myself. I swung my legs off the side of the bed, then thought better of it and pulled them back up on the mattress. “Fine.”

I unlocked my phone and called Noah before I could talk myself out of it, gripping my thigh to stop my leg from shaking.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Before going to voicemail.

He hadn’t answered.

“Son of a monkey,” I bit out, throwing the phone down on my comforter. Teresa and I both glared at it.

She snorted. “For a guy who’s always answering his phone no matter where he is, that sure is suspicious.”

“He hates me,” I declared, blinking rapidly so I didn’t do something as dumb as cry over a guy.

“He does not.” Teresa’s tone reeked of exasperation. “Try again.”

It was my turn to snort. “No thanks. He’s obviously screening my calls.”

Saying it out loud didn’t make it any better, and instead it felt like someone was stabbing my chest with a knife.

“I meant try on my phone, you dingus.” Teresa unlocked her phone and tossed it over to my bed.

I bit my tongue before dialing Noah’s number and preparing myself for another round of ringing.

“Kincaid,” Noah answered on the second ring.

Never mind, then.

The knife in my heart twisted deeper.