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And a part of me feels like he’s protecting.
Am I fucked in the head for thinking that, feeling that? I don’t know how I know, but I know he’s not going to hurt me. He protected me in the alley for a reason. So why is he hiding?
A good Samaritan doesn’t take unconscious girls home and strip them naked... do they?
I remember catching a brief flash of him at the hockey game. Of that scarred face.
Is he who I think he is?
The infamous Rowan Stone? At first, it all sounded unhinged and unrealistic.
Sounds fucking romantic now.
It takes everything in me not to march over to him and demand answers. Instead, I pull away from Simon and make my excuses.
“I’m going to head home,” I yell to Anna over the booming of music.
Simon pauses mid-drink but Anna only smiles.
“I’m having fun. Dace is going to drive me home.”
I arch a brow at her as I eye the arrogant, flirty hockey player.
“No. Gross it’s not like that.” Anna’s smile only grows when the guy hands her the small white ball. She becomes so serious when she eyes the cups at the other end of the table. Everyone waits. She shoots. It arcs. It bounces across one cup. And lands solid in the next.
The room erupts in cheers for my friend who is clearly a secret bad ass.
She shrugs it off, a sort of, it-was-nothing adorable little shrug. And then I’m hugging her and she’s hugging me and she’s whispering something about taking all of Simon’s dick like I deserve but I shove her off with a smirk before she can finish her overly-excited goodbye to me.
“Can I walk you home?” Simon asks, trailing me as I walk to the door.
“No. I’m fine. I’m okay.”
He offers once more as I make my way down the front steps, but I don’t want him to.
I want to keep playing this game with my mystery stalker.
I realize right then that Simon’s nice, but the fact of the matter is that I’m not normal. And he deserves someone who can give him a nice, normal little life.
Not someone like me, whose entire body feels alight with the attention of a creep hiding in the shadows. Someone like me who is suddenly feeling like my body is tipsy on secret attention.
It doesn’t make any sense, and yet I feel it just the same.
The thrill of a chase I didn’t even know was happening.
I shift my thighs together, and walking home is agony with every step I know he’s watching. Something hot and wanting pulses in me. There’s a nervousness at the base of my spine. I can feel his steps with every turn down every alley.
I can feel him behind me, but each time I glance over my shoulder, I’m alone.
Until I see the morgue up ahead.
I turn the corner and halt in my tracks, my shoes skidding across light gravel as a figure steps out of the shadows, up ahead. My heart slams against my ribs, demanding me to move. He’s nearer to my apartment than I am. His body is dark, hidden away on the outskirts of a flickering streetlight. The faint buzz of electricity matches the nervous energy in my veins. He looms there with something held in his hand, and that deadly little mystery fact alone sends a shiver across my arms.
I’m reminded of the slasher movies my mother and I used to watch when I was a teen. It’s like living in a scary movie.
How did he get ahead of me?
How is he blocking my path?
