“You didn’t want to come in last night, remember?” I throw up my hands. “I called. You barked. Then disappeared. Not the first time you’ve stayed out all night, so can we not with the soul-piercing side-eye this morning? Or are you planning to report me to the SPCA?”
Shit, I’m talking to the dog again. I need to get a grip.
When I sigh, Louie pads over to me slowly, almost hesitantly, and licks my hand.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl. Things have been … strange since last night. I promise today will be better.”
Deep down, I know she doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. But Louie seems oddly appeased by my words because she trots over to the fireplace and curls herself into a tight, furry ball. Her tail covers her snout, but that weird half-blue eye remains open and fixed on me.
With a cup of dark, steamy coffee warming my hands, I head to the bathroom to shower and get ready for my day. When I return to the living room, I yank on my shoes and grab my purse, assuming I’m already late.
But when I glance at the microwave clock, I realize I’m actually running ahead of schedule for once. So, I curl up in my reading chair and enjoy a few rare, lazy minutes to myself. As I settle in, Louie’s head pops up.
Is she looking at my neck?
Jesus, I’m fucking losing it. She’s a dog. She can’t see something that isn’t there.
I throw a “good girl” at Louie, and she restlessly curls back into a ball with a soft whine, her eyes never leaving me. Maybe she got into something while running around the woods lastnight. She seems fine, but I should probably call the vet this evening just to make sure.
I spend thirty unrushed minutes reading before I give Louie her treat and head out the door for work. As soon as my feet hit the porch, I feel better. The chilly autumn air fills my lungs, and the tree leaves rustle against one another, causing pops of red, orange, and yellow to float silently to the ground in front of me as I begin my short walk into town.
Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.
The second I step into the lot, though, something feels … wrong.
Like I’ve entered a glitchy simulation, or the part in a ‘90s horror movie where the dumb bitch goes, “Huh, that’s weird,” and then dies.
And yeah, I’m the dumb bitch. Obviously.
Then I realize the problem.
Eve’s car isn’t in her usual spot.
Well, shit. I’m so early that the boss lady isn’t here yet.
Taking out the massive set of keys I received when she hired me, I begin the challenging task of opening the shop’s front door. I fumble with the key ring, trying key after key, until I accidentally drop the entire thing.
“Ugh!” I lean my head back, closing my eyes in frustration, fighting the very real urge to kick the door down. Instead, I bend over to retrieve the jangling ring of traitorous metal.
As I return to what should be a simple task, I suddenly hear the deep, slightly accented voice from my dream simply say, “Hello.”
No. It … can’t be him.
My back straightens, every muscle locking into place. A cold wave of disbelief washes through me, dragging goosebumps across my skin.
No.
No, it’s not possible.
But when I turn around? Holy fuck.
The same exact man.
The man from my dream.
The man who had his hand at my throat while he made me come so hard I woke up soaked.
Eve wasn’t wrong—heissexy as fuck. But there’s something uncanny beneath it. Something unsettling and comforting all at once.
