“I’m telling you now.” I force out. “Fuck off, Echo.”
His smile widens. “I love the way you say my name.”
He straightens, finally putting some distance between us, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. He heads for the door, and for a moment I think I’m free. Then he pauses at the threshold and turns to face me.
“Oh, and Dahlia?” He says, pausing to look at me.
I hate that my name sounds different coming from his mouth.
“Yes?” I ask, dread pooling in my stomach. I eye the handful of customers still browsing around the store. None of them seem to be paying attention, but I’m still hyper aware that we aren’t alone.
I rush closer to him, so that we’re standing face to face. “What is it?”
“It wouldn’t be wise of you to ignore me again.”
My stomach drops. “I didn’t?—”
“I know where you live, Bambi.” His voice is casual, conversational. “And who you live with. I know where you get your coffee every morning.” He says, his smile sharp. “And I know you’ve been smelling my jacket every night instead of throwing it away like you should have.”
My blood runs cold. “You’ve been watching me.”
“Every day.” He confirms. “You said we were friends. Friends check in.”
“That’s not friendship.” I hiss. “That’s stalking.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Answer my text next time.”
“And if I don’t?”
He looks at me, and something dark and hungry moves through his expression. It makes my breath catch for an entirely different reason than it should.
“If you don’t…” He drawls. “Then, I’ll have to get creative about getting your attention.”
He smiles at me, seemingly unfazed by the obvious threat he just threw at me. “See you soon, Bambi.”
The door chimes as he leaves, and I’m left standing by the door with my heart pounding and my skin still tingling in all the places he touched me.
Echo was here for less than fifteen minutes, and somehow this whole place feels like his now. Like he’s marked it. Claimed it. Claimedme.
I pull out my phone and stare at our text thread. At the question I never answered. I ignored it, thinking he’d just forget about me, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I look out the window, checking to make sure he’s gone, and when I find him staring back at me, a lump forms in my throat.
He’s sitting in a car parked across the street, with thewindows down, keys tossed on the dash, and his eyes locked on me.
The asshole is literally stalking me in broad daylight and he isn’t even trying to hide it.
I should call the police. I should do something. Instead, I stand there, with my fingers pressed against the glass, staring back at him.
And the worst part of all?
Some fucked up part of me actually likes that he’s watching.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dahlia
The scentof paperbacks and warm vanilla fills the air as I reorganize the shelves in Better Than Fiction for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. The store looks pristine, with its warm lighting, cozy reading nooks, and tall shelves full of happily-ever-afters. Everything is perfect.Peaceful. And still, I feel on edge.
