“No, I’m actually a fan of yours,” he says, reaching under the table and placing his hand on my thigh.
I give him an awkward smile and take another sip of my drink, pushing his hand off my leg. Only one man’s hand is allowed to touch me, and it’s not the person sitting next to me.
“Oh, haha, well thanks for the drink, but I gotta get home,” I mumble, picking up my cup and giving the guy an awkward smile.
I’m socially awkward, let’s be honest, and I have no idea how to act around people.
“Hey, wait, can I get your number?” he asks, grabbing hold of my arm to stop me.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, trying to pull my arm from his grasp. He does let me go, but I immediately feel uneasy. A weird feeling settles on my chest, and I’m not one to ignore those feelings.
So what do I do?What any sane person would do, of course. I give him my big brother’s number. Kaden can deal with him accordingly.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say, handing him his phone back and grabbing Mocha’s leash, trying to make myself seem like a normal person, but I think I’m failing spectacularly.
I get outside, and I know he’s right behind me because I can hear him talking.
“Guys, I just met Sloane Monroe today. Look at that ass.”
I walk faster. Mocha must sense my nerves because he becomes more alert.
“Sloane, wait up. Let’s film a Loop together,” the guy says from behind me.
Now, I’m very uncomfortable, and the only thing I can do is ignore him. I walk faster, my heart beating in my ears.
“Sloane,” he says, grabbing hold of my arm again and pulling me to a stop.
“P-please, l-let go of me,” I stutter. His eyes seem darker somehow, more menacing.
Mocha must sense something is wrong because he growls under his breath.
The guy’s grip on my arm doesn’t loosen, and it starts to hurt.
“I just want to take a video with you,” he explains, stepping closer to me.
Mocha puts himself between us. He barks; sharp, loud, and dangerous. I’ve never heard him bark like that before, not even at the deer that often run through the backyard.
The guy lets go of me and steps back just a little bit.
“Hey, buddy, it’s ok. I’m just trying to talk to her,” the guy says, reaching down to pet Mocha, who lets out a warning growl before barking again. The guy jumps back and glares at Mocha before glaring at me. People on the sidewalk walk past without offering any kind of help or checking in to make sure I’m ok.
I feel sick, scared in a way that I never have before.
“Just one video,” he says, looking at me.
“I can’t, I have to go,” I say, stepping back, Mocha still between us.
“Wow, so you’re really not going to take some time out of your day for a fan?” he scoffs. I realize that his phone is still filming. I’m sure it’ll be all over social media in a matter of minutes, after this ends.
“Sorry, I really can’t. Thank you for the drink, I really have to go,” I whisper, a new kind of fear taking over me at the thought of what he could possibly do with the footage from the last few minutes.
I turn and start heading towards the police station. I know that Beckett should be there today. It’s Wednesday; he’s always at Timberline instead of Denver on Wednesdays.
I can still hear the man’s footsteps behind me, and he’s taunting me now, still recording, I imagine.
I pull my phone out, and my hands tremble almost violently as I press on Beckett’s contact.
Please answer, please answer.I beg as I hold the phone up to my ear, the dialing starts.
