There are just soverymany problems with this plan, but as I tiptoe through the woods toward the cabin with only asliver of moonlight and my phone’s flashlight at four o’clock in the morning in fresh ankle-deep snow, I ignore them all.
Because honestly, right now I’m most scared of running into a bear or a pack of coyotes. Or a moose. Or a very angry owl.
I’m such an idiot, but I feel more alive than I have in ages, and I have Wes to thank for that. He’s made things lighter with that warm smile, those icy blue eyes, and the vulnerable way he looks at me, like I could hurt him somehow.
When I finally see the side of his cabin through the trees, a thin trail of smoke drifting out of his chimney, a wave of relief washes over me. I’m almost safe from wildlife.
An owl hoots in a nearby tree, and I almost scream.
“What is wrong with me?” I whisper, scanning my surroundings for a giant scary bird. I’m half tempted to just knock on Wes’s front door and give up this game.
No way. I can do this. I used library resources to research how to stalk someone, after all! Literally. And how to break in! Could I get fired for that? Who’s to know? All I have to do is pick his back door lock. I’ve also been watching YouTube videos for tips. Pick the lock, leave the present I have tucked away in my jacket, then retreat and wait for him to text me when he finds it in the morning.
Simple.
There’s an outside light shining over the front door, but the back entrance is dark. My heart races as I approach the dark door with my newly purchased lock pick set. Why do they sell things like this?
I might know something more practical about being a criminal if I had let my father hire me. But the library is where I belong, not a fight club or gambling ring.
I take a deep breath and quietly choose a tool in the middle of the set to stick into the lock, wiggling it around alittle. It’s too loud, and I flinch at the sound. Nothing happens with the lock. I press my ear to the door and don’t hear anything from inside the cabin. I pick a skinnier tool. Again, the metal scraping isn’t great, but then there’s a popping sound and the lock is open.
The lock is open.
So fucking easy! Maybe I have a secret talent for breaking and entering.
I turn the knob and quietly ease the door open wide enough for me to slip inside. There’s not even a squeak, and I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. Then my wet boots squelch loudly on the wooden floor and I cringe, freezing for a second. When nothing stirs in the cabin, I push the door carefully shut behind me and lean against it, willing my heart to stop racing. It’s dark in the house, the glowing embers of a dying fire in the living room providing the only light.
Something suddenly pushes against my calf, and I let out an involuntary squeak before processing that it’s Sir Fluffy.
I bend down to pet Wes’s cat on his head. Sir Fluffy meows, and I shush him, then he does it again.
“Shhh, kitty, hush,” I whisper. This cat! What the hell?
But the cat keeps meowing, each one louder than the last. It’s like he’s a trained guard dog—guard cat?—screaming for Wes to come check out what he’s found. Or maybe he’s looking for breakfast.
Oh, fuck.
I stand and realize I need to get out of here. No time to find the perfect spot for my present. The counter right here will have to do. I pull out my gift and set it down. Now I just need to slip back out the door and run to my car. Through the woods and the leftover snow. In the middle of the night. And probably have to fight off bears or mooseor owls.
But before I can even pull my hand back from the counter, everything goes dark.
My eyes fly open,and I gasp as I try to figure out what’s going on. Right away, I realize I can’t move my hands or my legs and?—
I’m zip-tied to Wes’s kitchen chair in front of a warm fire, my jacket, gloves, and hat piled neatly on the couch next to Wes.
Again.
“Fuck,” I say, noting the airplane pillow around my neck.
“Well well well, look who’s finally awake.” Wes is looking fucking adorable in sweatpants, a hoodie, glasses with slightly messed up hair, reading on his e-reader. “You were out so long I had time to get the fire going again.”
My god, why is he so sexy?
“You didn’t have to tie me up.” I sigh loudly, trying to project frustration and nonchalance, not admiration at his beauty.
“I rather like seeing you tied up.” Wes cocks his head and drops his device onto the couch cushion beside him, not making a move to stand.
My jaw drops, and it takes me a second to find words. He likes to see me tied up. Damn, that’s hot. But the fact that he likes me tied up and the fact that I find it hot are both disturbing.
