On the way to her house, I try to memorize the route. I’ll practice some more tomorrow too. The spot I parked in earlier is taken.There’s a lot more cars littering the street than there were earlier today. It looks like there might be enough room across the street from her house, between two other houses. I pull past her house and swing the van into the space. Perfect. Now I have a great view of her front entryway and a few of the upstairs windows. If I use my phone, I can see the windows even better, and one of them looks like it might be a bedroom, based on the soft glow of light coming from a bathroom.
I settle in to watch while also doom-scroll searching for a better restaurant than BananaBees.Chicken penne,I scoff to myself. I can’t believe Arty thinks girls are impressed by pasta. I call a few steak houses to see about reservations, but everywhere is booked. BananaBees it is, I decide, admitting defeat after three more failed attempts at reservations.
I look for a ballet or some kind of other show at a theater. I’m not completely uncultured, but it looks like all those tickets are sold out too. Browsing over a few “things to do in Denver” pages, it seems like most everything is booked out in advance. The rental car guy wasn’t kidding—it’s a busy weekend. I shrug it off, continuing to watch her house. A light turns on, and then another, and then there she is, standing in the front window. But she’s closing the blinds. Disappointment overwhelms my senses. I need more than just a glimpse. There’s no possible way I can wait until tomorrow. I sulk, waiting a few minutes longer to see if, by chance, she’ll appear upstairs—
Jackpot! My patience scores me a much better show. Vivienne appears in the upstairs window, and though my view appears in slices, I can still see the way she fills out the white lacy bra she’s wearing once her T-shirt comes off. Oh hell yes. This is betterthan I could have expected. I don’t feel the least bit guilty, my eyes glued to her window as she slowly unclasps her bra.Please turn around. Please. Please. Please,I think, knowing her body already belongs to me.
Yes! She turns around—and a flash from her bushes catches my eye. I turn, ramming my elbow into the center of the steering wheel andHONK!
The car horn makes me jump, melting into my seat. I pray no one looks my way. From the bushes, a dark, hooded figure bolts, running down the street on foot. They disappear quickly, swallowed by the darkness. I start to open the car door, angry and tempted to chase after them, but when I look back at Vivienne’s window, I find her clasping a shirt to her chest, scanning the street. Not only could she spot me if I chase them, but I also can’t exactly just chase people and tackle them to the ground without risking negative PR. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I don’t want anyone spying on my girl but me. First thing tomorrow I’ll pick up a security system and get myself invited back to her place so I can install it. Then I can keep an eye on her, and whoever thinks they can creep in the bushes. I don’t like it one bit.
My anger slowly dissipates, and I turn my attention back to her window. I really ruined a perfect opportunity, but it’s kind of a good thing—or I might not have discovered the man in the bushes. It was definitely a man.
I watch her silhouette pull the blinds closed and retreat deep into the bedroom, disappearing, leaving only a blue glow from her television peeking through the edges of her window. I sigh,pissed at myself. I wasn’t done spending time with her. I think I’ll send her a text or two before I go.
Chapter fourteen
Acar horn startles me, and I realize my blinds are still open. Hastily, I snatch the rod, twisting them closed. I clutch my cami top to my chest and lift one of the wood slats to peer outside. It’s dark. The corner light on the garage is out again. It keeps blowing the bulb. Roxy and I keep trying different bulbs, but have yet to find the right one.
Despite the darkness, I gasp, because there, tumbling out of my bushes, is a tall, man-sized shadow. It scrambles away on foot as fast as it can. I take a step away from the window, blinking in disbelief. Was someone just in my bushes?
My hands are shaking as I try to decide whether or not to text Roxy. She’s probably crashed for the night. We spent the day in the pool, relaxing before our big trip next week. It’s always nice to mentally prepare for a tour appearance. I take a deep breath. I’ll wait until morning, and if we get the police involved, then I’m sure someone’s cameras caught something. No sense in worrying about it now. The car horn spooked them, and they probably won’t come back tonight. Still, I should check all the ground-level windows and the doors, just to be cautious.
My phone chimes. It’s probably Roxy. The universe always does that when I need her, it seems like. I grab it from where I tossed it on the bed earlier. But the number is—the same one that said they were my stalker.
Suddenly, my mouth feels dry, and there’s a giant lump of sand that won’t go away no matter how hard I try to swallow. The room spins as my heart rate spikes. I can hear it pounding in my ears, as my pulse races to the beat. Who would be creeping around in the bushes? Could it be Jackson—would he get that desperate? What if it’s a creep stalking me? I’ve never had a stalker before. People in the industry are usually respectful. My mind is racing, but I know one thing for sure: I’m getting a security system ASAP.
I steady myself. The person is gone, and everything is going to be okay. There’s no reason to wake Roxy…not yet. Not unless things get exponentially worse than they are right now. Forcing myself to read the text I open it.
Stalker: Hello Vivienne. Do you know who this is?
Me: Leave me alone. You have the wrong number.
Stalker: I assure you, I do not have the wrong number.
I don’t text back. Instead, I walk briskly to the hallway and head downstairs. I’m definitely checking all the doors first, then the windows. When I finish I check my messages again.
Stalker: It was nice to see you today.
Me: I want you to leave me alone.
Stalker: No you don’t. Why don’t you try guessing who this is?
Me: No.
Stalker: Come on, Vivienne. Let’s play a guessing game. I’ll give you three tries.
Me: I’m not playing, just tell me who this is before I call the cops.
Stalker: Don’t do that. Here’s your first hint: I’ve been stalking you.
Me: That’s not fair. It doesn’t count, I already knew that.
Stalker: I never said I’d play fair.
Me: Give me another hint.
Stalker: I stopped by your house.
