Page 50 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

Later

I sent back, typing and driving.

Cant sleep

I smiled.

not my problem

I’m making it your problem

I’d noticed

I set the phone down again. Texting was safe, right? It was just a few text messages. It wasn’t as though I was flirting with the guy.

A gray pickup’s front grille filled my mirrors, and all thoughts of Theo fled my brain. It was the same truck. Blacked-out windows. Same plates. I couldn’t see the driver, not from my low angle and with the glare off their windshield, but it was them.

My heart flopped over a few beats, then pounded in my ears.

Alright, stay calm. No need to panic. Nothing bad is going to happen.

I eased out of traffic and took a left at the next intersection.

The truck followed but hung back, keeping a few car lengths behind. I gripped the wheel harder, and took a random right, speeding up. The truck was there again, inching closer now.

I had to get home. Get home, lock the door, and they’d go away. Hopefully.

I knew who it was, or who they worked for.

It could only be one person.

My ex.

Theo’s IG posts and #Thowen had put me in a spotlight I hadn’t wanted, and now this . . .

Not good.

I circled back around the block, picked up the route back to my place, and headed home, heart in my throat and the truck in my mirrors. After parking up in the lot, I left the engine running and watched the truck pull into a bay a few down from mine. I could see the driver now, behind the wheel. Big guy, real short hair, not someone I recognized. Probably the same one who Bentley had seen outside my apartment.

He was just going to sit there until I got out.

I cut the engine, picked up my phone, keyed in 911 but didn’t dial, and climbed out.

The truck door creaked open, needing oil.

I walked fast, head down. A few strides and I’d be at my apartment block door.

“Hey, Owen.”

A thick set of fingers grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“Hey!” I yanked myself free and stumbled back. “Back off, man.”

He was even bigger up close. Clearly the muscle sent to check on me, maybe more.

“Nice little setup you’ve got here.” He had a neck wider than my thigh and a head shaved down to stubble. Thick hands had the scars from making bad decisions on other people’s faces. He was dense, like a fridge is dense, the way furniture is dense when you’re trying to move it and it doesn’t want to go.

He smiled, friendly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “New place, new job. Very . . . you.”