Page 197 of Faking the Goal

I take the phone from her and look at the screen.

Three new messages.

The first is a picture of Taylor and me kissing at the arena tonight.

Fuck.

He was there. This asshole was actually there tonight, watching us—watching her—and I didn't even see him.

My eyes drop to the messages that follow.

UNKNOWN

Break up with him. Now.

UNKNOWN

Think it over carefully, Kitten. My patience has a limit.

My fingers tighten around her phone as a slow burn of rage moves through my veins.

"This asshole," I mutter.

He hadn't contacted Taylor in almost two weeks, and some stupid part of me had started hoping the silence meant something. Maybe he was finally accepting that she didn't want him. Maybe seeing her with me had gotten through whatever delusion he'd built around the two of them and convinced him to back the fuck off.

Apparently not.

I read the messages again, slower this time, and the anger simmering beneath my skin gives way to something far more unsettling.

These aren't the ramblings of some jealous asshole throwing a tantrum because the woman he wants kissed someone else. There's a warning buried beneath them, and the longer I stare at the words, the harder it becomes to ignore it. He isn't asking her to leave me. He's telling her to. And that last message reads too much like a promise of what will happen if she doesn't.

My grip tightens again before I remember I'm holding Taylor's phone and force my fingers to loosen.

Fuck.

For the first time since this started, I get the sinking feeling that this creep isn't going to be satisfied with watching her from a distance anymore. Two weeks of silence clearly didn't mean he was letting her go. If anything, he might have spent those two weeks getting angrier, feeding whatever fucked-up fantasy has convinced him he has some claim over her.

And now he thinks I'm standing in his way.

I can deal with that.

What I can't deal with is the thought of what he might do to Taylor when she refuses to give him what he wants.

The fear that thought sends through me is sharper than the anger.

Taylor stares at the messages for another moment before letting out a tired breath. "I guess having a boyfriend isn't enough to make him back off." She looks at me. "So what are we supposed to do now?"

"We keep going."

Her brows rise. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Maybe this arrangement isn't going to scare him away like we hoped, but ending it now would be worse. He told you to break up with me, and if we suddenly do exactly what he says, all we're doing is showing him that he can threaten you into giving him what he wants." I shake my head. "Fuck that. He doesn't get to decide who you date or scare you into changing your life for him. So unless you want this arrangement to end, we keep it going."

She watches me quietly for a second. "I don't want to end it."

Something in my chest reacts to that answer much more than it fucking should.

"Okay." I hand her phone back. "Then we don't. We just need to be more careful from now on and pay closer attention to who's around us. Don't go anywhere alone if you can avoid it. And if he contacts you again, you tell me."