Page 14 of Jealous Stalker

It makes me feel…watched.

Wantedin a way that isn’t polite or patient. In a way that’shungry. I’ve never felt like this before and…and I don’t know what that says about me.

Maybe nothing good.

Dr Greene will definitely tilt her head, frown and jot things down on her notepad if I ever confessed to that.

I don’t plan to.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jules says, flopping onto the chair across from me with a mug of tea. “You ever read those dark romance books? The ones where the guy justtakeswhat hewants? We’re reading one in my book club and it’s causing all sorts of debates.”

I raise a brow. “You mean just take…like, no consent?” Why does my belly heat up when I say that?

She shrugs. “Or dubious consent. Like, the girl says no with her mouth but yes with her body. It’s messed up, but kind of hot in fiction, you know?” she whispers that last part, her eyes darting across the room.

I feel a pulse beat faster in my belly. Because Idefinitelyknow. It’s one of the secrets I didn’t think I could ever say out loud. The one I first discovered in my Facebook Group and realised I wasseriouslyinto it. The one I’ll never admit to.

Not even now Jules is tossing it out into the open.

“Like…” She leans in, grinning. “You ever want someone to justknowwhat you want? Before you even do? Then not ask. Just throw you down or up or sideways and just…take?”

I squirm at the tiny fireworks erupting between my thighs. “Jules?—”

“Not in real life, obviously,” she laughs, waving it off. “But maybe in a fantasy, I dunno. It’s kind of intoxicating, the idea of someone being that obsessed with you. That in tune. Thatprimal and possessive.”

“I dunno,” I lie.” Anyway, shouldn’t you be thinking of packing?”

She squeals and leaps up from her chair. “I so should, thanks friend.” She heads to her kitchen to dump her cup±—without washing it of course—before throwing over her shoulder, “I still don’t know why Carl left last night without grabbing my stuff like he was supposed to. And he’s been acting weird all day.”

“I’m sure he’s just exciting about the trip. I’m going to miss you,” I say, and I mean it. Jules is a great roommate. A wonderful buffer in a city that often gets too loud and too much for this small-town girl.

But I’d needed a change after mom left and Dad decided to drown his grief in bourbon and women who never stayed the night.

The house got quiet, haunted by echoes of a happy family suddenly shattered.

And I got good at disappearing—first emotionally, then physically.

Jules stops in her tracks, turns around and throws her arms around me. I grin and blink so I don’t into her shoulder as I return the hug. “I’ll be back in no time. Eight months will fly by.”

I nod even though I don’t agree. But I love this opportunity for her and for Carl. Costa Rica sounds amazing, even if all the bugs and heat isn’t exactly my bag.

I prefer a calm swimming pool and fruity cocktails on tap, thank you very much. “I’ll still miss you but I hope you have the best time.”

She pulls back, peers into my face and winks. “I have a weird feeling you will to. If you decide to do something about your hot veteran. Who knows, he might be into some dub con.”

I laugh but don’t say anything.

Because part of me—the part I never talk about—yearns for it.

And worse?

Something tells me that someone there, the phantom who breaks into set my sleep alarm and lay out my hot cocoa, already knows.

Jules left an hour ago.

One final hug, an overflowing suitcase fill mostly with swimsuits, flip flops and bottles of overpriced sunscreen.

“I’ll text,” she said. “Don’t get too cozy with your mystery man.”

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