Page 10 of The Stalker Snafu

Noah’s hands stilled on my waist, and he placed a kiss to my neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” I paused to wet my lips, taking hold of his shoulders. “You have no idea what dirty fantasies I’ve had involving you, me, and this piano.”

He grinned against my skin. “Tell me one.”

My hands trailed down his front until they reached his belt buckle, where I made good use of my nonbroken thumbs, and I whispered, “I’d rather show you.”

He pulled me into another kiss—one that worked the butterflies into an explosive storm. It wasn’t long before he lifted me onto the keys, and a whole different kind of duet filled the space.

By the time Noah and I left the practice room, with rumpled clothes and secret grins, I knew I’d never look at that piano the same again.

CHAPTER 4

A Shadow

Dear [REDACTED],

Excuse me for my subterfuge, [REDACTED], but I’m trying to be inconspicuous.

Just in case I find myself in the middle of some nefarious government plot and all my belongings are confiscated, I can’t let them find out about our little talks. Hence the [REDACTED].

Oh shoot, should I go back and redact things in my older entries? Especially all those times I talk about Mr. Elephant and his [REDACTED]. They’re just lying there in plain English, waiting to be read.

Why the caution? Because I’m like 99.997% sure I was being followed again during classes today, and it was that same guy from hot fudge sundae day. He’s not just any common stalker—this dude is BIG! And muscley. With tattoos.

He was wearing dark clothes. A blue baseball cap. Sunglasses.

Kind of obvious stalker-garb if you ask me…

And I realize paranoia is a symptom of schizophrenia, but I swear this isn’t that! He was standing across the quad, next to a big bush, just watching me. And I know this, because I tried to hop over a bench for a shortcut but ended up face-planting in the grass, and it looked like he laughed. Why would a nonstalker notice someone trip from that far away?

At least I managed to spare my coffee during the fall.

Anyway, it’s late. Noah hopped on a plane for another top-secret business trip today, and I have [REDACTED] with Slade tomorrow, so I’m gonna watch a few more hours of crime shows with Teresa before going to bed.

Fingers crossed I don’t get murdered,

[REDACTED]

Noah was barely gone twenty-four hours before my habit of screening my mother’s calls caught up to me on Wednesday. It was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon under my and Noah’s tree in the quad of Westcroft University after classes. But I was so distracted between adding more birthday events to my diary and deciding what to text Noah that I answered my phone without checking the caller.

“Emmaline Lillian Fox,” my mother shrilled through the line, making me drop Henrietta—my prized pink pen Noah had gifted me—to the grass. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Hi, Mother.” My voice came out strained as I scrambled to collect Henrietta and all my books and stuff them into my bag. “Sorry, it’s been… Well, I’ve been busy lately.”

“You’re never too busy to answer a call from your mother.” Her tone dripped with displeasure thicker than honey.

My mother had a way about her. Born to dairy farmers in the heart of Kansas, she’d set her sights on something bigger early on and talked up any traveling businessmen who wore nice shoes. Lucky for her, Richard Fox was a visiting banker who knew a good deal when he saw one. He took a shine to the pretty dairy farmer’s daughter, who quickly wormed her way into high society life. No one did social-climbing better than Charlotte Fox.

Too bad she was a lousy mother.

I grimaced, scooped up my bag, and headed far, far away from the sacred tree so it wouldn’t be cursed by my mother’s aura. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Have you reviewed the new pieces your father emailed? He expected to hear back from you days ago.”

Ice filled my veins at the mention of my father, and I rushed to push him out of my mind. “I haven’t had a chance yet. I’m focusing on my schoolwork.”

Amongst other things.