Page 13 of The Stalker Snafu

I blinked. Had my little jog cut off the air supply to my brain?

The guy’s full lips quirked into a small smirk, and he spoke again with the same low voice that knocked against my insides like a tuning fork. But it was another flurry of beautiful sounds I couldn’t make any sense of.

French, maybe? Italian? If the way my cheeks burned was any indication, it was definitely a romance language.

I sighed, rubbing at my nose and cursing my luck. Out of all the stalkers in the world, mine spoke French? Of course he did.

“Uhh… Anglais?” I asked hesitantly, racking my brain for the two years of high school French I’d spent playing compositions in my head instead of paying attention.

Creepy Stalker frowned, and he took a few cautious steps forward as I tensed.

“J’aime mon chien,” I tried again, using one of the only phrases I vaguely remembered and hoping it pertained to the situation. I hadn’t a clue what it meant.

He continued to stare blankly.

Okay, then. Not French.

“You,” I said pointedly, switching back to English so at least one of us could understand what was happening. I emphasized my point with a finger leveled at his chest. “Stop”—I held out my other hand in a stopping gesture—”following”—I stopped pointing at him and made a little walking motion with two fingers—”me!”

I finished by pointing a thumb at my chest and emphasizing the stop gesture. Everyone spoke charades, right? Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly have a winning record in that game.

The guy watched me like I was a bizarre street performer. His lips pursed before his cheeks puffed out, and when his chest started vibrating, I could swear he was holding in a laugh.

“Stop,” I repeated firmly, holding out both hands now to show him I meant business. “No follow.”

He took another step to close the distance as I readied myself to flee, but his eyes were looking at my hands as a tiger would when their prey did something unexpected. I couldn’t move.

He reached out cautiously, placing both his large rough palms against mine as I stood stock still. His hands were warm and covered with calluses that brushed against my skin as he spread out his fingers. The tips of my fingers barely reached his second knuckles.

… I had no words.

As his head tilted to the side again and he stared at our hands, all I could think of was how his freakishly enormous mitts could snap my neck in half without even trying.

This was getting weird.

I yanked my hands out of his, reached back to the side pocket of my bookbag—fumbling a bit with the zipper—and whipped out my can of pepper spray like a badass.

“Stop following me!” I demanded, holding up the pepper spray as if I fully intended to use it.

His hands hovered in the air between us, but a glint of amusement sparked in his eyes even as he eased back and held his hands higher.

A universal sign of surrender. No translation necessary.

I rattled the bottle around for emphasis. Did I need to shake it before use? Did these things have an expiration date? I’d had this bottle since seventh grade and never actually needed to use it before. I couldn’t remember if there was a safety or not—or how the heck I would go about turning a safety off.

He backed up a couple more steps, jabbering off a longer question that was quiet and earnest.

I shook my head. “I don’t understand you. Just leave me alone, okay? And stop following people. It’s creepy.”

I rattled the pepper spray again in warning.

He nodded slowly, and his gaze didn’t waver from me as he kept his arms raised.

I took an experimental step backward—shaking the spray bottle again just because I could—and the guy didn’t make any move to advance. He just stood there with a shadow of a smile on his lips and a light breeze ruffling his unkempt hair.

“I’ll call campus security if I see you following any girls again,” I warned, even though there was a slim to none chance he understood me. With measured, wary steps, I reached the end of the alley. Then I didn’t hesitate before breaking into a run and beelining back to the coffee cart.

I’d almost missed my afternoon cup.