Page 238 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

There’s someone standing in the doorway, watching me.

I scream, and immediately clap my hands over my mouth in surprise.

The headlamps move, and the hallway outside the bathroom door is once again in shadow.

I hear a key in the door, and my body freezes. I expect to hear Marigold demanding to know who’s in her house, because no way was there enough time for the guy who’d been standing in the doorway watching me—watching me—to have gotten downstairs fast enough.

Unless he’s still in the house.

“Granny!” I shriek, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around me as I rush for the hallway.

Yeah, I’ll be the first to die in any horror movie ever made. But I saw that shape move—whoever it was, they didn’t want to be seen. I doubt they’d be waiting right outside the door.

“Indigo?” comes Marigold’s voice from downstairs. “Why on earth are you yelling at me?”

I run to the far end of the hall and begin throwing open doors. He could have gone in any direction, but it makes more sense that he’d head away from the stairs and try and get out through one of the windows.

But every room is empty, and feels slightly stale; no one’s been in them for a while.

When I open my bedroom door, I immediately know he was in here. My space feels different. My sanctum defiled by a stranger’s presence.

My window’s open, and I know I should run to it and look outside to catch a glimpse of the invader, but I’m rooted to the spot, watching the lace curtain shifting in a breeze.

“Indigo?” Marigold calls from the stairs.

I only saw him for a second, and the light cast strange shadows on his face and leeched all the color from his skin. But Icould have sworn it was Briar standing there in the hallway, lips parted, eyes wide.

He’d been pushing open the bathroom door, not the wind.

Watching me.

Watchingme.

Briar

I sprint for the tree line, not bothering to look over my shoulder. If she were to look out her window, she’ll see me way before I reach the safety of wood’s shadowy ground, and I don’t need to give her a good look at my face too.

Why the fuck didn’t I leave?

The fuck did I decide to stay and watch her bathing for?

As soon as darkness swallows me, I falter and stop running. My breath is coming fast, but I’m nowhere near winded. That’s not the problem. The problem is I have a hard-on that’s causing me immense fucking grief.

I slam my back into a tree and shove my hands into my hair.

Keep running, you fucking idiot. Don’t let her get to you.

But for fuck’s sake, how’s that possible? I can’t get the sight of her wet, naked body out of my damn mind.

I don’t know what I’d expected to see under her clothes.

She’s fucking perfect.

Nothing like the bulimic skeletons attending Lavish Prep.

She has curves and a pair of perky tits I was aching to grab.

Fuck, Ihavegrabbed them before, but through all those clothes, I had no idea how magnificent they truly were.

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