Page 22 of Lotus

“You know, screwing my sister and all.”

“And there it is,” he concludes, pointing his index finger at me with dramatic flair.

A smile slips, and I shake my head, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Whatever. I’m fine with it. At least someone is getting some action.”

“What happened to Milton?”

“His name wasMilton,” I reply, as if…duh. “If his parents hatehimthat much, I didn’t stand a chance.”

Laughter escapes my friend as he stretches out his legs. “Touché.”

“I don’t do relationships, anyway. You know me—independent, messy, hard to hold.”

“It’s all those sex books you read. Your standards are too high.”

I chuckle at that, reaching for the remote and powering up Netflix. Gabe has a point. Maybe I’m desensitized to real men. Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet.

All I get are stalkers and guys named Milton.

Oh, well.

I’m totally cool living in my fantasy world, dying a crazy cat lady.

I shoot up in bed, not knowing what the hell just woke me up.

A dream? Another weird noise?

Gabe breaking and entering like a psycho?

Looking around the darkened room for my cat, I catch her glowing eyes staring at me from the doorway. She mewls when I spot her. Maybe she’s thirsty—I fell asleep on Gabe’s shoulder and forgot to check her water bowl before wandering up the stairs to bed like a zombie.

Alexis purrs again, and I rub my eyes, working up the motivation to crawl out of bed and tend to my cat. This must be what parents feel like. “Okay, okay, I’m coming. So needy.”

I’m still a zombie as I make my way down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen. The light above the sink is on, giving me just enough illumination to make sense of what I’m doing. Peering into Alexis’ bowls, I notice her water is full and she even has some kibble leftover from dinner. I grumble through a yawn and glance at the clock. It’s a little after midnight.

These are the moments I’m glad I work from home. My tired ass is sleeping in tomorrow.

“You tricked me, kitty. I’ll never believ—”

I falter as I turn around, my gaze landing on my favorite vase on the floor, having somehow been knocked off the side table. The water has almost entirely evaporated, the spring bouquet scattered across the tiles.

The tingle of dread returns—that familiar prickling of fear.

I stare at the fallen flowers longer than necessary, trying to make sense of the mess. I’m frozen. Processing. Alexis was in my room when I startled awake, so this didn’t just happen. And the flowers were perfectly in place, in an upright position, when I came upstairs earlier this evening to read.

This was the clatter.

This was the goddamn clatter, and I know Gabe would have mentioned it if he were the culprit.

I close my eyes, swallowing hard, as I try to decide on my next move. I think I need to call the police. I feel unsafe. I feel watched. I feel threatened.

Realizing I left my cell phone in my office while checking e-mails earlier, I jog on shaky legs over to the stairs, heartbeat thundering with heavy beats against my breastbone. My mouth turns to cotton as I inhale sharp, winded breaths.

And when I reach the top of the steps and round the small corner to my office, I push open the door and those breaths eclipse altogether. With feet pegged to the floor, stomach in my throat, my eyes pop when a man dressed in black whirls around and meets me face-to-face. He’s holding my computer in his gloved hands, his identity shrouded by a ski mask. The intruder almost looks as startled to see me as I am to see him.

What the fuck?

For a moment, I’m utterly rooted to the floor, my body numb and unwilling to move, as if it’s been struck still by an invisible force. The unknown figure sets down my laptop and approaches me with caution, his palms held up and facing forward, a silent request to remain calm and quiet. But that’s when my instincts take over and I fuckingflee. I whip around and book it towards the staircase, nearly tripping as I hop down two steps at a time, eyes on the exit. A sweet escape is on the other side of that wood frame.

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