Page 41 of Fall Into Me

After

Fane followed me all the way home like a lost puppy I didn’t want to keep.

No matter where I went, no matter how much distance I tried to put between us, I’d turn around, andbam!There he was.

He didn’t even try to hide it, either. Every time I caught him lurking, he’d flash me a smug little grin, gesture between us and say, “I’m shadowing you. This is work,” before whipping out that stupid notebook he kept tucked in his back pocket like a prop.

‘Shadowing’ apparently included loitering in Sunshine, hovering near aisle six at the grocery store, adding snacks to my basket I did not pick out, and watching me pump gas like some overqualified attendant.

And I knew I was going insane because his constant hovering was making me paranoid.

The unease started small. A prickle at the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched—not the casual kind of attention, but the kind that worms its way under your skin, twisting and festering until it feels like your every move is being cataloged.

Half the time, I was convinced it was just Fane. But some moments, even when I knew exactly where he was—leaning against the counter in the café or flipping through some useless magazine in the grocery store, pretending not to notice the way I was glaring at him—it didn’t go away.

It wasn’t constant, either. That was the worst part. The bit that had me convinced I was losing my mind. I’d feel it, sharp and suffocating, and then I’d spin around to find Fane, arms crossed and infuriatingly calm, and for a while, it would vanish. Like spotting him was all it took to remind my brain to get a grip.

But it always came back, and I was convinced this lie I’d dropped us into was going to do way more damage than I initially thought.

I had a sweet reprieve from Fane’s hovering after work on Thursday afternoon. It was glorious. I was going to take a shower, leave him no hot water again as my only means of retribution, and then settle in for a movie with Jerry.

All those plans fell to absolute shit when I got home to find Jerry had not only nudged the basket of clean laundry I’d left on the couch to fold, but I found him happily gnawing on a pair of my underwear.

Jerry was an angel. I’ll never say a word otherwise, but he had a real penchant for eating my panties which, I know, was gross. But it didn’t matter if they were fresh from the wash or brand new from the store, he had zero preference.

“Jerry.” I set my stuff down by the door, observing him as if he was a live explosive. “Jerry, we’ve talked about this.”

We had talked about it a total of five times.

Clearly, none of those conversations had made any impact.

The next twenty minutes consisted of me screaming, “Drop those panties!”while running around the house. For all his laziness, Jerry had the spirit of a whippet when he needed it. He jumped over the couch and ran under the dining table, upending it gloriously as he tore into my bedroom and collided with the bed so forcefully it shifted to the other side of the room.

Jerry bounded through the living room, my underwear flapping in his mouth like a victorious flag. “Jerry, drop it!” I hissed, tripping over the overturned laundry basket.

That was when Fane arrived home.

I turned toward the front door just as Fane opened it from the outside, stepping in like he owned the place.

His eyes swept over the chaos—me, mid-pounce; Jerry, panting triumphantly; my lace underwear dangling from his teeth—and his mouth twitched. “Am I interrupting something?”

He looked from me to Jerry to the laundry basket sprawled on the floor and then finally to the mangled pile of cotton that Jerry had dropped at his feet. A gift just for him after a long day.

Fane reached down to pick it up, and it might have been one of the less spectacular moments of my life when I caught his eyethroughthe hole in the crotch.

“Are these yours?” Fane’s eyes danced with something akin to victory. I crossed my arms and jutted a hip out, refusing to speak to him even though I had been forced to acknowledge his presence within the very walls I’d vowed not to.

“Rosie Posie, have you been ignoring me all week?” The answer to the question was obviously yes, and when I didn’t answer him, his head tilted to the side in that predatory way of his. And Rosie Posie? HeknewI hated that nickname. I was as confused as everyone else on why then, exactly, his words were like phantom hands ghosting down my body, stopping justbeyond the juncture of my thighs where my pulse point was wreaking havoc.

“Jerry,” he said, looking down at my dog, who was sitting at his feet like the proudest gift-giver that had ever lived. “Did you know your mom’s been ignoring me?”

Jerry made a huffing grunt in confirmation. I guess I knew where his loyalties lay now.

“Are you allowed to eat panties, Jerry?”

He made another huffing sound identical to the first, and it took everything in me not to yell that, no, he wasnotallowed to eat panties.

But I was ignoring Fane. That was the goal here.

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