Page 1 of Stalker's Pet

Chapter One

TINSLEY

“One hot chocolate with?—”

“Extra marshmallows,” the barista finishes for me.

“Yep.” I give her a bright smile. “You remembered.”

“It’s your third tonight,” she says dryly with a bored expression.

“Right.” Not to mention I’m in here a lot. I should start going to different coffee shops, but this one is my favorite. There’s a small romance bookstore attached to it and it’s always fun to find a new one.

I hand over my card and pay before I step to the side and let the woman behind me place her order. There’s only an hour left until closing, and I’ll have no choice but to go home.

“Tinsley,” the barista calls as she places my hot chocolate down at the end of the counter. I grab it and make my way back to the table where I’ve been sitting for the past few hours.

I have run out of things to do. I’m all caught up on my schoolwork, and my college essays are done. My applications are completed, and now I’m left with the endless limbo of my senior year. I’m attending a brand-new prep school, which seems pointless. I wish I could have skipped over my last year, but my father wasn’t having it. I don’t know why he cares because it’s not as though he’s around to be bothered by it.

When he takes off, I’m stuck with his new wife and daughter, both of whom can't stand me. I have no idea what I did to them, but no matter how hard I try, they still turn their noses up at me. To think, I was so excited when my father told me he was getting married and the woman had a daughter close to my age.

I thought things were going to change and my father would spend more time at home. I was looking forward to feeling like a family. Or that I might gain a new best friend. How wrong I'd been. My whole life was flipped upside down, and I was made to move across the country because that's where my stepmother Anne wanted to be. I found out the hard way that what Anne wants, she always gets. My stepsister would rather throw herself out a window than be my friend, let alone best friend.

The sound of the coffee shop door opening draws my attention. I stare as Mr. Serious walks in, and it makes my heart flutter. I didn’t know that was really a thing until the first time I saw him. I have no idea who he is, but after the second time he came in while I was here, that’s what I decided to call him.

He stands tall with broad shoulders, looking imposing in black slacks and a black button-up shirt with rolled sleeves. There’s a dark scruff on his hard jawline, and his jet-black hair accentuates his dark green eyes. Somehow it makes them seem even more striking.

I see him most days, so he must live somewhere close. His eyes come over to me, and I give him a bright smile, which he doesn't return. He never does, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it. One day he might, and then I’ll likely burst into a pile of glitter.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out my notebook and pencil. My strange fascination with him is growing by the day. When I see him, I like to make up stories about him and his life or draw something about him. Today I simply sketch his face. It’s weird, I know, but I’ve always been a bit strange. Or at least I’ve been told that more than once.

I peek up and watch him order his normal black coffee before he takes a seat across the coffee shop. I moved around to see if he favored sitting in one spot as I did, but no matter where I sat, he always went to the other side of the coffee shop, sat down, and pulled out his phone, barely touching his coffee.

All too soon, the barista is letting everyone know they will be closing shortly. I finish with the shading on Mr. Serious' jaw before I close my notebook and pack up. When I rise from my seat, he’s staring at me, unmoving. I give him another smile, which again he doesn’t return, before tossing my cup into the trash.

When I walk past him, I swear I can sense his eyes on me, but I dare not glance back and look. Okay, that's a lie because when I push the door open, I peek over my shoulder to see him standing there, his eyes on me once again. I quickly jerk my head back and almost trip.

Smooth, Tinsley.

I sprint across the street to where I parked my car, tossing my belongings into the passenger side before I get in. When I push the button to start up my Mini Cooper, nothing happens. I press the button a few more times, but it stays silent. Beyond pushing a button, I'm at a loss for what to do. I huff and try to start it with the button on the key fob, but it’s useless.

“Crappers.” I dig through my bag to try and find my phone.

I have to empty the entire contents of my bag on the passenger seat, and it’s a lot. A girl never knows what she might need. I dig through it, but when I find my phone, I’m reluctant to hit the number. My finger hovers over the screen to call my father, and I sigh before I reluctantly hit it.

It rings twice before going to voicemail, and I have to swallow the lump that forms instantly in my throat. That’s why I didn’t want to call him. I knew he wouldn’t answer, or worse, he would ignore it and send it to voicemail. Sometimes he calls me back later to say he was in a meeting, but I know now it’s not the case. It’s Sunday night.

I go through my wallet trying to find the AAA card when a knock on my window startles a scream out of me. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest, and I turn my head to see a crotch at eye level. I should probably be ashamed that I immediately recognize the pants.

Unable to roll down the window, I go to open the door. His hand grips the top, pulling it open for me.

“Hi,” I chirp up at him.

“Won’t start?”

“No, I was going to call someone to tow it.” I hold up my phone to display the AAA number.

The car is practically brand new. My father bought it for me when we moved here, which was his way of smoothing things over. His motto has always been to throw money at the problem. It works for his wife and stepdaughter. Me, not so much.

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