Page 131 of Freshmeet
SARAH
Connor’s deep singing floated through the apartment. He’d decided we needed to eat something before we went into hibernation mode and left me to lounge in bed until the food was ready.
I flopped onto my belly, deeply inhaling. His scent clung to the pillow, beating back the worry that sat on the periphery of my mind.
This summer had been a rollercoaster, and now it seemed like there was no end in sight.
Sighing, I rolled onto my back, knocking my phone onto the floor with a heavy thud.
“Ugh.” I slid off the edge of the bed, wrapped in the flat sheet.
I picked up my phone, the screen lighting under Connor’s bed. A bit of pink lace caught my eye.
“What is that?” I reached under, swiping my hand back and forth until my pinkie caught on the scrap of fabric. Heart beating wildly, I slowly pulled a pair of panties from under his bed.
A pair ofmypanties from under his bed.
“The fuck?”
I lay on my belly, using the flashlight on my phone to look under the bed. Set far on the other side was a shoebox. Glancingat the door, I glared at Connor’s happy rendition ofour song,accompanied by the clang of pots and pans.
Son of a bitch.
I shook off the sheet and crawled around the end of the bed. Kneeling, I dragged the box out. The lid hit the bed frame and fell to the side, exposing the contents.
“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth, blinking as if it would make what I was holding disappear.
In an old sneaker box, there were three pairs of my panties and about a hundred photos of me all around town. Standing, I dropped the box on top of the bed and frantically picked up picture after picture. The earliest was from the first day of Camp College Bound, meaning he’d been following me all summer.
Now I know why we kept running into each other.
Crumpling up every picture I could, I wondered who the fuck still had physical photos? I mean, he had to take the film or files to a store and get them developed. Then, someone had to develop them, adding a witness to this little pet project.
Did they think he was my boyfriend?
I scoffed. Of course, after years of being single and picky, I just had to go and make a fucking stalker my boyfriend.
“Food’s ready,” Connor called from the kitchen.
Shit.
Slipping on my shoes, I jumped up and ran right into Connor and the plate of pasta he was holding. His warm smile fell as he took in my expression and the shoes on my feet.
Setting the plate on the dresser, he asked, “Are you okay?”
My heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, I doubted myself.
Do I have it wrong?
But then I glanced at the bed. Every picture poked a hole in our newfound relationship. Shaking off the lingering affection, Ifixed him with a glare. “What are these?” I shook the lace in his face. “I said, what are these?”
“Your panties?” Frowning, he took a step toward me, but I darted around the bed.
I fisted the lace and shook it at him. “And why do you have my panties?”
The bastard looked confused and shook his head when he caught a glimpse of all the pictures. “What?—”
“No!” I held up a hand and scrambled on top of the bed. “You go over there.”
