Page 17 of Stalker Stepbrother

“You’re gonna buy more of those. The less coverage, the better.”

6

CALLIE

It feels like I’m floating on cloud nine. There’s just no other way to describe it.

For the first time in my life, I’m not living with anxiety. Back in my old town, I was anxious about everything—when Mom’s coming home or if she was coming home at all, going to college, my future.

Now I have Callum, and just his presence calms me, especially since I know I can always go to him when I have problems or even when small things worry me. For all his rough edges, he listens to me, like actually listens to me.

Is this how it feels like to have someone take care of me and give that person control over my life? It’s not something everyone will understand, but whatever baggage I’ve been carrying is all gone. He’s carrying them for me, and it’s so unbelievably…freeing.

I can now just live in the moment and enjoy every minute of it. God, I must have done something right in my past life to deserve this…to deserve him.

I think about him as I run a finger along the rim of my coffee cup. I’m waiting for my next class, which will start in about thirty minutes. I’m done with the report, so I can just sit here and daydream about him.

Fifteen minutes before the class, I get up from my seat, throw my cup in the trash, and sling my bag over my shoulder, already looking forward to coming home to Callum.

Home.

That’s exactly what he is. We fall into a rhythm so quickly, it feels like this is exactly where I should be—right by his side.

I hear the door close behind me and am about to walk back to school when I feel a hand grab my ass. Whipping around, I see someone who looks like he’s a few years out of college. His beach blonde hair hangs over his ears, and he’s wearing button-downs and chinos, complete with brown loafers.

He leers at me and tips his cup. “That’s a nice piece of ass you have.”

“Excuse me?”

He stands to his full height, and he’s almost as tall as Callum’s 6’4. He’s lean and obviously works out. He probably posts selfies at the gym on his social media. He moves to grab my hand but I step back.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Oof! I’ve always liked my girls with a little fire in them. Now why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

He reaches out to touch my arm, but before he can, someone grabs his hand and twists his fingers the opposite way. I cringe hearing the unmistakable sound of broken fingers. The blonde guy drops to the ground, howling and holding his hand with his uninjured one, and looks up with tears at Callum, who now towers above him.

“I’m gonna call the cops, you fuckin’ freak!”

“Do it. I’ll show them how you grabbed my girl’s ass.”

Tension is thick in the air. The blonde guy’s charming facade is gone, replaced by anger. His face contorts with fury, nostrils flaring. Instinctively, I hold Callum’s forearm and take a step closer to him.

The blonde guy looks like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping. The cafe’s owner—an old guy who still looks like he can hold his own in a fight—chooses that moment to swing open the door and glare at us. “Take it somewhere else,” he snaps.

Callum shrugs, “Go check your CCTV cameras. Ban this guy from your coffee shop. He apparently likes groping college girls.”

The owner’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. “Should I call the cops?”

“I think we’re fine. He’s learned his lesson, hopefully.”

With that, Callum puts his massive hand on the small of my back and we turn to walk to school. That’s when I notice someone staring at us from across the street. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, which might have looked good on him at one point but now clearly belongs to the laundry. He’s staring daggers at us, and I’m about to tell Callum, but after an SUV passes between us, I can’t see him anymore.

Huh. Weird.

Maybe I imagined it.

Callum is quiet for most of the walk, so I slip my hands into his and lean my head on his muscled arm. “Hey.”

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