“That’s not an excuse, Del.”
She’s right. It’s not. “I’m sorry.”
A shrill voice cuts through the air. “The cups, Mariah!”
“I’m fucking coming!” She closes her eyes, then looks at me with a softening glare. “Come to my house tonight. I’m sure you know where it is.” Then she ducks beneath my arm, and she’s gone as if she was never there at all.
Chapter Sixteen
Mariah
Ican’t believe I told Del he could come by my house after work. I wish I didn’t have anything more to say to him and that I could just put him in the past, but he’s so fucking convincing when he’s standing right in front of me. Which I’m sure was his intention. Surely it can’t hurt to hear him out, though.
Right?
“Can I have a medium coffee?” The familiar voice halts my thoughts. I don’t want to hear it, especially when I’m already dealing with a metric fuck ton of confusion. Maybe I’m just imagining things. After what happened last night, I’m on edge.
I turn around as slowly as I can. I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m hearing things, that I’ll see a stranger at the counter, but my mouth drops open when I meet his eyes.
Or the space where his eyes should be, I guess.
It’s Sam, one of my two stalkers. Red, raw tissue rims the dark sunglasses on his face, but when the light catchesjust right, I can see a hint of the swollen mess behind the shades. I take a few steps to the left, then the right, but his head doesn’t turn to follow my movements.
“Is Mariah here?” he asks.
I’m right in front of him. But he can’t see me.
My coworker looks back at me, and I shake my head furiously. I don’t want him to know I’m here.
“She just left a little while ago,” she says.
Sam taps the counter with a cane and lets a curse loose under his breath. “Can you give her this?” He slides a picture toward my coworker, and she picks it up.
Her lips tighten. “Sure.”
He turns around and leaves before even getting his coffee.
“Sir, what about your order?” she asks.
“Forget it,” he says, waving her off as he leaves.
She turns toward me and slides the picture across my palm with a disgusted scoff. I look at the image and nearly choke on my spit. It’s a picture of me rubbing myself in the woods. Which can only mean...
“I have to go,” I say without looking back at my coworker.
“Probably best,” she says.
Now he’s not only ruined my personal life, he’s ruined my public life as well. How can I show my face around here when everyone will know my dirty little secret by the next shift change?
I remove my apron and rush out the back door, hoping to avoid Sam despite all the burning questions now roasting my organs.
The doorbell rings. How cute that my stalker would announce himself this way. I go to the door and throw the picture in Del’s face the moment he steps across the threshold into my home.
“What’s—” When he holds the picture out, he realizes what exactly it is.
“Why did he have that?” I ask. I try to keep my voice from shaking, but it’s useless.
“Mariah, I can?—”