Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I glance at our professor and frown. He’s just some old dude who loves historical restoration, not a stalker.
“I think you’re reaching,” I mutter back, nudging her under the table with my foot. “You’re paranoid.”
She shoots me an irritated look, but it’s the truth. Last night, after a loud dinner with her family, she told me all about how she thought the police chief was her stalker. I think, at this point, anyone could be the stalker according to Gemma.
Worrying about everyone without definitive proof is pointless.
Mr. Pederson continues his lecture. Rather than take notes—since I know my girlfriend will anyway—I focus on the man himself. I’ve been to his house before with my parents. Nothing stood out to me as creepy. He’s wearing a fedora, bowtie, and suspenders, for fuck’s sake.
Definitely not him.
I tear my gaze from Mr. Pederson to look down at the form he pretty much threatened me to fill out. I’d remembered seeing something about it in my school email recently but didn’t bother filling out the interest form for the cultural heritage workshop. Now, as it would seem, Mr. Pederson is forcing us both to fill it out.
“My two best students.”
He’d said those exact words earlier when he thrust the papers at me. Okay, so maybe she has a point about him being weirdly obsessed with us as a pair, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. He knows how much I enjoy all this historical preservation stuff and must sense Gemma’s growing interest as well.
The workshop is coming up in a few weeks. Students were welcomed to apply, but there will only be a handful selected for the intimate event. Aimed for students showing a keen interest in the subject matter, the workshop is a collaborative event with local preservation societies. Mr. Pederson thinks it’ll be a great way for me to get connected with the community and would look great on my résumé. Plus, there’ll be dinner and I do love to eat. It sounds right up my alley and if Gemma gets to go too, it’s a win-win.
Gemma must eventually give up worrying about Mr. Pederson because she studiously takes our notes. When class is over, I grab the form she’s completed plus mine before turning them back in to Mr. Pederson.
“Good work, Sheridan,” he says with a toothy grin. “I know your dads will be thrilled if you’re accepted to attend.”
I give him a nod and stride out of the classroom. Gemma hurries behind me, clasping her hand around mine as soon as we’re alone. We barely make it halfway down the hallway before Dax nearly runs us over.
“I found a place,” Dax exclaims, showing me his phone. “It’s in a seedy part of town, but it could be ours for really cheap.”
“What is it?” Gemma asks, peeking at the phone with me. “You’re moving out? Why?”
“It’s time,” I explain with a sigh, absently searching my jacket pocket with my free hand for one of my butterscotch candies. “I haven’t told my dads yet, though.”
Gemma looks at the property and shakes her head. “That’s in the old biker hangout. Gross. Don’t get that place. Who knows what kind of bodily fluids are on every surface there.”
How she knows where an old biker gang hangs out is beyond me. But after a quick glance through the pictures, I agree that it’s not someplace I want to live.
“Keep looking,” I tell Dax, handing him his phone back. I unwrap my candy and pop it in my mouth. “We’ll find someplace better.”
Dax deflates. “Mom’s driving me insane, though. I’m half tempted to move into your closet, Two. Can I? Please?”
“And everyone says I’m the dramatic one?” I scoff. “It’ll come at the right time, man.”
He grunts in agreement and then heads off for his next class. I walk Gemma out of the building toward our cars that are parked side by side. As we approach hers, something yellow flutters in the wind. Gemma stops several feet from her car. I let go of her hand, striding over to it.
At least I know it’s not Mr. Pederson. He was in class when we arrived and was still there when we left. I pluck the note from the wiper blade and read it.
I always have my eyes on you, pretty girl. Always. Remember that. Think before you act. Be a good girl for me.
What the fuck?
When I whirl around, Gemma is on the phone, shivering despite wearing her stylish leather jacket.
“Come on,” I growl. “We’re going to see the campus police.”
She nods as she hurries to catch up with me. From the bits of conversation I overhear, she’s on the phone with her dad. As much as this weekend sucked when our secrets were revealed, I’m thankful to be having others help with this stalker shit.