Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
My fingers hover over the screen. I want to tell him the truth, that I’m not trying to add her to my list of conquests. For once in my life, I’m trying to be a good fucking human. But what’s the fucking point? Would any of them believe me anyway?
Probably not.
I don’t bother replying and instead start the Jeep. Decision made. The engine’s rumble grounds me, giving me something to focus on besides the chaos running laps in my mind.
If I were her, where would I go?
She changes her gloves often, and if I have her extras, which I’m assuming I do, then she’ll need more. Right? My money’s on the drugstore. Not the one near campus—too many students, too much exposure. Probably the twenty-four-hour one on Maple; the night pharmacist doesn’t give a shit who you are or wonder why you’re buying latex gloves at midnight. I bet that’s where she went. I slam my foot on the gas and drive out of the parking garage, squealing my tires. Minutes later, I’m parked outside the drug store, watching, waiting. There’s no Salem in sight, and I have to wonder if I guessed wrong. Then I spot him—a tall kid in a letterman jacket exiting the store.
He looks vaguely familiar, and a light bulb goes off in my head.
What was his name from her files? Noah? Yes, her brother. She was tagged in some pictures with him on social media, but he looked younger. I hadn’t ventured over to his socials yet.
As he walks down the street, I can barely see the outline of glove boxes and hand sanitizer in his bags. He didn’t drive? It takes me a second to remember he and Salem share a car. At least that seemed to be the case from the insurance records I pulled.
My foot bounces against the floorboard, mind racing with possibilities. I could go after him and introduce myself properly. Could explain about the gloves. Could—
My phone lights up again.
Bel: Stop stalking her.
Bel: I mean it, Lee.
Me: I’m not stalking. I’m … strategically placing myself in her vicinity.
Bel: That’s literally the definition of stalking.
I ignore the next three texts, watching Noah walk down the street with his bags. He moves with the same careful precision as his sister, but something in his stance is protective like he’s ready to fight the whole world for her.
Join the club, kid.
Wait.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
Focus, Sterling. Just follow the brother, return the gloves, and try not to scare her away more than you already have.
Noah leads me to a quiet neighborhood off Mountain View Drive. It’s a nice, safe area. All Craftsman-style homes with well-manicured lawns. Nothing like the fancy estates my family owns. These homes are the kind of places where people actually live instead of just existing for show. I park three houses down and watch him jog up the short porch steps of a sage-green two-story with white trim. The porch light flickers on, and there she is—Salem, silhouetted in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. This is fucking creepy. I’m being fucking creepy.
Noah passes her the bag, and they enter the house together. I should just— A light turns on in an upstairs window, and I catch a glimpse of her pacing.
One, two, three steps.
Turn. Repeat. My ADHD brain latches onto the pattern, finding comfort in its predictability. I wonder if that’s how she feels when she counts things?
“What the fuck are you doing?” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair.
The gesture reminds me of the way she flinched when I almost touched her face, and suddenly, I’m drowning in memories of Promised Land, of people trying to touch me, fix me, change me, and make me into something I’m not.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Emma.
Emma: Mother’s making calls.
Emma: Country club daughters.
Emma: Church girls.
Emma: You might want to figure something out fast.
I should message her back and tell her I’m already working on it, but I don’t. If I have any hope of fixing this with Salem, then I need to focus on the present.
She needs me. I need her.
We’re both just trying to survive in worlds that want to fix us.
If she’d agree, I know we could protect each other.
“Now you just sound like a Lifetime movie,” I speak to my empty Jeep.
But I’m already reaching for the Ziploc bag of gloves.
I’m halfway up her driveway when I realize how batshit crazy this is. It’s almost midnight. Like I need to end up in jail again. Jesus. I’m stalking—no, strategically approaching—a girl who literally ran away from me an hour ago when I shared a prospective idea that could benefit us both.
And my brilliant plan is what? “Hey, just swinging by to drop off your gloves. Also, please agree to fake date me so my family doesn’t disown me?”