Page 47 of Killer Confections

The waitress’s eyes grow wide, “Together?”

“Yes,” my date says slowly, shooting me a confused glance.

The server’s face pales, “Oh.” Her eyes bounce between Chance, and I and I feel my unease growing by the seconds. The woman swallows. “Her husband paid for her meal an hour ago. I’m sorry. I assumed…” she trails, her lips pulling back in an uncomfortable wince.

“You’re married?” Chance hisses, giving me a shocked and deeply pained look.

“What?” I glance between the waitress and my date, shaking my head. “I’m not married.” I hold up my left hand, showing my bare ring finger as if to say, ‘Here’s your proof.’

The server blinks, her brows pinching. “He said he was your husband. I assumed you two were colleagues or friends.” She points between Chance and me with a finger.

My neck prickles as my blood runs cold. “Who said he was my husband? What did he look like?”

“Black hair and lots of tattoos,” the woman points to her neck and hands.

I’ve never seen my stalker’s neck. He’s only worn the balaclava the one time I’ve seen him, but he was here without it?

“He was seated at that table.” the waitress points to an empty table across the room that’s being cleaned by another waiter. “But he left ten minutes ago.”

The world around me tunnels. My blood rushes in my ears, bringing a frantic whooshing sound. I can feel as the color drains from my face.

He was here.

He could have been here all night and I had no idea.

“What the fuck is going on?” Chance asks as he leans toward me. He looks concerned as he reaches a hand acrossthe table and covers my shaky one with his. “Are you being followed, Loxley?”

The waitress gasps lightly, and I remember where I am. I don’t want to air this out for a whole restaurant to know. Worst of all, Chance is in danger the longer we stick around.

I’ve definitely fucked myself.

Why did I do this?

What possessed me to go against him?

Now that everything is getting real, I curse myself for trying to be headstrong. I should have listened to his warnings. Instead, I decided going to war with my stalker would be a better decision.

“Everything is fine,” I say quickly, plastering on the fakest smile I can. “Let’s get going.”

“Loxley—” Chance says softly, but I wave a hand, cutting him off.

“Just a prank,” I lie. “A friend of mine thinks it’s funny to do things like this. He’s being protective, but he means no harm. Let’s pay and get out of here.”

My date is reluctant as he slips his card to the waitress. He keeps giving me prying glances, but I don’t let my smile fall, even though I’m screaming inside my head.

I grab my purse once the server returns, standing before Chance can even pull out his wallet to secure his card back in the leather pouch. He must get the memo that this date is over, because he sighs before grabbing his coat and following me to the door.

Chance places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward his car parked along the empty sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He says distractedly, as his eyes search the alleyways. “Your friend does this regularly? It seems a little extreme and far too…friendly.”

He’s paranoid and I don’t blame him. My steps are quick, heels scuffing on the pavement as my mind races. If my stalker is still around, it’s better if Chance gets me home. The lastthing I want to do is drag this unsuspecting man into the whirlwind my life has become since moving back.

I give an awkward, panicked laugh as I drag him between two cars. “Yeah, we’re going to have a serious discussion about personal—” My eyes shift to Chance’s car parked across the street, and my whole body goes rigid. The man beside me stops and there’s a thick pause between us as my adrenaline flares to life.

Leaned against the white Honda, a long metal bat in his thick tattooed hand, stands my stalker. He isn’t wearing his leather jacket. His black long-sleeve compression shirt clings to solid looking pectorals and massive arms. The sleeves are slightly rolled, showing even more black ink snaking up his forearms. His balaclava is back, shielding his identity as his head tilts to the side slightly, narrowed blue eyes scrutinizing my date.

Chance seems to gather his courage, because he steps forward, anger clear on his features. “So, you’re the asshole tormenting her? What the fuck makes you think you can interrupt our night?”