Page 36 of My Sweetest Agony

This is stalking.

Full-blown.

Flat-out.

Criminally convictable.

Stalking.

I knew it when I followed him here. Logically, I knew I should have let him drive away from the house like he does every night and disappear until he decides to come back…only to repeat the cycle.

It shouldn’t matter what he does when he leaves.

It shouldn’t matter why he always leaves before I come home.

It’s none of my damn business.

Stop dancing.

But somehow, Marlo’s words keep repeating in my head.

It does feel like some strange, cosmic dance.

Cam waltzed into my life so unexpectedly. Appeared on my doorstep like a ghost the day that I was supposed to marry Drew, when I had just brought what was left of him home. And he has swept me away in a storm of questions when I didn’t think I could possibly have more than I did the night Drew died.

Yet, he possesses the ability to give me something no one else can—answers.

That doesn’t mean you should have followed him…

My conscience knocks violently against my skull, trying to convince me to walk back to where I parked my car a block away and go home. To do this the right way—like maybe leaving him a note at the house asking him to call me or to stay late one night so we could talk.

That would have been the right course of action…

Not standing here, staring at his bike, waiting for him to reappear.

I release a ragged breath, giving the Harley one more longing look. Like the man who rides it, it’s somehow dangerous looking. Something you want to climb on because it will feel incredible but also maybe kill you in the process.

There was a reason Drew never went near a motorcycle. After all the injuries and deaths he saw in the ER because of them, it would have taken an act of God to get him on one.

Yet Cam shows no fear taking off on one in the middle of the driving rain.

And taking off is exactly what I need to do.

I release a frustrated sigh, letting all the anticipation and frustration that’s been building up in me since I saw him pulling away from my house out with it.

Eventually, we’ll talk.

Forcing anything right now would only make the situation more fraught with tension that I’m quite sure neither of us needs at the moment?—

“Did you follow me here?”

“Shit!” I whirl toward the voice behind me and find Cam, leaning against the old, rough brick of one of the buildings we stand between, lighting up a cigarette that dangles from his lips.

Pressing my hand over my thundering heart, I try to steady my breathing and come up with any excuse—anything at all—that might explain why I would be here.

Aside from being a complete and total stalker.

“No, I?—”