Annie claps her hands and rubs them together. “Now, the real fun begins.” She looks at me shyly and then slips back around to her side of the booth.

  I shove her plate toward her side of the table and then unwrap my fork and knife. “Holy shit,” I say, breathing deep. “This is the Corn Dog Chicken and Waffle Pancakes?”

  She nods, her expression gleeful. Like a kid at the circus. “That coating on the chicken,” she says, pointing to the four fried chicken drumsticks on my plate, “is just like the batter on a corn dog. And the waffle pancake is really a thick, cornmeal pancake lightly pressed in a waffle maker to give it those little nooks for texture. This…”

  She reaches across the table and lifts up a tiny stainless-steel pitcher that sits between the most gorgeous golden-brown waffle-looking thing and the chicken.

  “This is hot honey. The waffle is sprinkled with powdered sugar, but I slather this stuff on the waffle and then dip the chicken into it. It’s so good.”

  She pushes her plate toward me. “And you’ve got to try this. Lion Tamer Number Three is the bacon option, but you can get Lion Tamer with steak or ham steak or even deep-fried catfish.”

  The Lion Tamer is basically a giant scramble with an obscene amount of meat in it. Over my protests, Annie scoops up a forkful of her food that looks like it contains about a pound of bacon and drops it on my plate.

  The conversation lulls as we eat, and I shock myself by polishing off my entire meal. I’m going to need to double my time at the gym after this.

  Carlene brings Annie a to-go box and hands me the check, and I pay for dinner like the good boyfriend she believes I am. And then, far too soon, it’s time to get Annie settled in someplace for the night.

  7

  ANNIE

  I pull into the parking lot of the Palm Dream hotel. It’s definitely not looking like a dream stay is ahead of me, but the place is cheap and met all of Josh’s requirements—lobby staffed overnight, no external access to the rooms. He wanted a hotel that limited parking to registered guests only, but that would have taken such a huge chunk out of my budget that we agreed this nondescript hotel would do for one night.

  He pulls into a spot at the opposite end of the lot and turns off his engine. As we agreed, I take my time gathering my things from my trunk and back seat, and when he texts me that it’s all clear, I head into the lobby. He follows just a few seconds behind.

  “Hey,” he says, putting an arm over my shoulder. “Babe, you shouldn’t have brought in all the bags.”

  He takes my suitcase from me, and for a second, it’s like he’s actually mine and we are checking in to a hotel for a sweet little getaway. But the reality of why I’m here is too scary. I can’t indulge even the most escapist fantasy for long.

  “Thanks…uh, babe,” I tell him, liking way too much how the endearment feels on my lips.

  “Parking was good,” he tells me. “All ready to check in?”

  Josh and I made a plan when I brought him back to his office. He would follow me in his truck and let me unload the bags and head into the hotel while he stayed back to watch for any signs that I’d been followed. It was probably overkill. We both knew that. There was no one in the parking lot of his office, so I wasn’t really worried I was being followed until Josh mentioned how easy it would be for someone to put a tracking device on my car.

  Ever since he mentioned the tracker, I haven’t been able to relax. My Lion Tamer dinner feels like a lead brick in my stomach, and all I want to do is go home.

  The problem is, I don’t know where home is now.

  My dorm room was too new to really feel like my own place. I haven’t lived with my dad for a couple of years, and I gave up my apartment.

  I don’t think I have felt quite so alone in a long time.

  And when the desk clerk hands Josh and me electronic keycards, the Palm Dream becomes my temporary home.

  Josh takes his credit card back from the hotel manager and loops an arm around my waist. They did not ask for my name or ID, so that’s just one more layer of anonymity that should help me sleep better tonight.

  Should, but I doubt it.

  I’m already realizing that if someone has a tracker on my car—because despite Josh’s thorough search before we left his office, I’m still not completely sure there isn’t—if I walk out of my room for ice or when I go to leave in the morning, I’m as good as exposed.

  Funny how hours ago, when I met Josh, I was curious about whether a PI could help me. Now I’m afraid of what I’ll do without him.

  We walk to the elevator, and he presses the button. Once we’re alone inside, he releases me and gets down to business.

  “The reservation is under my name and credit card, so even if someone tracks you here, connecting you to my name will be tough.”

  I nod, but his body is tense, and his voice sounds strained. He’s taking the threat to my safety as seriously as I am, and while that should make me feel better, it only makes me more aware that I’ve been so clueless.

  I thought those letters were a prank. A joke. Maybe even intended for someone else entirely and not me. But now? I feel like I have a giant bull’s-eye on my back.

  When the door opens on the third floor, Josh looks into the hallway, then grabs my suitcase, and leads the way out. We don’t say the room number aloud but follow the signs to Room 312. He waits while I swipe my keycard and watches the little green light go on to show that I can enter.

  I walk in, and Josh lets the door close behind me, then he swipes his key to test that it works.

  “Always check every key,” he says as he comes inside. “They’re coded for each guest, but things go wrong. Better safe than…” He trails off.

  “I know,” I say quietly.

  He walks through the room, past the king-sized bed, and looks out the windows. The room overlooks the parking lot, which he doesn’t love, but the windows are locked and there doesn’t seem to be any way someone could easily access the room from the outside. No balcony. No visible fire escape. There’s no adjoining room connected by a pass-through door, so really, I couldn’t ask for much more in a hotel room.

  Except to not have to stay here alone.

  Josh sets my suitcase up on the luggage rack and then shoves his hands into his pockets. He rocks back on his feet like he realizes it’s time to go but he wants to stay. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I don’t know anymore. We’ve known each other one day, and yet I trust myself with him completely. I feel all the more attached to him because I know that, right now, I have no one else I can go to.

  “Annie,” he says quietly. “I want you to lock the door—the dead bolt and the safety latch—when I go, okay? And put a chair in front of the door if it makes you feel safer. You should be okay here overnight.”

  “I will,” I assure him, trying to rally all my confidence and courage. “Yeah. I…I’ll be okay. You’ve done so much for me. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the hotel.”

  He gives me a smile that’s part sexy, part teasing, and it melts all my anxiety away. “Just don’t go bananas on the minibar, or at least warn me if you plan to max out my credit card.”

  I lean forward and give him a playful swat on the chest, but he catches my hand with his.

  He squeezes my hand firmly. “You’re going to be okay, babe.” He grins again and then releases my hand far too soon. I could have used at least another few minutes of his reassuring touch.

  “I will,” I say.

  He checks his phone and rubs his eyes. “I’m going home to get some sleep,” he says. “Nobody knows you’re here, Annie. But if anything weird happens, don’t answer the door. Call the front desk. Call me. Call the police. Maybe call the cops first, but definitely call me. Okay?”

  I nod. “I will. Thank you.”

  “Check in with me first thing in the morning,” he says, covering his mouth as he yawns. “I’ll come by and follow you to school, and we can make a plan for what comes next. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He looks at me with an expression I can’t really interpret, but I feel some kind of way I can’t really understand. So we’re quite the fake couple, I guess. I mean, I know I’m stressed that he’s leaving. But I feel a closeness with him that, well, doesn’t make any sense.

  Maybe it’s because he’s the only one I have to lean on right now, but that’s literally what I want more than anything. To lean against his chest and fall asleep feeling safe. Not alone.

  Even weirder, I want to know more about him. He’s asked about my art, my family, and my life. But I don’t know anything about him, and now most definitely does not feel like the time.

  “When this is all over,” he says, raking a hand through his hair, “I’m definitely going back to Pancake Circus.”

  I blurt out a really awkward laugh because that surprises me. “You liked it?” I ask.

  “It might just become my new happy place,” he says, the corners of his lips curling. “Carlene’s not going to like me very much if I go without you,” he adds.

  “I’m in,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “Next time, Lion Tamer Number Two. I hope you’re ready for all that sausage.”

  As it hits me how suggestive and awkward what I said is, I shake my head and almost cry tears, I’m laughing so hard. “I better get to sleep,” I say. “Before I say something that makes you want to fire me as a client.”

  “Not going to happen,” he says quietly, but then he turns and unlocks the door. “Annie,” he says, holding up his phone. “Lock the door behind me. And you call if anything happens, okay?”

  I nod. “I think you’ve already burned through the ten hours of time I hired you for,” I say quietly.

  “You let me keep track of my time.” He’s standing in the hall. My hand is on the doorknob. “Good night, Annie,” he says. “I’m going to wait until I hear you lock the door. Knock once when you’re all secure.”

  “Good night, Josh.” I close the door, fasten both locks, and knock once against the door.

  And then, he’s gone.

  I walk over to the window and peek through the curtains. No one’s out there at this time of night. Crap, it’s almost nine. Josh and I really have spent like ten hours together. It seems like so much more and so much less all at the same time.

  It’s hitting me how exhausted I am when I see Josh walk past my car and look up at my window. He doesn’t wave, but I’m sure he sees me because when he gets into his truck, he flashes the lights once and then drives away.

  Now, he’s really gone.

  Out of sight. Out of reach.

  I’m totally alone.

  I rub the back of my neck and realize I am wrecked. I need a bath and to crash in this ultra-big bed that makes the barely more than a twin mattress that lost its life in my dorm room today look like a joke.

  What am I really hoping to accomplish in art school anyway? Finding myself as an artist? If that’s something I haven’t done by the age of twenty-five, how much longer will that take? I don’t have a major social message to share. I just want to create beautiful things that move and inspire people.

  As I dig through my luggage for my water bottle and pajamas, I realize that maybe I’m not that different from my father. He never wanted to be a high-powered lawyer, driving fancy cars and dazzling opponents in the courtroom. He wanted to make a stable living doing real, consistent, valuable work.

  That’s why this opportunity means so much to me. As much as I love my dad, I don’t think he’s really happy. The last year, especially, he’s been off.

  I’ve been worried he’s hiding some kind of problem from me. Maybe that’s why he sent me off to school to pursue my dreams. I thought maybe he, too, was feeling his mortality. How short and fragile life could be.

  Working in his real estate firm would have been a stable income, but was it the life I was meant to live? Nope.

  I figured if Dad is sick or in some kind of trouble, sending me off to school was his way of giving me the chance to have more.

  I brush my teeth and shake out my hair, then run the water for a bath. I climb in and let myself soak, draining the entire hotel-issued plastic container of shower gel into the running water. The gel bubbles up nicely, and I lie back in the tub until my hair mermaids around me.

  I close my eyes and think of my mother. My father. School. I can’t figure any of it out. Not tonight.

  I turn on the water and scrub my hair with the hotel shampoo and wish I’d thought to unpack my own conditioner to work through my long strands, but that’s fine. This isn’t about anything more than washing the grime and sweat and fear of the day away.

  I climb out of the bathtub when I hear the text alert on my phone chime. I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and pad barefoot to the bed where I left my phone.

  I grin when I see the message.

  Neveah: Hey, girl. Checking in on you.

  I’ll text her back once I’m settled in bed, and we’ll have a good chat. I head back to the bathroom and massage lotion into my legs and arms, then slip into my shorts and the button-down cotton top covered with cupcakes that I brought to sleep in.

  I brush out my wet hair and put a towel over my shoulders to catch the spare drips because there is no way I’m blow-drying this mess right now. I want to stretch out on the fluffy bed and text the one friend who already knows I’ve had a shit day. I won’t have to relive it and can just shoot the shit with her.

  Before I even make it back to my bed, my phone’s pinging again. I crawl across the smooth white duvet and lean back against a mountain of pillows. I’m feeling more relaxed, and I’m hopeful that I can actually get some good sleep tonight.

  I swipe the touchscreen and see I have another message from Neveah.

  Annie Hannie, where you at? I just came down to your room to check on you, but you didn’t answer. You home with your dad?

  I type a yawn face emoji and then a message.

  So wiped, but I’m hoping to get some good sleep tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow to start cleaning up. How’s your commission coming?

  We text a little about the project she’s been working on for the commission June referred her for, when Neveah asks again.

  Girl, where you spending the night? With that Josh guy? Who is he? Why didn’t you tell me you had somebody so hot?

  I grin and send back a flame emoji.

  He is hot, isn’t he? I reply.

  Smokin’, she says.

  That’s all that comes through for a minute, and I’m about to text her another question about her commission. And really, I want to pick her brain about how she figured out what her message was going to be, what kind of statement her art was going to make, but another text comes through before I finish typing.

  Annie, I think you should come back to campus. If you’re worried, you can crash for the night in my room. I’d feel better knowing where you are. That you’re safe.

  I’m safe, I text back. Pinkie promise. I’ll be back tomorrow. Needed a break from the mess and all the weirdness.

  I’m starting to get a strange vibe, but I can’t exactly explain why. She’s asked a bunch of times where I am, and while I would expect a friend to be worried, it’s also pretty clear that I’m not going to say where I’m staying tonight.

  I’m not sure why Neveah keeps asking. She’s my RA, so when I’m on campus, I’m technically her responsibility, but not really. She’s more like a floor counselor or guide than anything. And I’m an adult student. It’s not like I can’t spend every night off campus with my boyfriend if I choose. Even if that’s not where I am, that’s where I hope Neveah thinks I am.

  Will you at least tell me this Josh guy’s last name? And let me know for sure you’re with him? I’m worried, girl. The mess in your room isn’t cool. Even if it was just a shitty prank, I want to know my girl’s safe.

  Something about her asking for Josh’s last name sets my teeth on edge. I get up from the bed and peek out into the parking lot. Nothing seems any different. Everything is dark.

  I’m safe, I text back. Going to crash. Catch up on campus tomorrow.

  I’m still holding the phone when it rings. The caller ID says it’s Neveah.

  All I can think about is what Josh said today. Whoever is sending these letters has access to me. Close access. They would blend in, and I’d never even suspect they’d stolen my keys.

  It can’t be her, I think. She can’t have anything to do with what’s going on. She’s my friend. Isn’t she?

  I’m getting paranoid, but who the hell could blame me?

  My heart starts banging in my chest, and I realize that if someone has a tracker on my car, maybe there could be some way to track me using my phone too. I don’t know. I’m a freaking artist not a PI. I wonder for a minute if I should text Josh and ask him. Is it safe to answer the phone?

  I don’t really know Neveah. Not any better than I know anyone else at school. But why would she call me when I said I was wiped and going to bed?

  Maybe she was trying to be a good friend. Maybe she was trying to be a supportive RA.

  All I know is that right now, the only person I trust in the world is Josh.

  My hand starts to shake so hard I drop the phone, and it hits the hotel carpet.

  “Shit.” I pick it up and flip the ringer to silent.

  I plug my phone into the charger, and once the call goes to voice mail, I turn the ringer back on. Neveah doesn’t leave a message, but she doesn’t call back or text again. I sit awake on the bed, worrying myself into a throbbing headache until my hair is dry.

  By the time midnight rolls around, my eyes are burning, my hair is a rumpled mess, and I have made a nest of pillows around me in the king-sized bed.

  I close my eyes and imagine Josh’s arms around me. That brings me some comfort and a little more than some throbbing between my legs, but I leave the lights on.

  There’s no chance I’m getting much sleep tonight.

  8