Mason took his leave, giving one last sympathetic look at Noah before heading down the street and climbing up the steps of another townhouse on the corner.

Only the two of us left. The street was dark, the moon already finding its place in the center of the night sky. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Between the fun we were having with the book club and the terror that soon followed, time seemed to have flown right on by.

“What a fucking mess,” Noah said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “God, I hope they can find fingerprints or hair or something. I need this figured out like yesterday.”

“They’ll find whoever did it,” I reassured him. “You know, my guest room is fully functional. Plus, the mattress is memory foam, so if you want to crash at my place tonight, you’re more than welcome to.”

Noah seemed to consider this offer much more than he had considered Robby’s. “You sure?”

“A hundred percent,” I said.

“Oh, thank God, because I was pretty nervous about going to sleep alone tonight. Not that we’re going to sleep together or anything, obviously. That would be weird. But yes, I mean, if that’s alright, I don’t have—”

“Come on, let me go grab my keys.” I was smiling. Even with the macabre shadow that hung over tonight, I still managed to find a cheek-splitting grin, and it was all because of Noah and his rambly ways. I was about to mention how I thought sleeping together wouldn’t really be weird at all but figured that had the potential of permanently frying his circuits, so I kept it to myself.

Oh, Noah. Noah, Noah, Noah. What am I going to do with you?

The second I asked that question of myself, about a hundred different answers appeared, almost all of them involving a naked Noah unraveling at the touch of my fingertips.

5

NOAH BARNES

Fear was a weird emotion. It could be exhilarating in the right circumstances, controlled, like on a roller coaster or inside a theatre. It could also be debilitating. Strong enough to seize your muscles and make your heart feel like it was three rapid beats away from splitting in half. It could be fleeting—like nearly tripping down the stairs but catching yourself at the last second—or it could be lifelong, the invisible scars of trauma cutting across your brain and fueling your nightmares every time you closed your eyes.

I sat in Jake’s car, gripping the seat belt tight, eyes set forward as my thoughts spun like a broken top, wobbling back and forth over who the hell could have sent that to me.

“Do you have any exes that turned a little psychotic after the breakup?” Jake asked, his voice somehow remaining calm, cool, and collected.