Texting Dr Stalker Read Online Pepper Winters

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: Pepper Winters Advertisement

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You are seriously messed up, Lor.

Lily gave me a look. A look I knew well and a look that would come with many, many questions once he’d gone.

For now, though, she had my back and held me through my trembles. “She’s okay. I took her to get the prescribed pain relief, and I’ve ensured the card from Dr Klep is on the fridge if she needs it.” She smiled sweetly. “You’re amazing for going above and beyond. I can’t believe you made a house call, but truly, it’s not necessary. She’s got me, and she’s strong.” She flashed me a smile. “She’s got this.”

With a terse nod, Zander backed up another step. “Glad to hear it. In that case, I’ll get going. Like you said, my friend is waiting for me.”

Another twinge caught me unaware, just as sharp and agonising as my fear of him.

Was his friend a woman?

I’d never seen him bring anyone home, and he lived alone, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing someone.

My chest squeezed to say something.

Anything.

But with another lingering stare, he smiled, nodded, and marched through the gate without a backward glance.

* 6 *

Zander

Zero Responsibilities

THREE A.M. AND SURPRISE, SURPRISE, I WAS awake again.

I’d never been the best sleeper, but these days? Sleep was utterly elusive. Especially thanks to the almost coma I’d enjoyed earlier today after some all-night deep cleaning in someone else’s house.

Pacing my bedroom, I contemplated running around the neighbourhood to burn off the anxious energy percolating in my blood.

I had no reason to be anxious.

I’d had a good evening with Colin before he’d called an Uber at ten p.m. Sailor had survived her ordeal and had a good friend taking care of her.

My sisters had their own lives elsewhere.

I had no pets, no responsibilities.

I literally had no one relying on me or needing me, and that…that was the fucking problem.

Heading downstairs, I strode through the dark house and into the kitchen. I would never prescribe three a.m. drinking to insomniac patients, but right now, it was the only cure I could think of.

Grabbing the bottle of Johnny Walker from the top cupboard, I poured far too much into a heavy glass tumbler before taking my medicine to the living room. The moon was out. Its silver light streamed over potted plants and my flatscreen TV on the wall.

I’d drink my cure, force my mind to quieten, then go to bed.

Moving the reading chair closer to the bay window, I went to fall into it, but movement outside caught my attention.

I went instantly stiff as I searched for any intruders daring to mess with our street. The moon shone extra bright, not granting any shadows to hide in.

And then, I saw her.

The fence between us was lower at the front of our two matching properties, our street-facing gardens comically different. Hers had her grandparents’ arches, bird feeders, and plants while mine had modern gravel pathways and trimmed hedges.

Our wraparound porches were twins with the intricate architraves and banisters. However, Sailor had painted hers a butterscotch yellow last year, while mine were stark black.

I hadn’t bothered putting any furniture out front because as much as I enjoyed living on Ember Lane and had grown up with the families around here, I didn’t want to talk to them every time I tried to relax. Sitting out front was a ripe invitation for old maid Josephine to ask about my lack of a love life or busybody Patricia to set me up with her long-suffering niece.

The back garden was my safe space, but it seemed Sailor preferred the front tonight.

Perhaps she wanted to moon bathe. Maybe she knew the chances of being dragged into conversation against her will wouldn’t happen at three in the morning.

Either way, there she was.

Curled up on a gently swinging egg chair, hugging her knees and staring at the sky.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t dare.

I doubted she’d be able to see me with the moon’s reflection on my windows, but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever she was going through.

My chest tightened as the glimmer of tears tracked down her cheeks, visible even from here. She made no move to stop them from falling.

Every instinct snarled to go over there.

To assure her she was safe. That he couldn’t touch her. That she wasn’t alone.

But I wasn’t a psychologist, and this was none of my business.

If she needed to talk to someone, it needed to be with a professional, and as handy as I was with a scalpel, I had absolutely no finesse when it came to mental health.

I’d once scarred my eldest sister so badly that I’d been banished from offering a shoulder to cry on. It wasn’t my fault that she’d asked me to try to save her dead hamster, and I’d helpfully announced it was dead and I could perform an autopsy instead.


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