Be Mine: A Dark Romance Novella by A.J. Brooks

Author:A.J. Brooks [Brooks, A.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Frankie

I’ve nearly chewed a hole in my cheek by the time Noah returns. I’m sitting on his couch, now changed out of his t-shirt and in my own clothing, with the grad picture sitting in my lap. His eyes collide with mine as soon as he opens the door. A knot of anger and fear twists my insides. How long has he been stalking me? How long have I gone about my life completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching me?

I open my mouth to say something when I hear a familiar meow. Instantly, I sit up and look over the back of the couch. In Noah’s hand hangs a cat carrier. I rush to him and drop to my knees. “Oh my God, Cosmos.” I look up at Noah, narrowing my eyes to slits. “You didn’t hurt my fucking cat, did you?”

His lips twitch, lowering the carrier to the floor so I can get Cosmos out. As soon as the metal door is open, he runs towards me, a giant mass of black fur nudging me with his head. I run my hand over him from head to tail and he begins to purr, rubbing against me affectionately.

“How did you get him? He was with my neighbor.” I twist my body to look at Noah, who is leaning against the back of the couch, watching our exchange.

“I can be persuasive.” He shrugs, and I don’t know what to do with this. It’s like a constant temperature change with him. Cosmos starts kneading my pants, desperate for more attention.

“Did you enjoy the self-guided tour?” he asks, his voice laced with sarcasm…and maybe a hint of humor? “I especially enjoyed when you flipped me off.”

I feel a little smug about that one. I rise from the floor, Cosmos at my heels. “Yeah, about that tour. I came across some interesting stuff.”

“Did you now?” Noah is at the sink, filling a bowl of water. Leaning down, he sets it next to a matching one, grabbing the bag of cat food and filling that, too. Cosmos immediately abandons me for the man with the food. He gives the cat a few quick scratches, then rises to look at me.

Walking back to the living room, I swipe the picture from the couch and thrust it towards him. “Why do you have my graduation picture?”

He stalks near, taking the photo from my hand and examining it. “That’s my grad pic.” His eyes find mine.

I whip my hand out to grab it back, but he pulls away.

“No, it’s not,” I snort, looking up at him incredulously. What game is he playing here?

“Yeah, it is, that’s me, right there.” He holds the frame out, his finger on a boy in the back row.

“No, it’s not. That’s a guy named James. He transferred to our school midway through eighth grade.” Who does he think he is, claiming to be someone else? James was a poor kid who transferred to our school and was bullied mercilessly all throughout high school.

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