❁ Junie ❁

Many mornings on the bus, I enjoy a quiet spot near the back where I doze. A middle-aged black woman named Etta works in an office building down the street from IT Zen, and we’ve been bus buddies for years. She sits in the back, reading mysteries during the rides. She also wakes me when we near our spot or if I snore too loudly.

On the way home, the bus is busier, so we can’t sleep or read with the extra noise. Etta talks about the grandson she’s raising while I share stories about my cat.

“I think that man is following you,” she says as soon as she sits next to me on the way home.

I look out the back windows where Etta’s pointing and see a middle-aged man driving a black sedan.

“Why do you think he’s following me?”

“Noticed him when we arrived at your stop this morning. For two days, he’s been there, and now I see him when we get on.”

“Why would anyone follow me?” I ask as the bus jerks into drive.

“No one else gets on at your stop except you.”

“What about the man yesterday?”

“That was one time.”

Etta and I frown at the sedan before getting comfy in our seats.

“Maybe I’m under investigation for something,” I say once the bus gets stuck in traffic and I glance back at where the stalker remains two cars behind us.

“He looks like a cop.”

“I’m dating someone who has money, and people with money sometimes do bad things. You know, because they have money and figure they can get away with it.”

Even as I say the words, I know Asher isn’t involved with anything illegal. Doing something dicey would draw attention to him, and the man hates people watching him. He doesn’t even want them thinking about him. Asher hopes to be invisible, which isn’t easy when he’s so damn good-looking.

“Do you think it could be something my boss did?” I ask Etta as if she’d really know the answer. Mostly, I want to gossip because I’m bored. “He gambles online.”

“So do I,” Etta says, and we share a smile.

“I don’t think it’s my boyfriend.”

I falter long enough to test how the word sounds aloud. Hmm, boyfriend feels right. Though I doubt Asher would refer to me as his girlfriend.

“Are you certain he doesn’t think you’re cheating on him? My cousin would follow his girl around whenever she went out with friends. He was trying to catch her with a man. Never did, though, which was funny because she was running around on him with more than one guy. That girl was too smart to get caught.”

Frowning at Etta, I can’t imagine Asher thinking I’d cheat on him. Besides, since we haven’t had sex, would gyrating against someone even count as cheating? Of course, Asher thinks I’m oversexed and always seems surprised by my advances as if I’m the first woman ever attracted to his fine ass.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would worry about me cheating.”

“Fine, but you best keep watch. That man might be a pervert.”

I turn to frown out of the back windows where I spot the sedan now four cars behind us. He could be anyone. Though Dietrich has doubled in size since my childhood, it remains rather small. The man in the sedan could be completely oblivious to my existence. Despite Etta’s certainty, I’m just as certain that no one has any reason to follow me. Not even my sexy weirdo boyfriend with his personal space issues.

Yeah, boyfriend really does roll right off the tongue.

‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

That night, Mallory informs me that I’m not being followed. She has the audacity to suggest I always think people are stalking me. The grumpy know-it-all even brings up how I thought two guys were totally fighting over me back in my senior high school when, in reality, they were hot for each other. Yes, I’ve been wrong before, and Mallory not only knows my every youthful dumb moment, but she’s clearly cataloged them in her head for use against me later.

“No one is obsessed with you. Not even your boyfriend,” Mallory says while we watch an episode of The Killing Season.

Though she thinks she’s giving me grief, I smile because Mallory now insists on referring to Asher as my boyfriend.

“When I win over that sexy persnickety bastard, I’ll have him trapped forever.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“To have a man trapped in my bed twenty-four seven? No, probably not, but for two or three hours, yeah, I’d sign up for that.”

“I mean keeping him forever. I’ve always figured this was a fling and you’ve focused so much on being denied that you only wanted to gain his approval. Once you do, you’ll get bored and move on.”

“Is that how you really see me?”

“Yes.”

Not even fighting my giant smile, I shrug. “Forever might be pushing things, but Asher gets under my skin and makes me crave something beyond my own happiness.”

“You’re saying this man’s magical powers include the ability to make you selfless?”

“It’s possible that I’ve found someone I care enough to add to my very small circle of important people.”

“By very small, you mean me, your mom, and CP.”

“CP isn’t a person.”

“He might as well be. The bastard bosses you around enough.”

I glance at the cat who stares outside as if bitter he can’t kill all of nature while also sitting perfectly still on the couch. I know how he feels. I often wish I could do two things while simultaneously doing nothing.

No doubt that’s how Asher feels too. He wants me, but he wants to be alone. Why can’t the world just bend over backward for us?

‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

Mallory changes her tune about my stalker once I return home from work the next day. Chilling on our roof deck, she spies the sedan at the end of our cul-de-sac while I skate home from the bus stop. The guy doesn’t linger long at the stop sign, but it’s enough for her to insist I buy a gun.

“I have pepper spray,” I point out when I emerge from the shower to find her still at my door. “I’m naked here.”

“I’ve seen it before, and you didn’t grow anything new since the last time.”

“What would I grow?”

“I don’t know. A new hairy spot or something.”

I look down at my body and find no new stages of Sasquatch have kicked in.

“I don’t want a gun.”

“Well, you need to figure out why he’s following you. Call the cops or something.”

“I’ll do ‘or something.’ What does that entail?”

Mallory shrugs and returns to the living room. I towel dry my hair and slip a nightgown over my head. Walking into the kitchen, I warm up last night’s leftover burrito bowl from Tico’s Taco Truck. I wish sour cream was in the fridge, but I’d been too depressed last weekend to pick up groceries.

“Asher hasn’t sent specifics about our next date. He messages me every day to ask how I am and I tell him boring things, and he tells me nothing.”

“He’s clearly in love with you,” Mallory teases from the couch. “Will it be a spring wedding?”

“I don’t know what kind of dates to plan with him. He doesn’t like anything I like, and he won’t let me into his home where he’d be more comfortable.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“No. What did I say?” I mumble while carrying my hot bowl to the living room. “Was it fascinating?”

“You boyfriend doesn’t fit into your life, and you don’t fit into his. How do you expect to make this relationship work?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s your response?”

“Seems like it.”

“Don’t you worry?”

“Sure, but what can I do?”

“Dump him.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Mallory shakes her head. “He’ll disappoint you.”

“Yeah, but so what? Everyone disappoints me eventually. People just can’t live up to my high standards.”

After giggling at the idea of me having standards, Mallory falls silent for a long time while we watch Snapped.

“I don’t want kids,” Mallory finally says as if I’d forgotten this fact about her.”

“I might want one.”

“Asher isn’t father material.”

“Neither are you, but I keep you around anyway.”

“True, but I like the same stuff as you. We can hang out. He can’t spend time with you without feeling miserable.”

“I think ‘miserable’ is too strong a word. More like he’s awkward outside of his comfort zone.”

“He’s your mom.”

“Don’t say such things. They have the same bad habit of hiding from the world, but that doesn’t make them the same.”

“Fine.”

“You’re just jealous of me focusing on anyone except you. So petty.”

Mallory throws a pillow, but I only knock it away and keep laughing.

“If this guy is following me,” I say later, during a commercial break, “he’ll be around this weekend. We ought to confront him.”

“That doesn’t sound dangerous.”

“I’ll distract him while you hit him from the back. It’ll be amazing, and we might end up in the paper for taking down a pervert.”

“Why would a pervert want you?”

“I’m sexy.”

“Okay.”

“You can’t see it because you’re nonsexual. If you dug women, you’d be all over what I have to offer.”

“Oh, no doubt,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I think you might be right about confronting that guy. If he’s a stalker, we need to out his crazy. If he’s following you for some other reason, it’s best to find out.”

“Maybe Ross sent him. You know how he always thinks someone is stealing from him.”

“He thinks people are stealing hardware from the backroom. As if you’d really take stolen equipment on the bus.”

“Also, Ross was pretty in awe of Asher.”

“What if Asher sent this guy?”

I’ve considered this idea more than once but always shoot it down. “Why would he?”

“To make sure you’re not screwing the town.”

“Do I seem that slutty?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I’ll just ask him straight off,” I say and reach for my phone.

I type into my phone, “Some guy has followed me to and from work the last few days. Did you hire him?”

“No,” he responds immediately.

“Are you lying?”

“No.”

“When are we meeting again?”

“Saturday.”

“What time and where?”

“You decide.”

“Do you miss my body?” I text when I can’t think of any response to him dumping the date plans on me.

“Yes. Is it with you now?”

“It’s running errands, but you can leave a message.”

Asher doesn’t respond immediately, and I think I’ve taken my snark too far.

“I dreamed of you last night,” he types. “I’m very curious if my fantasies come close to the reality.”

“Did you just ask to fuck me on our next date?”

“We’ll see.”

“Did you send that guy to follow me?” I ask again.

“No.”

“Well, all right then. I’ll text you with plans for Saturday once I come up with plans you won’t bail on.”

“Fair enough.”

Setting aside the phone, I’m ninety-nine percent certain Asher is lying about the guy. I’d be a hundred percent sure if I wasn’t so hung up on the handsome bastard.

After all, even a man as odd as Asher would press for info on anyone stalking his pseudo-girlfriend.

‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧

Plan “Confront the Stalker” is a go as soon as we arrive at the Farmer’s Market. Mallory and I separate at the second row of fruit stalls. She flanks my stalker while I casually test cantaloupes.

“Those are nice and firm,” the seller informs me.

“I’m sure they are, but I need to connect with my food metaphysically before I can buy it.”

“I’m the same way.”

This seller like most at the Farmer’s Market will agree to any customer’s babble to ensure a sale. I admire such commitment since I’d only want to sit in a lawn chair and veg on a Saturday.

I hand the seller two dollars for her overpriced cantaloupe. Stepping back, I wait until a crowd of people forces the stalker to move forward. Soon, he’s only a few feet from me.

“Who are you?” I demand, cocking the cantaloupe and preparing to fire. “Why are you following me?”

The guy freezes before trying to casually flee. Mallory appears and threatens him with a pineapple.

“Don’t even think about it,” she growls, sounding very tough and intimidating for a woman afraid of thunderstorms.

Blocked in by the crowd, Mallory, and me, the stalker looks for an escape. I aim my pepper spray at his face while still ready to throw the cantaloupe.

“My safety feels threatened by you,” I announce.

“Wait, you’re making a mistake. I’m not a threat.”

“Then who are you and why are you following me?”

About a dozen people watch him now, and he remains more awkward than afraid.

“I was hired by a concerned party to ensure you were safe.”

Mallory pokes him with the pineapple. “Say the name.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t,” she grumbles, poking him again.

I don’t need the guy to say Asher’s name to know who’s paying the tab. Taking my cantaloupe, I skate past him and grab Mallory’s non-pineapple holding hand. The crowd around us talks louder now, making comments about my sanity and whether the man is a stalker. I don’t care what they have to say. My only concern is why Asher thought he could lie to me so brazenly without it coming back to bite his fine ass.