You Belong to Me - 57

 

Corey was up and moving by nine Sunday morning. He made a big breakfast—scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast with jam—then tried to decide what to do to kill the rest of the day. The thought of seeing Scott in a few hours made him antsy with anticipation.

 

I’m beginning to like him way more than I should. Stupid, I know. I’m real sure—well, pretty sure—the way he acted last night was just to give my stalker the idea we were inching our way back to being a couple again. The couple we’re pretending we used to be, but Scott will go back to his real life when this is over.

 

Needing something to keep busy, Corey decided to do his food shopping even though it wasn’t Monday. He smiled, remembering breaking his normal routine just a couple of weeks ago. This is beginning to be a habit.

 

After checking to see what he needed and making a list, he headed out.

 

Are you watching, bastard? He looked around when he got to his car. The only people in view were a family with two small children and an older couple. He figured from the way all of them were dressed that they were probably going to church. A good time for grocery shopping. The store probably won’t be too busy.

 

He found he was right. There were so few people that moving his cart up and down the aisles was a breeze. Still, he felt tense as he picked up the items he needed. He realized why when he found himself staring at a man at the far end of one aisle, wondering if he was the stalker. He wouldn’t be that blatant, he tried to reassure himself. Besides which, I don’t feel as if I’m being watched. Not like last time.

 

By the time Corey got to the checkout counter, he was more relaxed, managing to joke with the girl at the register about the headline in one of the scandal sheets in the rack above the conveyer belt.

 

After putting the groceries in the car trunk, he decided to make a stop at the hardware store to pick up some nails. He’d used up his supply hanging the pictures his parents had given him for Christmas. Corey figured it was cold enough that his food would survive the short time it would take. On his way out of the hardware store twenty minutes later, he spotted a coffee shop across the street and went to get an espresso to go.

 

It was just after noon when Corey got back home. He got his carrier bags of groceries from the trunk, looping the handles over his arms so that he could make it up to his apartment in one trip. With the coffee cup in one hand, his keys in the other, he managed to make it upstairs and into his place, juggling the bags so that he could punch in the security code without dropping anything, and walked straight to the kitchen to put them down. Corey flexed his arms to relieve the strain, took off his jacket, and went back out into the living room.

 

“What the hell?”